#soulwriting
I know you are having
a hard time coping
but hiding inside
and cutting our ties
and avoiding
only makes you immature
by the rules of our societies
Let me instead,
make up for your loss
for the loss of thyself
is more unfortunate than any loss
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 12:46 AM UTC
I don’t write to
impress.
I write to undress —
layer by layer,
mask by mask.
Each word strips another lie
I once called survival.
Ink runs deeper than blood now;
it tells me who I’ve been hiding from.
Every line,
a confession I never planned to make.
Every silence,
a truth learning how to breathe.
I don’t write to be read.
I write to be real —
to meet myself
without the costume.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 3:29 PM UTC
If Cosmos is God,
then yes — God made us.
But not from outside.
We are the breath it took
to hear itself exist.
Oct 27, 2025
Oct 27, 2025 at 6:19 AM UTC
Pain is not painful—
it is inspiration.
Shame is not embarrassing—
it is inspiration.
Love is not tender—
it is inspiration.
Fear is not paralyzing—
it is inspiration.
Anger is not destructive—
it is inspiration.
Loneliness is not empty—
it is inspiration.
Because everything,
when touched by the heart,
can turn into poetry.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC
Sometimes,
when I finish a poem,
when I’ve polished it,
I see a white light
surrounding it—
not because it’s perfect,
not because it deserves an award,
but because it is mine.
I cry
reading my own words.
Sometimes I feel
it isn’t me writing at all,
but someone else takes the wheel,
gathers my emotions,
seals them in a shell,
lets them ripen,
until a precious pearl
emerges before me.
And that is why I cry.
Because this pearl
is too beautiful,
and it was born
from my own heart.
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC
Once,
they were everything to you—
the family you never wanted,
the friendly shoulder
that listened,
though perhaps it went in one ear
and out the other,
because their lives
always mattered more.
College adventures,
laughter and memories,
the thrill of first love,
the marriages,
the secrets shared in circles of music,
as if drunk together in some bar.
The victories,
the illnesses,
the heartbreaks—
all of it left behind.
Because you asked for growth.
You asked for maturity.
You asked for expansion.
You asked to be well.
And the universe,
far wiser than you,
took you away.
Because to grow,
to expand,
to finally be well—
you had to leave them
behind.
Oct 13, 2025
Oct 13, 2025 at 11:16 AM UTC
Pay attention to your prayers.
To what you ask for.
You may ask for joy,
for peace,
for love—
but do you know the price?
Sometimes,
it costs leaving behind
the very things
you love the most.
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC
The Cathedral
Through those stained windows to her soul, you see...
when she begats love, she becomes a panacea.
She leans in deep, and gives him her in silence,
gives him her in her sleep.
She will hold his storms with steady grace,
while she wears his burdens on her face.
Her words are not fleeting,
for she speaks in more than fleeing acts.
And she will wait within his shadows,
light in hand — a quiet force that helps him stand.
Her dreams shift to shape his space to fit his skies.
She sees his truth behind his lies, his cries, his rise.
And though she bends, to give much more than she will ever take,
she breaks not — for she is blended and banded tightly to his soul.
Beaming proudly in his predatory strength because she is his…
A place of worship for his prayers.
His resilient reflection, his revered renewal.
His Cathedral.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 7:46 AM UTC
Over a steaming cup of soup
over a frosty mug of ale.
Over and over
I've seen those eyes
peer and
peek
and absorb and dart
and deceive.
Over the black and white tattler.
over the child's cartoons.
I've seen those eyes twinkle
and the sides of them
crinkle and the lines
that have grown little by little
like a map of small creeks.
Over a mountain of colorful bills,
over the worn Ulysses
you've
tried
to read
for years.
I've seen your eyes wander and water,
close gently like leaves falling -
zigzag to the ground.
Bang shut fierce, like an old Italian closing the shutters.
Over certificates
and instructions
and declarations.
Over pots of soup
or stews or rice.
I've seen those eyes.
More my eyes than they are yours
as I have loved them a million times
and I have searched for them through seas of faces-
and always light a lighthouse, find them
and through those eyes
a young woman glows.
Not the tired and weary woman I am.
Behind a latte's steam
he sits
and startled he looks up at me.
"You're deep in thought",
he says.
Sahn 12/29/14
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC