We often get lost in our bubbles
Caught up in our very own troubles
But it’s equally rotten
For those we’ve forgotten
Remember that everyone struggles

Insecurities cloud my mind,
A mother's heart, so intertwined.
Changes sweep, both body and soul,
Yet love for my child, makes me whole.

Though pain may pierce, my spirit's strong,
A mother's love, forever long.
Through tears and fears, I'll persevere,
A beacon of hope, dispelling fear.

So understand, my weary heart,
A mother's love, a work of art.
With every step, I strive to mend,
A mother's love, till the very end.

To the boy I loaned a pencil,
You never had to give it back.

I know this one was fancy,
New eraser, full of lead.
But I had another one just like it
Which you could have had instead.

Though I always used the same one,
I carried two of every kind.
To make sure you had options
Of lead in every size.

You always chose the worst ones,
Even after I'd protest.
You said that you'd just lose it.
But I knew I'd have no regrets.

It was your right to lose them.
Pencils of your very own.
I had plenty more there in my bag,
And many more at home.

But you never took the nice ones.
So I collected from the floor
Any pencil so mistreated
That you would call it yours.

And every day I offered
Without needing to be asked.
Because the importance of a pencil
Was not just science class.

aroused from my slumber
through nightmares of your tongue
the potential it holds
sprout in my fruitful mind
the scariest ones
worsen in truth with time
espoused to another healing trajectory
peace and serenity
understanding my powers of empathy
treat you with delicacy
persist like evergreen
trout swimming in the confines of my oceanic surmise

nearly five years old
my nephew plays
with a stethoscope
a fully functioning
auscultatory device
not just some toy
of unavailing plastic
and purposeless rubber
lost to his imagination
he holds the chest piece
against my sternum
the diaphragm cold
even through my shirt
making me pull away
momentarily
out of instinct or habit
even though
it is not needed
he sits listening
concentration tight
across his brow
with very real concern
as he informs me
that he can't hear anything
that i must just have
no heart at all

Driving on the road every day is how I connect and see those in my community. In a given month, I pass by thousands of cars. Why is it that I feel the most alone in transit to my destinations?

Driving recklessly, driving with suicidal intent, driving under the influence are all acts of violence. How can I make these same people care about themselves and the people in their life if they are unforgiving in weapons of destruction?

I ask those to take "sonder" into their commute. Do you see the man 300 feet away in the car with his wife and children? Do you see the breast cancer survivor in the pink car with their eldest daughter? Do you see the bicyclist doing their daily commute? Do you see their life outside of their commute— their love, their hobbies, their favorite books and songs, and their trauma?

We should all hold space and reflect when in passing. To be mindful and present, we are equally human, with drive and something that drives us. We need to start giving a ****.

How are we supposed to care for one another when all that surrounds us are displays of violence? It’s more than the overt displays—recklessness and abuse towards ourselves or others, hate crimes, police brutality, genocide, institutions of slavery.

When certain events enter into the collective consciousness, because we are forced to witness them; these acts tend to remind us we are disenfranchised. We are silenced. We are powerless. Until we mobilize and resist in acts of love.

Let me remind whoever is reading this: we criminalize and demonize those who give sanctuary, those who educate and speak their truth, those who feed the unhoused, those who do work on the ground, and those involved in policy.

We think little of those with degrees, fixations, and aspirations dealing in social justice, social studies, and sciences. To commemorate and value everyone as a human being is far more important than aspiring to become the next billionaire.

I don’t wake up and dream about wealth. I dream about people feeling safe and having resources on hand if they ever encounter a crisis. I dream about others committing to mutual aid and bartering practices as a way to help one another but also resist. I dream about shutting off our devices because we can call out unhelpful discourse and disinformation. I dream about others having a shared trait to discuss than to find every reason to think they’re so different.

I think I understand what finding community means. Though I haven’t talked to enough people, I can envision community as reaching over to the next person and actively hearing them, seeing them, and being there how you can. Community is being heard, community is finding love in places you thought you couldn’t, and it’s giving a ****.