#rediscovery
Winter lingers
across the open land,
scattering bright flashes
that pretend to be beginnings
storms dressed as invitations,
ice disguised as urgency.
Not every spark is sunrise.
Not every sudden wind
is a path.
Some novelties belong
to cold weather
swift, consuming,
gone before the breath returns.
But the earth studies
even its harshest seasons.
And beneath the deepest frost,
a steadier knowledge gathers
the kind that moves
without rushing,
changes without shattering,
remembers without burning.
Then comes the shift:
the slow pulse of thaw,
the soft insistence of longer light,
the quiet newness
that doesn’t arrive with fanfare
but with rhythm.
This newness doesn’t demand speed.
It collects warmth.
It gathers small energies
the way rivers gather meltwater
steady, patient,
following the shape of the land
instead of fighting it.
And in that rhythm
a lesson forms:
that not all beginnings
must blaze,
that discovery can move
at the pace of unfolding,
that momentum grows truest
when it flows instead of erupts.
Some newness
erupts like lightning
short, bright, empty.
But the lasting kind
moves like spring:
quiet steps of light,
steady breath of color,
carrying forward
what it touches
without consuming
anything in its path.
And that rhythm,
soft as returning soil,
is enough.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 4:25 PM UTC
It’s been so long since words melted from my finger tips,
I’d forgotten the passion of words as I became worn,
worn down by a passionless love,
profoundly I’m willing to grow again,
and remember my soul once (again),
how could I have forgotten what it meant to write?
foolish me thinking love could merit,
and turn me away from such a miserable fate,
I am finding happiness and reminding myself to breathe,
fresh air is starting to fill my lungs,
oh how winter approaches but spring still lives in me,
welding my life back together,
I’m finally remembering (me),
someone I plan on never forgetting evermore..
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
**Content Warning: **
contains themes of emotional abuse, trauma, gaslighting, and healing from toxic relationships.
________________________________________________________
There was a time I called it love—
that swing between cruelty and kisses.
One moment, silence like a storm held in the throat,
the next, a necklace left on my pillow,
an apology wrapped in gold.
I learned to flinch at both.
They pulled the pendulum
with hands that always smiled.
I lived at the center of its swing,
never falling, never flying,
just suspended—
believing pain must be earned
and kindness, a prize for obedience.
Love came in riddles.
It said: “You’re too much,”
then whispered, “Don’t leave me.”
It said: “No one else would want you,”
then bought roses by the dozen.
It told me I was broken,
then demanded I stay whole.
I shrank to fit their moods.
Measured my worth in how still I could stay,
how quiet I could be.
There were days I swallowed my voice
like it was poison
and thanked them for the silence.
I learned the language of gaslight—
how to doubt the bruise even as it bloomed,
how to question my own reflection.
Was I too sensitive? Too cold?
Too easy to anger?
I asked myself so often
that even the mirror hesitated to answer.
They called it love.
And I, desperate not to be alone,
called it survival.
I stayed.
And in staying, I disappeared—
faded… slowly,
like a photograph left in the sun.
When I cried, I apologized.
When I laughed, I waited for it to be taken back.
That’s what trauma teaches—
how to build walls so high
you forget which side you’re on.
And then,
you arrived.
Not like a savior—
but like a quiet thing.
A question, not a cure.
You didn’t ask for my ruins.
You brought no blueprints.
You simply climbed.
You climbed the walls
with patience and small kindnesses,
spoke gently to the ghosts I had mistaken for myself.
You didn’t rescue me.
You reminded me I was never the fire.
Only the one who walked through it.
You never promised healing.
You never called me beautiful
when I was unraveling.
You simply sat with me
in the rooms I had locked from the inside.
And somehow,
without ever asking me to trust—
I did.
Not all at once.
But enough to believe
that love doesn’t have to ache.
That it can be a steady hand
and a soft place to land.
I still remember the pendulum.
But I do not live inside its arc.
Now, I walk.
And someone walks beside me.
I no longer flinch when the door shuts.
No longer shrink to be held.
I have learned the sound of my own name
spoken without sharpness.
I have learned silence can be soft—
not punishment,
but peace.
There are days I still brace for the swing.
Old ghosts don’t disappear,
they just stop steering.
But now I meet them with open hands,
not fear.
I say: I see you. I survived you.
And they leave a little quicker each time.
Some nights I still wake
waiting for love to hurt.
But then I turn
and find it sleeping next to me—
unchanged, unthreatening.
Not a weapon.
Not a promise.
Just a presence.
And I,
who once mistook survival for love,
have begun to choose differently.
I write my own rules now.
I raise my voice,
not to defend—
but to declare.
I am not the bruises I forgot how to name.
I am not the silence I once begged for.
I am not theirs.
I am the story after the fire.
The garden that grew in the ash.
The voice that returned, hoarse but certain.
I am not healed.
I am healing.
And that is enough.
Aug 26, 2025
Aug 26, 2025 at 10:36 PM UTC
I liked connecting the dots when I was younger—
drawing a line from dot to dot to make the picture.
My tongue between my teeth, with concentration traced on my face
as I connected the dots to make the picture.
I still like connecting the dots.
But now, I’m trying to make the picture of who I am now—
why I am the way I am now.
Connecting the dots to find out what happened
to the old me—the hopeful me, the happy me.
Connecting the dots to find the events that led up
to this different person I’ve become,
connecting the dots to make the picture of me now, inside and out.
I’ve connected the dots.
There is no picture—just a jumble of lines
leading in no clear direction, passing over each other, and lines cut off, just one massive knot of confusion.
