Happy Mother’s Day to all the incredible women who rise before the sun, not for praise or recognition, but because they know no one else will. This is for the mothers whose names echo only in the quietest rooms, whispered by children too young to understand the weight you carry. This is for the ones who pack lunches, hold jobs, juggle chaos, and wipe away their child’s tears while quietly fighting back their own. Who save their crying for the dark, stretch their last dollar so their children won’t go without, and wear the same coat so their kids can stay warm. To the mothers whose “thank you” comes far too late, if it comes at all. The ones called “nagging” before they’re ever called “wise.” The ones who feel invisible, yet never fail to show up. You love fiercely in silence, showing up again and again, even after heartbreak, exhaustion, or doubt. Today is your day. You are not unseen. You are not forgotten. You are the reason so many of us are still standing, still fighting, still hoping. And today, the world owes you its loudest and most heartfelt thank you.

So far as I see things today,
You cannot have a policy
Centered on ambiguity
And expect people
To take you at your word!
Even take you as being serious!

Seriously, you guys! Seriously!
There's a monster on the way!
To borrow from an absurdist, comedic series.

Yet, the point was lost anyways!

I’m not sure why I feel bad,
but I do.
A shy human,
I fear that my silence will speak louder
than my heart ever could.

I’m not ignoring those who liked,
loved, commented, reposted—
I see you, I do,
but my shyness keeps me
from finding the right words.

I should thank them,
but I’m stuck,
swallowed by my own reluctance.

I’ve been here before,
hesitant to share what’s not perfect,
scared it won’t fit the mold,
so I keep it hidden,
a secret between me and the page.

It’s easier to just press ‘like’,
to let my words stay trapped behind the screen,
than to find the right ones
that feel big enough to match their kindness.

I could message them, privately,
but that feels worse,
more intimate in its awkwardness,
and I’d only wish I could say it better
where they all could see.

So here I am,
apologizing in silence,
for all the gratitude
that never quite makes it out.

It’s funny
The way I
Stop breathing

When I see
You. Your face
Beautiful

Not even
A gasp can
Escape me

Must I tell you about her locs,
That dance with the rhythm of her hips,
Watching their twist, and turn – a testament
To the tangled thoughts in every strand, a reflection
Of the tender care she donates upon her hair.

And would I love to keep a lock, and key
To her locs, being a LONG story in itself—
Free, vibrant, and unapologetically bold
The sunlight catches the rich hues of her hair;
Tales of her heritage, struggles, and her triumphs.

I swear, I promise; I must say...
Her locs are the echoes of the laughter
And tears that have shaped her journey.

Would you let the wind pass through you from behind – you blew
out your back! Chasing after your body that looks so instrumental;
it plays that performance in my mind, of what we could do later– and
I guess for us, that’s instrumental. As my skin are these labours; on
the peak of the twelve days I had displayed all my love for you. I was
your Hercules! Falling into your silver shinning eyes, that weighs the
atomic number of love – darling, around you I feel closest to the sun –
I was your Mercury.

There were those murky waters; of questioning when it was best to
tell you I had fallen in love – I didn't want to seem too deep at the
very start; but even in the shallowest of conversations, the depth
of their length, was close enough to make me drown.

But would we both know the taste of love, the more we speak of it,
running the word off our tongues, escaping out of our mouth? I may
mouth you sometimes when you get on my nerves – I say some
things in vain, hoping to give those words their success. But even in
the pain of it all, you still remain the breath under my veins. Without
you, this version of me wouldn’t be the same.

“hey, let’s just try to start it all again”

I know we push each other's button, but together in love, we can
instead, push this reset button.

I shall not come this way again,
I cannot hope to travel on the time I borrow
so I shall seize the chances given me today
and cast away the worries of tomorrow

In between the lines
There's the hint at some opinion
And not just pictures you hang crooked
On flimsy nails you drive.
I'd rather keep the vocabulary
Short & simple,
If there's more from it
Who might be reached
Or that might be derived.

I know you think you're something
Just as much as I,
I know I think you're something
Just as much as I.

If you can't see, you can have mine;
I've already given up on one eye.
If you can't sense it,
I can go on deprived.
To me it makes no difference,
I'm only trying to help.
Come what may, I'll survive.