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Maryann I Mar 19
1. Through a whisper in the dark, reminding them they are never alone.  
2. Through the quiet presence that asks nothing in return.  
3. Through laughter shared on a rainy day.  
4. Through the comfort of a warm hand, reaching out in silence.  
5. Through eyes that see past the flaws, embracing the whole.  
6. Through a word of encouragement, when doubt clouds their mind.  
7. Through a hug that lingers just long enough to say, “I’m here.”  
8. Through the sacrifice of your own comfort, for their peace.  
9. Through the patience to wait, knowing love is often about timing.  
10. Through a song sung softly in the morning, just to greet them.  
11. Through the way your smile brightens their worst day.  
12. Through knowing their dreams by heart, even before they say them.  
13. Through remembering the smallest details, because they matter.  
14. Through the way your heart skips a beat at their name.  
15. Through a quiet moment shared, when words aren’t needed.  
16. Through an open ear, listening to their fears.  
17. Through a shared glance that says more than a thousand words.  
18. Through standing beside them, even when the world doesn’t.  
19. Through an apology that shows vulnerability.  
20. Through the joy of seeing them grow, even if it means they leave your side.  
21. Through a night spent talking about everything and nothing.  
22. Through the simple act of being fully present, not distracted.  
23. Through the hands that hold tightly, never letting go in fear.  
24. Through a love that never tires of giving.  
25. Through the willingness to be vulnerable, letting them see your true self.  
26. Through the quiet bravery of trusting them with your heart.  
27. Through a shared cup of coffee in the morning, savoring the moment.  
28. Through the support you offer, even when it’s difficult for you.  
29. Through letting them find their own way, while still being there to guide.  
30. Through the peace found in simply being next to them.  
31. Through the sacrifices made quietly, without expecting recognition.  
32. Through forgiveness when it’s the hardest thing to do.  
33. Through the simple joy of waking up beside them.  
34. Through letting go of past hurts, to make room for healing.  
35. Through laughter that echoes in the quietest moments.  
36. Through the silence that says, “I’ll always be here.”  
37. Through a promise to always try, even when it seems easier not to.  
38. Through the shared experience of creating something beautiful together.  
39. Through the little things that make them feel seen, heard, and loved.  
40. Through sharing your fears and showing them that vulnerability is strength.  
41. Through holding their hand in the dark, when nothing else is certain.  
42. Through the way you give them space to be themselves.  
43. Through protecting their heart as if it were your own.  
44. Through the understanding that love isn’t always perfect, but it’s always enough.  
45. Through the comfort of knowing they’ll always have your back.  
46. Through your words that build them up, never tear them down.  
47. Through giving them time to grow, even when you wish they’d stay the same.  
48. Through giving without expecting, because love is never transactional.  
49. Through the trust that allows both of you to be fully yourselves.  
50. Through the silence that says, “I’ll always be here.”  
51. Through an unexpected gesture, just to show you care.  
52. Through remembering the things they never asked you to remember.  
53. Through letting go of your own fears, so they can face theirs.  
54. Through the quiet comfort of just sitting together, no need for conversation.  
55. Through your commitment, even when it’s easier to walk away.  
56. Through your patience when they’re not ready to speak.  
57. Through the moments where you give your all, and expect nothing back.  
58. Through creating a space where they feel at home in your heart.  
59. Through the way you admire them in the quiet moments.  
60. Through sharing your soul, knowing it will never be judged.  
61. Through the way you cherish the quiet moments, as much as the loud ones.  
62. Through holding on when they want to let go.  
63. Through saying “I love you,” without needing to say it.  
64. Through the joy of seeing them succeed, as though their success were your own.  
65. Through a shoulder to cry on, without the need for words.  
66. Through a gentle reminder of how strong they truly are.  
67. Through your belief in them, even when they can’t believe in themselves.  
68. Through shared memories that only the two of you understand.  
69. Through giving them the freedom to be who they are, without judgment.  
70. Through letting them know they’re never a burden, no matter what.  
71. Through your dedication to their happiness, even if it means sacrificing your own.  
72. Through the simple act of choosing them, every single day.  
73. Through the patience of waiting for them to come back, when they need space.  
74. Through the joy found in their smallest victories.  
75. Through the strength found in vulnerability, when you trust them with your secrets.  
76. Through the way you protect their heart, knowing it’s fragile.  
77. Through the way you find beauty in the way they see the world.  
78. Through sharing your insecurities, knowing they’ll be met with love.  
79. Through the way you admire them, even when they can’t see their own greatness.  
80. Through choosing kindness, even in moments of frustration.  
81. Through knowing their fears without them speaking a word.  
82. Through choosing to grow together, even when it feels uncomfortable.  
83. Through the way you embrace their flaws as part of their beauty.  
84. Through the moments where you challenge them, to help them grow.  
85. Through respecting their independence, while still offering support.  
86. Through the way you allow yourself to be fully loved by them.  
87. Through the softness in your gaze, when everything else feels hard.  
88. Through your willingness to learn from them, as they learn from you.  
89. Through your ability to make them feel like the most important person in the room.  
90. Through the way you let them in, even when it’s terrifying.  
91. Through the way you speak their name, like it’s the most beautiful sound.  
92. Through your desire to protect their heart, no matter the cost.  
93. Through the way you see their soul, beyond the surface.  
94. Through the love you give, expecting nothing but their happiness in return.  
95. Through the way you show them that they’re enough, just as they are.  
96. Through the way you make them feel safe, even in the chaos.  
97. Through the way you help them find peace, even when they don’t know how to.  
98. Through your unspoken promise to always fight for them.  
99. Through every moment of your love, showing them they are worth it.  
100. Through every breath, knowing that to love them is the greatest gift of all.
Maryann I Apr 15
Tick-tock, tick-tock, the hands sweep, slow and grand,
Echoes in brass, the hourglass of time,
Each second a sonnet, each minute a memory,
A pendulum sways with the weight of all things,
A whispered sigh, the rhythm of fate.

Tick-tick, tick-tick, the seconds fly,
A thousand moments, one fleeting chime,
The wood creaks softly, a song to the past,
Time, both heavy and light, spins ever last.

Tick-tick, tick-tick, a muted hum,
The dance of the hands, a battle won,
Through the quiet of night, and the light of day,
We march to the beat, come what may.

Tick, tick, a whisper,
A pulse, a pause,
We chase after moments,
Only to lose them.

Tick.

        Tock.

Tick…
(old draft)
Maryann I Mar 7
I tell myself—just a little longer,
though the weight is heavy, the air too thick.
The sun rises, but I do not reach for it,
only watch as light fades before it touches me.

