I was never taught to write a love poem

From a young age I learned how to grieve
I learned how to keep myself on my feet
I learned how to wallow on perilous ground
I learned to stand up when I fell down

I was taught to smile to keep hatred away
I was taught to keep my emotions at bay
I was taught to do everything on my own
I learned to love being alone

I learned to build barriers all around
But I was never taught how to break them down
I learned that if a crush seemed to stay
I needed to to push my feelings away

I never learned to love or to give anything to you
Now I don't even know how to break through

This was for my love but I'll never show him
These strands of sorrow meant to be a love poem

I am confident because I am a woman,
Not a reflection of someone else’s desires,
Not an object to be shaped by their whims,
But a vibrant force, grounded and inspired.
They think they own my beauty,
As if it’s theirs to claim and consume.
But I’m the storm that shakes their ground,
A force of nature, bold and unbound.
Each scar I bear tells of my fight,
A testament to strength and might.
I rise like fire, daring and bold,
Defying limits they’ve tried to mold.
I honor the woman in my own mirror,
Her spirit unbroken, her vision clear.
If my independence stirs their unease,
Let my truth rise like a tempest, swift as the breeze.
I refuse to fit into their narrow confines,
Living authentically, where my spirit shines.
As free as the winds that weave through the trees,
With aspirations that soar beyond their pleas.
When their illusions begin to crumble and fall,
They lash out like shadows, but I stand tall.
Their approval was never my measure of worth;
I’ll reflect on this journey with pride and mirth.
Finding strength in each “no” that I dared to speak,
In every chain I shattered, in every dream I seek.
My path is my own, uniquely defined;
I am here—embracing the fire in my mind.
With courage as my compass and hope as my guide,
I’ll honor my story, with nothing to hide.

She peeled her oranges today,
actually for years,
but this isn’t about oranges.

She holds things together,
piece by piece, peel by peel,
grown used to her hands
and the strength they reveal,
but this isn’t about oranges.

It feels strange when another
reaches out, offers to peel,
to see past the layers,
the parts that are real,
but this isn’t about oranges.

She learns self-reliance,
but maybe it’s true,
that letting someone help
doesn’t make her less, but new,
and again, this isn’t about oranges.

So here’s to the balance,
to peeling her own,
yet knowing it’s okay
not to do it alone.

Because, in the end,
this isn’t just about oranges.

You wanted a woman, full of love’s embrace,
Unscarred by doubt, in a gentle space.
But not one wiser, shaped by her fight,
Learning from truths that emerge in the night.

You sought a woman with eyes that could shine,
Yet never imagined they’d see through your lies.
Not just a listener to every word spun,
But one who speaks boldly, knowing she’s won.

You demanded a woman, strong and refined,
But not one to build a life intertwined.
Just a rare jewel to keep on display,
Reaping the labor you forced her to pay.

Yet here she stands, like a fire untamed,
Refusing to dim or be easily claimed.
Her spirit forged by moments unkind,
Each scar a story, each story aligned.

She no longer waits for approval or praise,
No longer trapped in your self-serving maze.
Step by step, she has found her own path,
Unafraid of her power, unscathed by your wrath.

Accepting no less than the respect she deserves,
The kind you give freely, but she now reserves.
She now sees the heights she’s destined to reach,
Aware that your ego can’t bear her to breach.

Her self-assurance glows like the sun’s warm rays,
Marking the end of your manipulation days.
And perhaps that’s why—deep down, we both know—
You never took the time to see her grow.

You ignored her strength, overlooked her pain,
Blind to her progress, immune to her gain.
But now, as she rises, unyielding and true,
She steps from your shadow into a sky wide and blue.

How far she has traveled, how much she has won,
No longer tethered; she’s embraced who she’s become.

Cross upon cross upon cross
were stacked to make the Union Jack
but with one saltire feeling salty
will Andy make Jack fade to black?

Hey, little frog
on your pad in a pond
surveying your kingdom green
You don’t have a golden ball,
no princess came to call
and these lily pads are all you’ve seen
You’re just fine in your domain
and have no reason to complain
with your fine banquet of flies that teem
So you sit strong and alone
on your very own green throne —
just now swims up a queen