They told us tears were trouble,
a crack in the mask,
a plea for attention,
a sign we weren’t strong enough—
so we swallowed storms whole,
let the thunder shake inside our chests,
never daring to let it pour.

They taught girls that crying was dramatic,
a script rewritten to seem small,
a fault in the fabric of being “too much.”
They told boys it made them weak,
that strength was silence,
that pain should be caged behind quiet eyes.

But tears are not weakness.
They are rivers that carry the weight,
a language of the soul
when words fail to hold what aches.
They do not make you less,
only more—
more human, more real, more free.

So cry if you need to.
Let it fall like rain on thirsty ground,
and know—
I will never see you any differently.

The sweetest of confections
The dearest of affections
Sweet nothings to the ear
A  symphony you will never hear
Spindly drawings on the wrists
A horrid mural with a twist
Shattered wings that cannot fly
Turn around and say goodbye
Close your eyes and wish for love
From a supposed deity up above
Hope for tomorrow
Live for today
There is still so much left to say
Soft melodies in the harsh, humid air
But no one listens or seems to care
Take a breath and rest your head
Fall to the ground, an earthy bed
Taste the comfort and feel the warmth
Hear the music and go forth
Learn your lesson, seize the day
Forge The path
Pave the way.

I often find this desire to rinse my lungs
under the tap and wash out all this debris
comes from that same feeling
of sitting on this carpet floor
and staring out into the open fields
thinking just how remarkably vast these voids are,
resembling the oceans
I would cross if it meant you would understand
how much I believe in everything you can do
against all the sand and dust
through these voids with cleared lungs
I'd come back with boats carrying
little ways to tell you about all the things
I believe you'll get through

Look back and see
just how remarkably vast
are these oceans you have crossed

Not a beat is skipped
Or a doubt held within
These hearts are open
Our words are true
We hold no worries
Because we have each other
We fret at nothing
Because we know we will get through

My bones are young. They know this land. They were created, formed, and tendered in this land, but my blood. She is ancient. My blood speaks of my ancestors. She cries out from injustice. From pain and suffering. Her strength is unmeasured. My blood demands justice. Her power building, supported by my mothers and my grandmothers. We will not let you destroy us.

men of endurance
will often take the back seat -
they’re driven by poise.

I make them smile,
not for ease,
nor for the brief bloom of laughter—
but because the world is a weight,
and lightness must be carved
by hands willing to bear the chisel.

I have seen sorrow move like a tide,
dragging its wreckage ashore,
leaving eyes hollow, shoulders bent,
hearts shaped like doors
that open to emptiness.

I have watched the weary—
not dying, but unlit,
not grieving, but undone—
souls curled inward like autumn leaves
that never learned the grace of falling.

So I place joy like a candle
in the cavern of the ribcage,
let it flicker against damp walls of doubt,
let it whisper—however briefly—
that there is still warmth, still wonder,
still a reason to lift the chin
toward the sky and call it home.

A smile is not salvation,
but it is rebellion—
against the hush of despair,
against time’s indifference,
against the notion
that we are meant to suffer in silence.

Let them call me foolish—
say laughter is fleeting,
that joy is a trick of the light.
I will still shape it, scatter it,
send it forth like a dandelion seed
that does not care
where the wind takes it—
only that it was given,
only that it was free.