The days blur like water down a window,
quiet, slipping, never quite clear.
Each breath feels borrowed,
each step, a whisper of effort.

But somewhere, a bird still sings for me,
soft notes curling in the wind.
Somewhere, a hand might reach back if I reach first,
a voice might call my name and mean it.

So I stay—just a little longer,
for the chance that tomorrow might feel lighter,
that the night might hold me gently
instead of pressing me into the dark.

I don’t know if it will,
but for now, I tell myself—
just a little longer.
Maryann I Mar 14
Today, I’ve felt
a new sort of empty—
not the kind I’ve known before,
but something softer,
quieter,
hollow in a different way.

I have the world
just minutes from my reach,
and still—
he hasn’t filled this void.

As I write,
the phone begins to melt into my hands—
left side lifting,
right side falling,
then reversing—
a quiet seesaw of glass and ache.

My dim screen flickers,
and the world fades at the edges.
Tiny black dots bloom
in my peripheral vision—
not enough to blind me,
just enough to remind me
I’m slipping.

I ate a small chocolate granola bar today—
just that.
I was hungry,
but the hunger vanished beneath tears—
tears over him
not understanding
what he’s done wrong—
again.

A million times—
maybe less,
but it feels like that now.

And maybe it’s stupid.
But I feel ignored—
again.

I tried to explain.
I always try.
But he always forgets.

I tell myself: don’t care.
But I do.
God, I do.

It wasn’t even a big deal—
but somewhere in the silence,
my self-confidence slipped away.

I deleted every photo of myself.
All of them.
Gone.
I don’t even know why—
just that this sadness
poured in like floodwater,
crashing through the walls I’d built
to keep it out.

I’ve been sleeping all day,
avoiding his name,
my family’s voices.
I keep drifting,
even as I write.

I don’t want to do anything anymore.
And I don’t know
what’s wrong with me.
3/14/25
Maryann I Feb 22
The door swings wide, the moment near,
A voice I missed, so bright and clear.
Familiar hands, a knowing smile,
Collapsing into joy awhile.

No miles can stretch, no time can break,
The bond we hold, the love we make.
For home is found in hearts, not place,
And yours will always be my space.

No words are needed, none suffice,
Just laughter shared, a touch so nice.
The world feels whole, the past erased,
In arms once lost, but now embraced.
2. Reunion and Homecoming
Maryann I Apr 15
The sky split
like an old wound—
bleeding rust into the morning,
the sun a swollen blister
peeling over charred hills.

Crows forgot how to scream.
Smoke stitched the air
with ghost-thread,
and time slumped forward,
dragging its feet through bone dust.


We learned silence
was not peace,
but a lull before the rot—
cities swallowed whole
like old regrets,
steel ribs poking from earth
like the remains of some god
we failed to worship right.

Rain came
black and sour,
tasting of copper and grief.

The trees bent
as if praying,
but no one listened.

Even the stars
flickered out
like breath on glass.

Hope was a flickering radio,
a child humming to static,

a name whispered
to a grave that never answered.

We were the last psalm
sung into a ruined cathedral,
echoes crumbling

on their way out.

And still—
beneath the ash,
something small and stubborn
twitches.

Not life.
Not yet.
But maybe.
Maryann I Mar 15
I was not born to break,
but I have shattered
quietly—
like glass beneath velvet footsteps.
Still, I rise,
not whole,
but burning brighter
in every fractured edge.
Maryann I Mar 21
I was a cavern, hollowed by storms,
veins lined with soot, breath laced with ash.
Grief hung from my ribs like moss in a forgotten wood,
a slow rot curling beneath my tongue.

The moon turned its back; even stars whispered away,
and I wore my rage like a cloak of thorns,
each step scattering petals of ruin,
each silence a howl stitched beneath my skin.

I became a storm cellar of memories,
echoing thunder that never touched sky,
harboring shadows that fed on the scent of blame,
their claws tracing old wounds like sacred scripture.

But dawn cracked the stone—
a golden vine threading through grief’s grip,
spilling warmth into marrow that had forgotten how to bloom.
The river inside me stirred—slow, reluctant—

yet still it moved, washing silt from the hollows.
I knelt in that current, palms open, and let the darkness slip—
a feather carried downstream, a name released to the wind.

Forgiveness was not a surrender, but a seed,
buried deep beneath frostbitten roots,
unfolding in silence, unfurling toward light.

And now—
my heart, once a cathedral of echoes,
is a garden humming with bees,
each bloom a memory healed, not erased.

Maryann I Mar 5
They told me I was loved.
Said it like a fact, like a given, like air.
And I nodded, let the words settle on my skin
but never sink in.

Because love—love is hands reaching,
but understanding?
Understanding is knowing why mine pull away.

I sat in rooms full of people who swore they cared,
but no one asked why my laughter always came half a second too late,
why silence fit me like a second skin.

They called me beautiful, said I was smart,
but never saw the way I flinched at echoes of my own thoughts.
They held me when I cried, but no one ever asked
what the tears were trying to say.

I used to think I was ungrateful—
to have love but still feel lost.
But now I know:
Love can be loud, can be warm, can be everywhere—
and still not speak your language.

So if you’ve ever felt this way,
like you exist in translation,
like love is the ocean but you are still thirsty—
I need you to hear this:

You are not wrong for wanting more.
You deserve to be understood.
Maryann I Nov 2024
A silhouette drifts through the mist,
shaped by memory but not quite there—
a figure lost between the spaces
where time forgets its own name.


Wings flutter, soft as dust,
stirring the silence in slow breaths,
like the whispered promise
of something never meant to be.


The air is thick with the weight of nothing—
a presence that slips through your fingers
before you can hold it,
before you can understand.


In the distance, a song plays,
but its notes are hollow,
echoing through the vacant spaces
of a forgotten world.


It is as though the fairy exists,
but only in the spaces where eyes do not see,
where dreams and memories fold together
like forgotten pages,
and everything is both real
and utterly lost.


You reach for the hollow light,
but it fades before you touch it,
leaving only the scent of something once pure,
a trace of something you can never claim,
floating away
into the quiet dark.
Inspired by the song "Blank Fairy" by the artist Akira Vamaoka
Maryann I Apr 14
So… I’ve noticed something a little strange—two people have now messaged me and then blocked me shortly after. I’m honestly confused. I’m not naming anyone in this post because I don’t want to stir up any unnecessary drama, but if someone genuinely wants to know, I’m open to sharing privately. I’d just really like to understand what I might’ve done to end up being blocked by both of them.
Maryann I Feb 19
It is hard being a child,
let alone an adult.
I hate growing up.
I always hated the thought of it,
of leaving childhood behind—
when it was never a place
I could rest.

I was promised something better—
a new life beyond that god-awful trailer,
where the walls were too thin
to contain the hurt.
I was promised love,
safety,
a body and mind
without bruises.
I was promised the world.

But promises are just words,
and words crumble under fists.

I am not ungrateful for what I have,
but I am ungrateful
for how I was raised—
how I was brought into this world
only to be broken by it.
Adoption was supposed to be a rescue,
but even kindness can wear a mask.
And when the masks fell,
the truth cut deeper
than any wound I’d known before.

Now, I carry more stories,
more bruises
from my adopted parents
than my biological ones.
More words screamed at me,
until I was so weak,
I wanted to leave.
A child, eight years old,
should never think about dying.

Parents should be a sanctuary,
a refuge.
Mine were a battlefield.
I learned to fear growing up—
to fear failure,
to fear never being enough.

I have accepted it all:
the blows,
the scars,
the pain repackaged as love.
Because love
was something foreign
until I met my first true friend,
my first real love.

With family,
there was only war.
And in their house,
I counted the days
I thought about dying—
more than I can recall.
They failed to protect me,
to shield me from others’ harm,
and their answer
was always the same—
an empty hug,
a hollow “It’s going to be okay.”

But they never meant it.
In every argument,
they used my scars as weapons,
ripped open old wounds
just to watch me bleed.
If they understand the weight of trauma,
why do they
bring it up
to bury me deeper?

Do they really love me?
I don’t understand,
and I don’t think
I ever will.
Through this poem, I confront the false promises of family and the idea that growing up leads to healing. Instead, my adoptive family—meant to be my sanctuary—became a source of lasting trauma, fundamentally altering how I see love, safety, and myself.
Maryann I Feb 17
Beneath a swirling vortex of stars,
I write my dreams on crumpled paper,
folding each one into the corners of my heart.
Places I’ve never seen,
moments waiting to happen,
they call to me in whispers—
soft, yet instantaneous.


Dive into oceans deeper than fears,
stand atop mountains taller than doubt.
Feel the rush of wind,
the pull of gravity,
the weightless joy of being alive.


This bucket list is more than a record,
it is a promise to myself:
to seek the infinite,
to embrace the fleeting,
to live as though the stars burn only for today.
Maryann I Mar 3
Click your heels, darling—
red as fresh-spilled secrets,
lacquered in the longing
of a girl caught between worlds.

The shoes gleam under studio lights,
a crimson promise, a whispered lie.
Tread lightly—the yellow bricks burn,
hot as stage-lamp sunbursts.

Magic is a contract signed in dust—
not fairy dust, but the kind that coats lungs,
turns breath to wheezing lullabies,
fills dreams with silver-flecked scars.

The witch shrieks, fire swallows her whole—
the flames don’t wait for cut.
She vanishes, but the burns stay,
seeping beneath the green of her skin.

The Tin Man rattles, hollow but breathing,
lungs stiff with powdered metal.
His tears are made of oil now,
his smile a polished afterthought.

Toto limps off set, paw trembling—
no curtain call for the crushed.
The monkeys drop like fallen stars,
wires snapping mid-flight.

And Judy—oh, Judy—
her laughter is stitched together,
a patchwork of amphetamines and exhaustion,
eyes wide as if searching for Kansas
but only finding the next scene.

Still, the shoes sparkle.
Still, they tell you to click.
Because every girl wants to go home—
even when home is a fairytale
built on broken bones.

Click, click—
but the magic is only real if you believe.
This poem was inspired by the tragedies underlying The Wizard of Oz—because there is a very hidden suffering beneath that magic. From disastrous injuries on set to the exploitation of Judy Garland, the film’s glamour was built on real-life suffering. The red heels transform into a haunting symbol — not only of escape, but of the price of illusion.
Maryann I Feb 18
A room in the basement,
A room that knew too much,
Too dark to leave behind.
I was tired,
Heavy with sorrow.
She never asked why—
Never asked me to speak.
The clutter in my mind didn’t matter to her.
I was dragged onto the bed,
A hand pressing into my back,
My body slammed against the wall,
Her rage leaving marks on my skin—
A scar that won’t heal.

"I don’t want to do this, but here we are."
A whisper, lost in the chaos.
Words echo through the house,
Where love is twisted,
Where kindness never crosses the doorstep.

"I’m not sure I can... ma yelled at me again."
For the smallest things,
For being human.
Her voice drowns out my heart,
Slicing through the silence.
She tells me I'm a failure,
A burden,
A disappointment.
She says she’ll pull me from school,
Keep me locked away.
Send me far from everything I dream.

She hit me,
And still, she says,
"You'll never leave. You’re going to fail."
But where do I go when pain is all I know?
When bruises map my body,
And rage paves my path?
I cry,
Not for the sting of her hand,
But for the death of my dreams.
Her words press down,
Venom laced with promises of no future.
"You’re just going to be a ghetto rat,"
She spits at my dreams of college,
And I feel it sting,
Because maybe she's right.
Maybe she’s serious about keeping me here.

I falter,
Assignments abandoned—
Not from carelessness,
But confusion,
And the walls close in.
When she touches me,
It’s not a caress,
But a painful grip,
Pinching, scratching.
Her voice hisses like a snake:
"Stop acting so self-conscious. You look ******* stupid."
Her hands on my body,
"Why does my touch make you uncomfortable? I’m not hurting you, stop it."
Uninvited,
Unwanted.
But I stay silent,
Too afraid,
Too small beneath her control.

Why does my body feel like it belongs to her?
Why does she think it’s okay to touch me
Like I’m nothing but a possession to bend to her will?
"What’s wrong, my perfect, spoiled little *****?"
Her voice smooth as poison,
"This is what you wanted."
A trap she set long ago.

I try to hold my head high,
But the ceiling feels lower every day.
Her anger shakes me,
Her wrath pushing me into the wall.
She screams at every mistake,
Even when I’m just trying to breathe.

"Z is going to be a tattooed dolled-up ****."
Her words sear,
Carving into my skin.
No matter how hard I try,
I will never be enough.
"I think you’d all be better off without me,"
Her voice trembles,
Heavy with her own misery.
But her despair is hers alone.
I’m just trying to survive the day.

"She’s not going to get a job, she’s lazy like I am."
Her words break me,
Glass shards piercing deep.
She doesn’t see me, doesn’t hear me—
Only sees her failures reflected in me.
A mirror of everything she fears.
And I am not the reflection I want to be.

No matter how loud she screams,
Her hurt doesn’t change the truth.
I am more than the sum of her expectations.
"I’m just the nasty ***** that nags and yells at everyone, aren’t I?"
Her words echo,
But they are not mine.

The house is never quiet,
Not when the walls scream with her rage.
"We’ve been in a bump since my dad moved in."
A home built on silence,
Where no one speaks the truth,
Fearing the storm it might wake.
"I feel like we’re doing all this just to get X into high school and college."
But what of me?
What of my hopes that fade in the corners of my mind?
What of the quiet nights
When I hear her rage but never her love?

"Maybe we should’ve never adopted Y and Z."
I drown in her words,
In the pit of their failures.
Because I’m not just a kid—
I’m a punching bag.
And her fists land on my body,
But the damage runs deeper than skin.

"I don’t care if I ruin it all, I’m leaving."
Her rage blinds her to the harm she causes.
Her fists, her words—
They shatter me.
I am left alone in the wreckage,
Wondering how to rebuild myself,
How to make her see me.

In my dreams, I flee,
But the house always calls me back,
With its cold floors and walls that whisper lies.
"We’re messy people,"
She says.
But it’s not the mess in the house—
It’s the mess in our hearts.

A house built on silence,
A body that wasn’t mine,
And a truth still hidden between the walls,
I’m still trying to speak.
Annotations for Confessions From the Walls I Keep

Symbolism of X, Y, and Z:
X, Y, and Z represent my siblings and myself, with Z being me. I could have chosen any letters, but the last three of the alphabet felt symbolic—almost like an ending. It reflects the way I sometimes feel—like an afterthought, something insignificant.

Why I Was Nervous to Post This:
I’ve always feared that if I shared anything about my childhood or family, my mother would somehow find it and retaliate. Even though I’m 18, that fear hasn’t disappeared. She used to threaten my biological sister (Y) and me, saying that if we ever reached out for help—if we “snitched” or called CPS—she would **** us. Sometimes, she went into disturbing detail about how she would do it. Other times, she threatened to take away everything we loved.

Living With Her Now:
I still live with her, and while the physical threats have faded, she continues to manipulate me emotionally. Now, she threatens to take away my happiness. I have depression and take medication for it, but I know my mental health won’t truly improve until I leave. I’m eager to go to college, yet terrified to leave my biological sister (Y) behind with her.

Family Dynamics & Adoption:
For context, I am adopted. Y (middle sister) is my biological sister, while X (the youngest) is not. I love X, but she is the only daughter my mother truly cares for. I am the eldest, and sometimes I wish I were the youngest, thinking that maybe then I would be loved. But deep down, I know that’s not true—she only loves the child she gave birth to. If X were the eldest instead of me, she would still be the favorite.

How We Compare in My Mother’s Eyes:

> X has good grades, is involved in clubs and activities, and is expected to
   succeed.
> Y has ADHD, is hands-on, full of energy, and an amazing person, but she
   struggles with impulsivity.
> Z (me)—I am just a poet, a writer. I don’t know what else to say about
   myself. I don’t think there’s much to know.
Maryann I Feb 18
I often speak in silence,
when words are too loud,
and the world around me feels
like too much,
a symphony of voices I can't tune out.

"You’re more than you know,"
you said.
But the mirror doesn’t see
what I’ve hidden in the corners
of my own heart—
the fear,
the longing,
the doubts that won’t stay quiet.

“I miss you,”
you whispered,
and it felt like a promise
I could barely hold onto
but still wanted to.
How do you love something
you don’t believe you deserve?

I wear a mask,
my smile is too practiced,
my laughter just a little too loud
to drown out the questions,
the insecurities.
“You’re everything I could have wished for,”
but what does that mean
when I am still learning
how to be enough for myself?

In the quiet, I wonder
if I could ever be
the girl you see me as,
so strong,
so sweet,
yet I break in places
no one can see.

“Take my hand,” you said,
but I’m afraid my own hands are shaking.
How do I give you the world
when I am still trying
to understand it myself?

“You’re breathtakingly amazing,”
but I wonder if you see
the cracks where I am still
a little girl,
waiting for someone to tell me
it’s okay to be both beautiful and broken.

“I miss you even after just a few hours apart,”
and maybe,
just maybe,
this time,
the love I feel
can be enough
to fill the spaces I’ve let empty for so long.
This poem explores vulnerability, self-reflection, and the connection with my lover, weaving in lines from conversations that felt deeply personal.
Maryann I Feb 18
Shape the way your fingers trace constellations on my skin,
Or the way your laughter lingers in my ribs,
A melody too human for its cold, calculated hands.

It could never script the way our eyes meet,
That silent understanding,
That unspoken language,
Too intricate for fate to weave into its fragile threads.

It tries—oh, how it tries—
To intervene, to twist, to break,
To reclaim us as its own.
Yet we slip through its grasp,
Like sand through clenched fists,
Like stardust escaping gravity.

Destiny waits in the shadows,
Silent, seething,
Cursing the love it did not create.
It watches as we carve our own fate,
As we step outside its lines,
As we make something greater
Than anything it ever dared to dream.

Destiny could never…
This poem personifies Destiny as an envious figure, powerless against the love my partner and I have created. While Destiny believes it controls all things, it watches in frustration as we build something it could never craft itself—love beyond its reach. The poem flows with jealousy, mirroring Destiny’s frustration, and abruptly cuts off to emphasize its helplessness, leaving the reader lingering on its unfulfilled desire.

(this is a continuation of the poem "The Jealousy of Destiny")
Maryann I Mar 9
I wandered through fields of golden light,
Chasing dreams beneath the amber sky.
Hope fluttered in the cooling breeze.
I reached toward fading stars.
Night whispered to me.
Silence held on.
Time dissolved.
I breathed.
Alone.
Gone.
.
Maryann I Mar 21
Shards of silence splinter,
fractals in a firestorm,
spitting tongues of dissonance—
a thousand echoes collide,
furious in their quiet.

Cacophonous breath snaps the air,
a brittle pulse skittering on the edge
of infinity’s unraveling thread.
Fingers claw through time’s tattered skin,
guts of fate, entwined in the darkening loop,
each moment—shattered, resurgent.

The sky is a broken chandelier,
raining sparks like ghostly paperclips,
stretched too thin,
too jagged to catch—
each piece too sharp to hold,
to name.

Spirals twist through aching space,
each turn a jagged refrain,
unhinged from rhythm,
lost in sound—
chasing its own reflection,
a fractured symphony,
unsung,
stifled by its own reverberation.

Hunger for motion tears through the hollow,
frenzied like a feathered shard,
quivering in the teeth of wind,
caught in a whirl of starlight’s splatter.
The sky is endless,
but always breaking,
and always,
still,
it falls.
Maryann I Apr 20
You are not a want—
you are the echo I was born from,
a silhouette cast in my marrow
before I ever learned your name.


My angel—
but not soft, not serene.
You burn with the hush of a candle
before it devours the room.

I breathe you like smoke,
thick and slow in my lungs,
each inhale a tether
pulling me closer to your orbit.

You are gravity,
and I—

a planet begging to collapse.

I carry your voice in my bloodstream,
a hymnal whispered between heartbeats.
It sounds like salvation,
feels like
flesh peeling back to reveal something

holier
than skin.

I don’t dream anymore—

I enter you
in every silence.
Your shadow moves behind my eyes
and still,
I ask for more.

Touch me
and I come undone like a cathedral
beneath thunder,
every stained-glass memory shattering
to let the dark rush in.

You,
the angel with teeth,
who kissed me into ash
and called it
devotion.
Maryann I Feb 23
The wind hums low, the rivers sing,
The flowers bow, the branches swing.
The sky, a canvas brushed with light,
A masterpiece both bold and bright.

The rolling hills, the ocean’s breath,
The whispers held in silent depth.
Oh, how the world forever sways—
A song of life in endless praise.

Beneath the stars, beneath the trees,
A quiet peace, a flowing ease.
The earth hums soft, a lullaby,
A love that never says goodbye.
10. The Wonder of Nature
Maryann I Feb 20
I never thought the words would stick,
Not in my throat, not in my skin,
But here they are, burning like a wick,
The lies they told, the shape I’m in.

I hear them now, when I close my eyes,
My mother’s voice, sharp and cold,
Telling me that I’m not enough,
That I’ll never be worth the love I’m sold.

“Mary, you’re a disappointment,”
The words hit like a slap in the face.
Every failure is a mark she leaves,
Every tear is a slap to my grace.

She says it’s my fault,
I’m the one who makes her break,
But how do I fix what’s broken,
When I don’t even know where to start or take?

Her last words haunt me in the night,
Telling me I’m wrong, telling me I fight,
Telling me my worth is nothing,
That I’m just a ghost in a family that’s done with loving.
Her last words, sharp as knives,
Cut through the quiet of my fragile life.

She’s always angry, always mad,
Never sees what’s behind the sad.
I’m just a face she can’t embrace,
A reflection of everything she can’t erase.

She tells me I’ll never be enough,
My nose too big, my heart too soft.
She tells me I’ll end up like them,
The ones who couldn’t make it,
Couldn’t win.

She says it so casually,
As though the pain doesn’t stick.
As though she doesn’t see my tears,
As though her words won’t break me quick.

Her last words echo in my chest,
Telling me I’m nothing,
Telling me I’ll never be my best.
Her last words, like a whispered prayer,
Begging me to break, but I’ll never be there.

And every time I try to stand tall,
She pushes me back down again,
Says I’m a failure, says I’ll fall,
And that I’m no better than my biological kin.

But somewhere inside, I still fight,
I still hope that one day I’ll rise,
Even if she can’t see my light,
Even if she only sees the lies.


She yells at Y, tells her the same,
That we’re the problem, that we’re to blame.
She says it’s our fault she feels this way,
But it’s her rage that never fades.
It’s her fear that’s running wild,
Turning her into a broken child.

And every time she calls me out,
I think of what could’ve been,
If love didn’t come with rules and doubt,
If we were just a family, not a war within.

Her last words are the truth I can’t escape,
They’re carved into my skin, into my fate.
Her last words, heavy like stone,
Reminding me that I’m always alone.

And when my breath finally fades away,
It’ll be her words that seal my end.
Not the love I longed for, but the lies she said,
Will be the silence where my heart bends.

The world won’t miss me, they’ll forget my name,
Just another girl lost in a family’s shame.
I’ll be just a shadow, fading fast,
A memory of love that never lasts.

Her last words will haunt me still,
As my body grows cold, my spirit still.
In the end, I’ll finally be free,
From the weight of her love, from what’s left of me.
This poem is inspired by the song Her Last Words by Courtney Parker. I’ve taken elements of the song and shaped them into a poem, capturing the emotions of venting and vulnerability. This piece is a vent—a raw expression of my thoughts—but it doesn’t define me. I am stronger than these moments, stronger than the pain.

Hello Poetry is a space where I can be real, where I can let my thoughts spill out without judgment. These words do not mark the end of me but are part of my process of healing and release. While this poem reflects some of my darker thoughts, it is just one part of my journey, not the whole of who I am.
Maryann I Feb 22
Your love is steady, soft, and true,
A warmth that glows in golden hue.
Like tides that kiss the waiting shore,
You hold me close, then love me more.

Through raging winds and endless night,
You are my calm, my guiding light.
Not fleeting sparks, but steadfast glow,
A fire that never dims below.

And if the stars should lose their way,
Or time should steal the light of day,
Still in your arms, I’d always be,
Forever safe, eternally.
1. Unwavering Love
Maryann I Aug 2024
In the moonlight’s soft embrace, we begin our waltz,  
Two souls entwined, bound by time's unyielding thread.  
Footsteps echoing in the void, where silence falls,  
A dance that never ends, where every word is said.

Your hand in mine, as we glide through shadowed halls,  
The world around us fades, and all the stars align.  
In every turn, every breath, eternity calls,  
Whispering secrets of a love that will not decline.

Through the endless night, where dreams and darkness blend,  
We move as one, defying the grasp of death’s cold kiss.  
No dawn to break, no final step to send,  
For in this dance, we find our endless bliss.

As the stars dim and the universe starts to fade,  
We’ll dance on, forever, in this waltz we’ve made.
Maryann I Feb 23
A quiet room, a candle’s glow,
The gentle hush of falling snow.
No grand affair, no fleeting prize,
Just simple joy in softened sighs.

The hum of life, the steady beat,
The whispered winds, the dancing feet.
No rush, no chase, just gentle grace,
A heart at peace in time’s embrace.

A book half-read, a sky so wide,
A love that lingers side by side.
Enough is found in what is near,
In silent joy and quiet cheer.
3. Pure Bliss and Contentment
Maryann I Feb 21
Once, I knew the name I bore,
wrote it bold on every door.
Now, the letters slip like sand,
fading soft beneath my hand.

My laughter echoes, strange and thin,
a song that doesn’t sound like skin.
My dreams grow pale, my voice runs cold,
a story lost, a tale untold.

I am the waves against the stone,
slowly worn and left alone.
A whisper lost, a shadow worn—
a being half, a self outworn.
5. The Loss of Self
Maryann I Sep 2024
Under the silvered light of a thousand moons,
Where shadows stretch like whispered truths,
We begin our dance, a waltz of souls,
Through valleys deep, where time unfolds.

Hand in hand, we cross the plains,
Of joy and sorrow, love's refrain,
Your touch, a breath upon my skin,
A promise made, a life within.

Our footsteps echo through the years,
A cadence soft, dispelling fears,
In every rise, in every fall,
We find our rhythm, we heed love's call.

Through storm and sun, through night and day,
Our hearts beat in a boundless sway,
Each twirl, a memory, rich and pure,
A bond unbroken, strong, secure.

We dance on cliffs where eagles soar,
And down in depths where oceans roar,
The world a stage beneath our feet,
In every moment, life complete.

The seasons change, the years grow old,
Yet in your arms, I never fold,
Through winter's chill or summer's blaze,
In your eyes, I find my gaze.

We spin through realms both dark and bright,
In endless circles, day and night,
And when the stars above us fade,
We'll dance in shadows, unafraid.

For love, my dear, knows no demise,
It only deepens, never dies,
A fire eternal, burning strong,
Through every dusk, through every dawn.

We'll dance on through the silent night,
Through dreams unseen, beyond all sight,
And when the world falls still and quiet,
Our hearts will keep a secret riot.

For in this dance, we find our truth,
An ageless vow, eternal youth,
No end, no start, just endless grace,
In every step, a love embraced.

And when the final curtain falls,
When silence wraps these ancient halls,
We'll dance into the great unknown,
Two shadows in a twilight zone.

Yet even then, beyond the veil,
Our love will rise, it will not pale,
For love, you see, it transcends time,
An endless waltz, a sacred rhyme.

So take my hand, we'll dance once more,
Through every sky, through every shore,
In life, in death, we'll find our way,
In love, forever, we shall stay.
Maryann I Apr 3
Each time you step into view,
it’s like the first time—
a lightning strike of wonder,
a slow-burning sunrise blooming behind my ribs.

Your eyes catch mine, and I swear—
the world resets.

Every glance is an untouched page,
every smile, an unheard melody,
each moment with you, a beginning again and again.

I have memorized the way your voice folds into the air,
how your hands move like poetry in motion,
yet every time—
it’s discovery, it’s breathlessness, it’s new.

Loving you is an echo with no end,
a star collapsing only to be reborn,
a loop where time folds into itself
and delivers me back to that first look,
again, again, and again…
Maryann I Feb 21
If I should vanish, will you know?
Will echoes trace where I have been?
Or will the years, like melting snow,
erase the shape of what was seen?

A name dissolves upon the tongue,
a photograph turns pale with dust.
Once voices sang where silence hums,
once love was more than scattered rust.

The walls forget, the sky moves on,
the earth still spins without my name.
And though I whisper, hold me close,
I fear you’ll never do the same.
8. The Fear of Being Forgotten
Maryann I Feb 21
The clock does not beg for mercy,
it does not weep, it does not wait.
It carves its mark with steady fingers,
seals the doors and locks the gate.

Once, the summers felt unending,
once, my hands were small and free.
Now the wind hums distant warnings,
pulling petals from the tree.

Faces blur like water ripples,
names slip through like autumn air.
All I love will turn to memory,
and time will never learn to care.
6. Inevitable Loss and the Passage of Time
Maryann I Apr 18
The barn hums low like a lullaby,
painted in rust and time,
its roof a resting place
for drowsy pigeons and the last blush of day.

Rows of corn stand like sentinels,
golden-shouldered and swaying,
whispering secrets to the breeze
as it combs through their silken hair.

Cows move slowly through the amber grass,
bells singing soft like wind chimes in sleep,
and chickens scurry with laughter in their wings—
tiny, feathered comets chasing joy.

Above, the clouds drift—cotton-spun dreams
unraveling across an orange-pink sky,
as if the heavens are stretching, yawning,
wrapped in a quilt of light.

The pond is still, cradling reflections
of willow limbs and dragonfly flutters,
its surface kissed by a single feather,
like nature leaving a note behind.

A breeze dances through the wheat—
a golden sigh, a hush of contentment,
while the sun, melting into twilight,
wraps the world in honey and hush.

Here, joy grows like roots in the earth,
quiet, certain, never rushed.
And the heart, like a scarecrow smiling at the sky,
feels full,
feels home.

Maryann I Feb 23
The past dissolves like ocean spray,
Its echoes fade, then drift away.
A canvas bare, so pure, so wide,
With endless colors yet to ride.

A door unlocked, a step begun,
A dawn that wakes beneath the sun.
No fear, no weight, just open air,
A chance to live without a care.

So take the brush, embrace the hue,
The world is fresh, the sky is new.
Each moment calls, each heartbeat sings,
A future bright with endless wings.
8. New Beginnings and Fresh Starts
Maryann I Feb 28
Soft are the sighs of the evening’s embrace,
laced in the hush of a silver-lit breeze.
Waltzing in whispers, the night leaves a trace,
brushing my cheek with a delicate tease.

Gossamer ribbons of moonlight descend,
trailing my footsteps in flickering white.
Coy is the dance as the fireflies blend,
spun in the glow of a star-lover’s light.

Fingers like lace trace the edge of a dream,
velveted laughter afloat on the air.
Oh, how the midnight was made to be seen—
darling and dainty, yet wickedly fair.

Tell me, sweet wanderer lost in my spell,
would you still chase me if I never fell?
Maryann I Mar 2
Drifting like whispers through lavender evenings,
golden light pools where the fireflies glow,
Soft is the hum of the honeyed horizon,
melting like warmth on the skin ever slow.

Fingers trace maps in the hush of the silence,
stories are spun in the hush of your breath,
Laced in the air is the fragrance of clover,
soft as a promise that time won’t forget.

Murmurs like nectar drip sweet on my lips,
tangled in whispers so tenderly spun,
Moonlight dissolves in the amber of longing,
melting in ribbons of love left undone.

Here in the hush where the firelight lingers,
golden and sweet as the touch that we share,
Honeyed embraces dissolve into morning,
warm as your voice in the dawn-silver air.
Maryann I Feb 23
I climbed the hills, I chased the sky,
With weary feet, yet head held high.
Each step a wish, each breath a fight,
Till dreams stood tall in morning light.

No longer whispers, no longer far,
They shine like diamonds where they are.
What once felt lost, just out of view,
Now glows in gold, so bright, so true.

The road was steep, the nights were long,
Yet here I stand, my heart a song.
The sky unfurls, the world is wide,
And all I dreamed now walks beside.
6. Dreams Coming True
Maryann I Mar 4
A flicker of neon, a stairway unwinds,
Echoes dissolve into whispers of time.
Emerald lingers in the hush of the air,
Fading to sapphire, dissolving despair.

Soft are the edges where daylight recedes,
Waves in the distance hum low melodies.
Step after step, the silence hums too,
A world in between—green into blue.