So, with my tongue between my teeth
and concentration traced on my face,
I’m trying to make a new picture.
No dots, no lines—just me,
making the best new me I can.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 10:53 AM UTC
I've been staying up at night,
Burning the midnight oil.
Thinking about our fights and something didn't feel right...
I don't deserve you...
I do not deserve you in the ways that you treat me.
I know that I was wrong,
and you always played along.
Even when I had hurt you, you still loved me,
we looked like fools.
I don't deserve you...
I do not deserve you in the ways that you treat me.
Aug 21, 2020
Aug 21, 2020 at 4:31 PM UTC
You want perfection
While I hold your baggage
But can you hold mine
For just a second
Oh wait you can't
I see
Also do you want to
Remain blameless while
I hold all the stakes
Well that's fine too
Let me spoil you
Even with you
Sitting on my back
That's that true real love
I doubt there
Ever be a tipping point
As I carefully hold it in
With no spaces
To vent
As I smile
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 6:11 AM UTC
It seemed so much had been lost.
So much had slipped through
A grasping hand,
A yearning heart,
A desperate mind
As mine.
The dull march of days present
Was shadowed by the
Gloom of regrets and
Shrieked by a shrill wind at lonely,
Bitter hours.
What was mine? What was ours?
Gone for good and all?
My love, it seemed, was only
Ever a dark dream.
In my swelling and stinging agony,
Love was
As a locked door
And my heart was a bloodied fist
Beating against it.
A wraith-like specter of doubt clung to me
With oppressive raiment,
Scrapping over exposed skin
Like course, mortifying fabric.
Then, from out of a pristine past,
A voice
Called out to me.
The herald of an angel
Rung clear and glad as winter bells,
Celebrant!
The dark narcissus of mortality was
Driven off!
The burial cloak was split;
The stone was rolled back!
A hope newly found
Surrounds and soars above me,
As a deep, azure ribbon of
Stretching, unending sky!
I am imbued with cheering thoughts
Of our days gone by!
Glories recalled in a moment relived;
Revelries and song lifted with voices
And hearts, stout and full!
Together,
With my beautiful Eurydician queen;
Returned, she was,
From an underworld of time.
We coax and stir
The memories of first passions,
Innocent, powerful and pure.
We are now bending
The arc of our history,
Rending the precious pearl of affection
From the murky domain of
A love denied.
Renewed and viewed through
Prismic fractures of sadness
And through the sharp focus
Of blue eyes, in rapt recognition,
Surprised!
Today is reborn,
Lived again and again,
With each pulse of the clock,
Each beat of my heart.
The blood within
Is purged of that familiar poison.
All is potent and refreshed:
You, your face, your voice, your touch, your scent,
Your vibration pours to and through me, once again!
Oh, true friend,
Tender lover,
Gently knocking at my door.
You return from distant lands
Remote and misty,
Bringing light and love
To my lonely shore.
I approach from my realm,
Far removed.
Age and ages have chiseled
The shape of my soul.
In part, it is smoothed;
Refined with wisdom, empathy, and clarity.
Also, though,
It is,
In part,
Broken, jagged, and cracked,
As the forgotten sculptures
Of ancient empires,
Renowned
And doomed.
Yet I realize, all at once,
That I am not forgotten.
I am not doomed
To shadow.
I breathe,
I seek,
I still have hope and
Words to tell!
And I still have my love for you!
My life is now freed from that
Sad spell.
This breath,
This stony soul
(Sculpted by the Artist of Pain)
And this trammeled heart
Trembles in desire of
Your beauty,
Your touch and
Your presence --
Your calming presence,
Bringing levity,
Reassurance
And familiar stories of
Hopeful remembrance.
From love recalled,
Comes your unexpected
Embrace and
Sweet sign of friendship.
That time of distress has come and
Gone and we turn to discover that
Our tender connection remains,
True and undefeated!
It rises with the earliest song
Of still sleepy birds,
Lilting on the cool air of the morn.
This uplifting emotion
Again flows within me,
As an angel granting absolution,
Touching me in a place
As deep as first love.
Welcome!
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
Mourning and its endless blue,
ends in a journey that
makes us value and love again;
mornings in endless blue.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
Baby, I miss your smiles,
I love my laughter even more.
Baby, I miss your voice,
I enjoy my silence even more.
Baby, I miss your eyes,
I nourish my health even more.
Baby, I miss your heart,
I listen to my heartbeats even more.
Baby, I miss losing myself in you,
But yes, I have found myself again.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
*I cannot describe that day
When mine was poem of the day
I was thrilled till dusk from dawn
That day a poet was reborn*
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
I sat in my room, like I'd done every day of my life
I looked up at the ceiling, the room hot, the moon streaming through the window
and I thought , all by myself, no voices to interrupt,
What does happiness feel like?
I've been shut out from the world, alone, sad, in darkness for far to long
to even remember what true happiness is.
For years, I've yearned for perfection, nothing but perfect was good enough, but I've learned; slowly, eventually, that perfect isn't real. Nothing can be truly perfect, and perfection doesn't yield happiness.
So I thought what does?
Criticizing myself isn't the answer
wishing I could disappear isn't the answer
the voices aren't the answer
I also realized the voices can be wrong
no, the voices are wrong
So with this revelation, a journey lies ahead.
A long, tedious, and possibly the hardest journey I will ever take.
Certainly not the last.
I need to rediscover myself.
Reinvent myself
figure out who I am, so that I can learn to love myself.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC