And one night, at two a.m.,
your daughter will grab your face
and say,
"I love you, Mom."
And even though she’s been up for hours,
and your room’s a mess,
and you’re behind on laundry,
and you haven’t had a moment to yourself,
and you’re riddled with anxiety over things that feel unfixable,
and she looks so much like her dad-
all the suffering and pain will melt away for a second,
and you can just be here, in this moment.

There’s an outfit for each kind of day,
one for work, and one to play.
One for silence, one for charm —
I dress to keep their peace from harm.

I match their tone, their pace, their cue,
become the me they’re walking through.
A shifting shape, a face that fits —
but never quite the one that sits.

I dress in layers not for style,
but just to wear a safer smile.
A thousand looks, a thousand designs —
but none align with what’s in mine.

And every mirror looked back at me
But none of them knew who to be
I learned to read the room so well,
I lost the voice I used to tell.

But fabric wears, and so did I,
the cost of always living shy.
I’ve worn their sizes, played their part —
let fashion hide a restless heart.
But now I pull the stitching tight —
and walk in clothes that finally fit right.

All i see
Uncovering in front of me
Tearing at the seam
Colors colliding
All around
Feel the sound
Frequency released

Turn around
Its you,
Staring into
The mirror reflecting
Hi, hello.
Finally facing she.
klarity
the ones that sees beneath

shadows, coming to rise
Inner child, always resides
within the frame,
& she hides,she silently cries
she hates the way she thinks
I feel her pain, i want to comfort her
Must keep her safe.

Yet, her patience grows thin
I can't keep playing pretend.
can only run from myself
For so long
Until there's no more distractions
to save me from my own self.
Sure,
Try to put the reflection on the shelf.
Did the old you fade away?
Or are you just lying to yourself
Rejecting & silencing the parts of you
that still need help.
---
Keep running
Keep wishing
Keep waiting
The clock
Still ticking
Keep dancing
Until your sweet ever afters
you must see your shadows,
And not run astray
Time to integrate.
A healthy array
Of truth and acceptance

Instead of judging
Seek to understand
Is what i always say,
How about i apply it to
The one who's typing this
The who cant sleep
The one who feels the emptiness
And the bliss
Yet feeling irate.
Shes a paradox wrapped in skin
She loves herself yet she hates
& she's trapped in her brain.

What causes her to act in ways.
That she will probably rregret
Tomorrows yetserday..

How hard it is to heal a broken heart.
Everything seems so dark,
And it seems like the stars even lost their spark.
Loneliness just pulled me apart.
It even killed the dreams I have in my heart.
Now I see the light because I learned to write,
Giving the silent healing I need to free the sadness I was hiding inside.

I am good at being alone.
The dishes get done
when I feel like doing them.
Silence hangs like a painting
I chose myself.
The hours bend gently around me,
and I call it peace.

I laugh out loud
at my own jokes,
call it self-love,
call it growth.
The plants don’t mind
if I forget to water them,
and neither do I.
This is thriving, I tell myself.

Then I spend three days
with people I love.
Not performing.
Not planning.
Just existing
side by side-
a meal shared
without occasion,
laughter that erupts
without needing a reason.

I remember something
older than language:
that warmth isn’t just a temperature.
That joy has a different flavour
when someone else tastes it too.
I remember that solitude
was never meant to be
a permanent home-
only a resting place.

There is a part of me
that longs for gardens
we plant together,
for walls we build
with laughter baked in.
For shoes at the door
that aren’t all mine.

Maybe the soul remembers
what modern life unlearned-
that we were made
to brush shoulders
to pass bread
to belong.

And maybe
what I called thriving
was just surviving
with the lights on.

Hello,
My name is Steph
And I am a domestic violence survivor.

I remember telling a Social Worker
That I was just collecting evidence
For my own ****** trial.

There were too many days
Where I truly expected
To die.

Once upon a time,
Common things like white trucks
And orange safety gear
And every single noise
Sent a shiver of panic
Down my spine.

Now I think about it less,
More like when a student
Tells me about her situation
And that she feels trapped,
Just like I did.

I guess this is what we call
Healing.