Shadows stretch long in the glow overhead,
Memories linger, though softly they shed.
Something is calling, so distant, yet near,
A color in motion, a feeling unclear.

Follow the fading, let midnight ensue,
Let go of the emerald—fall into blue.
Maryann I Feb 21
I loved you in a way you’ll never know,
a silent tide, a hidden glow.
A candle flickering in the rain,
burning bright despite the pain.

Your name lived softly on my tongue,
a melody I left unsung.
My hands reached out, but not too far,
too scared to grasp a falling star.

And so, I watched, and so, I stayed,
a love unspoken, left to fade.
Not by you, but by the hour
that let me bloom, but not in flower.
4. Unfulfilled Love
Maryann I Feb 23
Through every storm, through every fall,
You’ve been the voice that heard it all.
The late-night talks, the reckless schemes,
The keeper of my wildest dreams.

No need for words, no need for proof,
You are my anchor, firm and smooth.
For friendship lives where hearts align,
A light that never fades with time.

Through years that change and paths unknown,
Through laughter loud and seeds we’ve sown,
Hand in hand, we’ll always be,
A bond unshaken, wild and free.
5. Unbreakable Friendship
Maryann I Apr 4
Haven’t I bled my colors dry,
wrung my bones into brittle dust,
laid my soul on the altar of expectation,
only to be asked for more?

The echoes of my name—
demanding, dragging, devouring—
they carve into my ribs,
turning marrow to aching void,
turning breath to borrowed air.

Do I not shimmer with scars enough?
Do my hands not tremble with the weight of giving?
Must I unspool myself further,
pulling, pulling, pulling
until nothing remains but the ghost of a thread?

Tell me, when does the hunger end?
When does the world swallow the last piece of me
and say, enough?
Maryann I Mar 11
Hello, dear poet,
Come closer now—yes, you, love.
This poem is a cradle,
a soft hum rocking through time,
meant for the child you once were—
the one who clutched wonder with both hands,
who cried quietly behind closed doors,
who dreamt of magic even in the dark.

Shh, it’s okay.
You were always trying your best.
You were never too much, never not enough.
You were a wildflower learning to grow
even in the cracks of concrete.
Your dreams were as big as the sky,
and every fall was just a reason
to rise up stronger, a little more sure
that everything would be okay.

Remember the days
when the world was a puzzle you were eager to solve,
when the corners of your mind were wide open,
and every answer felt just out of reach?
But sweet one,
there was no rush—
time had its own rhythm for you to follow,
and you danced to it
with your tiny, unshakable steps.

When the shadows stretched long and wide,
when fear whispered your name,
and doubt felt like an endless rain—
remember,
it was okay to curl up,
to seek comfort in soft things—
blankets, warm arms,
the lullaby of the wind through the trees,
the quiet hum of someone who loved you.

And now, dear poet,
you’ve grown,
but that child,
the one with the bright eyes and the open heart,
is still with you.
They are the spark behind your every word,
the soft whisper in your chest
that says, ”You’re okay.
You’re safe now.”


Don’t forget them,
the one who believed in stars
and who whispered to the moon when no one was listening.
They are still here,
still breathing,
still dancing in your soul.

So, dear poet,
when the weight of the world feels too heavy,
remember—
you were always held
in ways you never quite understood,
always loved
in ways that made the darkness bearable.

And no matter where you go,
you will never be too far from that safe place—
where everything,
yes, everything,
will be alright.
This poem is a cradle—a soft place for your heart to rest.
It was written for the child you once were, the one who needed gentleness, warmth, and words that felt like home.
Let it hold you the way you always deserved to be held. You are safe now. You are still growing. You are still loved.
Maryann I Nov 2024
The air hums with a broken prayer,
twisted in the folds of a dying hymn.
A voice calls from the depths—
not quite human,
not quite lost.


The ground beneath you pulses,
soft as the heart of a phantom,
thrumming with a rhythm
too wild,
too distant,
to comprehend.


Waves of distortion crash,
a shattered glass ocean,
its pieces cutting the silence
like forgotten screams.
It is chaos,
but it is home.


A flicker of something holy,
something heretical,
clings to the edges of the sound—
like a dream that slips
through the cracks of reason,
where belief fades
and doubt takes root.


You step into the void,
guided by shadows
and fractured prayers.
The world bends and breaks,
but still you move forward,
drawn by the melody
that only you can hear,
and the truth that lies
in the shattered notes.


There is no salvation here,
only the quiet descent
into something new—
where the sacred
and the profane
are one.
Inspired by the song "Heretic" by the artist Oli XL
Maryann I Mar 7
They’ll never notice—
not in a place like this,
where sorrow is stitched into sonnets
and pain rhymes with grace.

They’ll never ask—
not when metaphors mask the weight,
when a sigh in a stanza
is just art, not ache.

They’ll never suspect—
not when every line is dressed in beauty,
when ink drowns the whispers
too quiet to hear.

They’ll never know—
not unless they read between
the spaces where silence lingers,
where the words don’t quite say
what they mean.
.
Maryann I Feb 21
Footsteps echo through empty halls,
a voice left speaking to the walls.
The sun forgets to warm my skin,
the air is thick, the world wears thin.

I reach for hands that don’t exist,
fingertips brush the air in vain.
Laughter drifts from distant streets,
but silence sings my name again.

The night hums low, the moon stands tall,
but I have no one left to call.
My words dissolve, they go unread—
a story told, but never said.
2. Isolation and Loneliness
Maryann I Mar 3
Home is not home.
Home should be safe.
Home should be warm,
a refuge, a haven, a light in the storm.

Home should be love,
gentle hands, soft words,
a place where hearts are heard.

Home should not be fear.
Not shadows creeping down the hall,
not silence heavy, cold, and small.
Not walls that whisper cruel goodnights,
not the sting of words or hands clenched tight.

Home should be safe.
Not a place where pain resides,
where truth is twisted, love divides.
Not where voices crack like whips,
or where exhaustion grips and grips…

Home should be safe.
Home should be bright.
Home should be laughter spilling through the night.
Home should be warmth, should be rest,
should be peace where weary hearts nest.

Home should be safe.
Home should be home.
Maryann I Mar 14
How many ways to love, you ask—
a question no number could hold.
Is it the warmth in a morning glance,
or fingers laced when nights grow cold?

Is it stitched in quiet acts—
the coffee brewed before you wake,
the lullaby in whispered words,
the comfort found when hearts ache?

It’s in the listening without reply,
in laughter blooming from nothing at all,
in standing near through storm and still,
in catching you before you fall.

It’s in the gentle brushing of hair,
the note slipped beneath your door,
the holding on through distance long,
the choosing you, and then once more.

It’s in the growing, side by side,
in space that’s safe, yet ever near,
in letting go of fear to trust,
in every soft “I’m here.”

So how many ways to love, you say?
More than stars that grace the night,
more than raindrops ever kissed
the windowpane with morning light.

Count each heartbeat, each breath we take,
each kindness passed from hand to hand—
and still, you’d only touch the edge
of love’s vast, endless strand.
Maryann I Mar 5
She has lived, she has wandered,
loved and lost, dreamed and fallen.
She is not untouched by time,
nor unshaken by the past.
But if she stands beside you now,
if she looks at you with eyes that see
not just who you are,
but who you are becoming,
what else matters?

She is not perfect—
neither are you.
Together, you may stumble,
may fumble through the dark,
may misunderstand and misstep.
But if she makes you laugh,
if she stirs your thoughts,
if she is unafraid to be real,
to be flawed, to be human—
hold onto her.

She may not think of you
every moment of the day,
but she will give you the one thing
that costs her most to lose—
her heart.
So handle it gently.
Don’t try to change her,
don’t measure her love against expectation,
don’t ask for more than she can give.

Instead—
smile when she brings you joy,
tell her when she makes you ache,
and when she is gone,
miss her.
Maryann I Mar 3
Frost laces the earth —
a quiet diamond veil,
whispers of smoke rise,
spilling through the breath of trees.

Snow, soft as forgotten dreams,
drifts over stones, over roots,
its silence pressing close,
like a hand on the chest of night.

The wind, thin and sharp,
skims the hollow of the hills,
pulling shadows into its folds,
sewing the moon into the bones of the sky.

Bare branches stretch,
clawing toward a distant sun,
their fingers white and brittle,
writing cold prayers in the dark air.

Below, a river sleeps —
its pulse muted,
veiled under ice,
the valley cradles it in a long, slow sigh.

In the pause between seasons,
we linger —
half-light and half-shadow,
breathing the fragile quiet of winter,
waiting for what is to come.
I’ve been trying out different writing styles and I’m still figuring out what I like.
Maryann I Jan 20
Beneath the weight of grief’s relentless tide,
Where shadows linger, and the heart must yield,
A softer voice, a quiet light, abides,
To mend the wounds no time alone can heal.

The earth still turns, though loss has stilled the air,
And every dawn is edged with tender pain.
Yet love remains, a flame beyond compare,
A whispered vow: their light is not in vain.

The winds that sigh through ancient oaks and pines
Carry the echoes of their cherished song,
A melody that threads through fragile minds,
A promise that the soul still journeys on.

In every tear, a memory takes flight,
In every ache, a bond no death can break.
Their laughter dwells within the quiet night,
Their love, a gift the heart will not forsake.

So let the sorrow come, but not despair,
For in the stillness, consolation grows.
The ones we’ve lost are never far, but there,
In every bloom and every breeze that blows.
Maryann I Feb 18
I was carrying a castle Lego set,
Walking into the room with hands full,
But the room was messy,
The floor a trap.
I tripped,
A misstep,
And the castle crashed,
A thousand tiny pieces scattered—
Shattered like the calm before the storm.

Her eyes burned with fury.
And then—
The first blow hit.
A slap to my face.
Her hand, heavy and fast,
Like a thunderclap that split the air.

She grabbed me by my hair,
Fingers tight like claws,
Yanking me down,
Screaming.
Punches to my head,
Fists that felt like bricks.
And when I didn’t fall fast enough,
She slammed my face into the wall.
The concrete cold and unforgiving.

She didn’t stop.
She kicked me.
Stomped on me.
Before she shed the weight,
She weighed two hundred pounds or more—
And her anger had no limits.

She climbed on top of me,
Crushing me beneath her,
Screaming in my ear—
Words that were sharper than the blows.
A blur of rage and hatred,
And I couldn’t breathe.

My father,
He came when he heard the noise,
Dragged her off me,
Locked her away,
But the damage was done,
And my body bore the marks.
Bruises, scratches, teeth imprints,
Pain that carved its memory deep.
But the hate didn’t stop there.

I remember everything.

When I lied about something—
Something I can’t even recall now.
And she made me clean—
The whole house.
From top to bottom.
Exhausted,
I collapsed into the bathroom,
My body aching.

When she found me,
Resting,
She turned the world to fire.
The beating began again—
She screamed,
Threw appliances at me,
Shoved me against the walls.
My head was shoved into the toilet,
Into the sink—
Water and metal,
Cold and suffocating.

She bit my ears,
Screamed so loud,
Everything went muffled.
Her words were poison,
Sharp and biting.
The towels hit me,
Wetted and cruel,
Like whips lashing my skin.

She sprayed cleaning products—
In my face,
On my body,
Tears mixing with chemicals.
And I had no escape.

I remember everything.

I remember what it felt like to be nothing but the target of her rage,
Her disappointment wrapping itself around me like chains.
I remember her words—
Filling the empty spaces in the house,
Breaking me down,
Every scream,
Every hit,
Until all I could do was survive.

But the hardest part—
Was that even after it all,
I still wanted her love.
And I couldn’t escape her shadow,
Even when the bruises healed.
This poem reflects some of the most painful moments of my childhood. It was hard for me to even consider sharing these memories, as they involve abuse and neglect from my mother, who was supposed to be a source of love and safety. The vivid memories of fear, pain, and helplessness are not easy to face, but they are a part of my story. Writing this poem was a way for me to process and confront the trauma that has shaped who I am today.

While it was difficult to express these experiences, I felt it was important to bring them to light, not for pity or sympathy, but to acknowledge my past and the strength it took to survive. In sharing this, I hope to connect with others who may have faced similar struggles, to remind them that they are not alone, and that their pain is valid. This poem is both a confession and a form of reclaiming my voice.

Now, I do have another confessional poem that I would like to upload, but I am worried about how some may feel towards it. I'm a bit nervous because it's longer and goes even further into what I've experienced with my mother and how she's treated me and my siblings. It's a painful topic, but I believe that it's important to get these feelings out and to let others see how deep the relationship is that I have with her.
Maryann I Mar 2
The echoes hum of paths not taken,
soft as sighs the wind has spun,
whispers trace the dreams forsaken,
things undone, the race unrun.

A fleeting glance, a step unsteady,
a hand not held, a word unsaid,
a love that lingered, never ready,
a spark that burned but quickly fled.

The door half-open, never entered,
the letter lost upon the tide,
a name once spoken, now surrendered,
to silence deep and time denied.

Regret, a shadow, lingers lowly,
mourning what we failed to claim,
yet life moves on, though sad and slowly,
softly sighing just the same.
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