#stepmom
Fluttering in~
Light and gentle,
like a spring breeze;
*Thats ornamental
With a power-
To encourage growth,
With uplifting warmth
For Flora and Fauna;
Which fades away
winter's harshness.
Soft restoring force;
Giving new strength
That awakens life,
Like blooming flowers
In the changing winds.
Soft in heart,
Strong in mind;
Is its vitality!
Accompanied rain;
Dampens days,
That fortifies
Summer time,
*Such as the love
Of a step-parent
For their inherited child.
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 10:10 PM UTC
When she slammed the door in my face
It felt like the end
Shut out of my own place
she used to call herself my “best friend”
But I guess she is just a plotter,
My step mother
Just a woman married to my father
Who gave me a step-brother
I can never measure up to
What they expect
I’m never enough for them
I will never be perfect
No,
Not in their eyes
I’ve lost my glow
Now, all I do is cry
I dont know what i did
I can’t fix it
But, an apology i will not give
So I will just sit
Or stand
Hoping maybe one day
My father will come take my hand
And lead me out of this disarray
But I doubt so
His mind is not his own
But now i think i know, now
He wants me to leave him alone.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 11:06 AM UTC
A bond,
unbroken.
stretched and
tugged
but, intact.
it started to
unravel,
being tugged
too hard,
until
it
snaps
two halves
once
a whole why
did you let
her
do that
to us?
i don’t
understand
Why dad?
Why?
you love her
more than
me..
thats not
supposed
to happen
what did
i do?
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 2:05 PM UTC
Oh, don’t worry
I didn’t die.
What a relief, right?
Because that would’ve been
”a tragic mess to explain.”
That’s what she said, word for word.
Not, ”Im glad you’re okay.”
Not, ”You matter.”
Just wow, what a mess that would’ve been in the boarding school bathroom.
As if I was just
another inconvenience to mop up.
Imagine that scene
a girl on cold tile,
27 stitches worth of silence,
and not one ******* hug
when I came back.
My arm still hurts.
Parts of it are numb,
like the feeling crawled from my brain
into my skin.
Like my body’s trying to forget,
but my nerves won’t let me.
It’s sore and dead and too alive
all at once.
I’m fifteen.
But I feel ancient.
Like I’ve already lived
through a war no one talks about.
Step mother told me,
”No one's going to help you.”
“No one’s going to believe you.”
Like she was proud of that prophecy.
Like she wanted me to drown
just so she could say
”told you so.”
And Mum
the original vanisher
she looked at me
and threw down the match:
”I don’t want to be your mum.”
Cool.
Love that for me.
Really sets the tone
for a happy childhood, huh?
So now I live at school.
In a dorm, in a room,
in a body that won’t forget
the blood, the cold, the shaking hands,
the locked door.
They say,
“You’re going to get therapy soon.”
Like that’s supposed to fix
a life built out of
people who left.
What if I sit down
and say all the things
I’ve kept under my skin,
and they just blink?
What if I unwrap my wound
and they say
”Oh. That’s it?”
I write because it’s the only way
I don’t scream.
I rhyme because the truth
sounds less deadly in a rhythm.
And yeah
if this poem makes you uncomfortable,
then good.
Let it.
Because I sat on that bathroom floor
and almost didn’t get back up,
and all they worried about
was who’d have to explain it.
So next time you say,
”You're lucky you didn’t go through with it,”
remember:
I already did.
I just happened to survive.
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 4:43 PM UTC
Let’s not sugarcoat it.
You didn’t protect me.
You didn’t question it.
You didn’t even blink
when she took my life
and signed it over to stone walls and locked doors.
I’ve been made _permanent_, Dad.
Not “just until things settle.”
Not “a term, maybe two.”
_Permanent._
She made the decision.
She made the call.
And you?
You just stood there like a ******* statue,
held together with whatever spine she let you borrow.
And guess what?
__You still don’t know.__
Because she has been feeding you her version of reality
while threatening me into silence.
“You’ll make things worse.”
“He doesn’t need the stress.”
“You’re lucky we even—“
Shut the **** up.
I’m done being lucky to exist.
Done being silent so _your wife_ can sleep better knowing that I’m far away,
tucked neatly into a place she doesn’t have to see.
She calls it “what’s best.”
I call it what it is:
__exile__
with a pretty brochure.
She erased me, Dad.
And you handed her the whiteout.
You think you’re keeping the peace?
There’s no peace here.
There’s just you
living a lie so loud it drowns out
the sound of your daughter breaking.
Do you know what it feels like
to be warned not to tell the truth
because _you_ might not believe me?
Do you know how disgusting that is?
That I don’t even trust my own father
to choose _me_
over the woman who’s been gutting me
with fake smiles and cold silences since
I was eleven?
Let’s not pretend anymore:
You let her win.
You let her rewrite what “family” means
until I didn’t fit in the ******* sentence.
So here’s your truth:
I’m not okay.
I’m not “thriving.”
I’m surviving on scraps,
packing trauma into a dorm drawer,
waiting for someone to notice I never come home.
And since no one will say it
__Happy Birthday, Dad.__
Hope the cake tastes sweet
while your real kid sits miles away
eating silence.
Hope the presents are stacked high
while I unwrap another year of being invisible.
Hope her kids call you Daddy
loud enough to drown out
what you gave up.
But when the party’s over,
and the house is clean,
and she’s sipping wine on the couch
like none of this ever happened
I hope it hits you.
I hope my absence rots in your stomach.
Because I’m still here.
Still screaming between the lines.
Still writing you into every ******* word
because I don’t know how to make you
look at me.
So yeah.
Happy Birthday.
You got your quiet life.
And I got forgotten.
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 5:33 AM UTC
In between a rock and a hard place she was stuck,
Literally she was crushed between a freeway divider and a semi truck.
Native American so her roots didn't connect her to heaven.
He was a self proclaimed athiest at the ripe age of seven.
A short belief in an afterlife as maybe a wolf or an eagle
seemed too childish so he gave up on it before he was legal.
Visiting a slab of shiny stone in between two pine trees;
The wrong one but he doesn't care he sits down waiting to freeze.
Smoking a joint forgetting the new one while trying to keep all of her.
Exposion to death at a young age has no real cure.
Step brothers have no sympathy saying it's time to growup,
Girlfriend doesn't know when to stop bringing it up.
The clouds float on by. . .
He wishes he could die.
Staring at a shiny engraved stone with tears to the brim,
Hating all that his short seventeen years have shown him.
His only desire at the moment to just see once more her face,
He was caught in between her rock and his minds hard place.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
For the girl who makes me wish I had a sister like her,
don't let them break you or stand in your way.
They need you and love you,
no matter what your stepmom might say.
I know my opinion is not desired,
but I know better than anyone,
those little ones need you.
So **** what she says and don't back down.
You're strong and brave,
a fighter, a lover,
a hero,
a sister.
And that's worth fighting for.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Heart not
Of my heart
But still in my veins
Womb dweller, outside
my body
Me, a native invader in a constant
Place.
And [t]his will always be
A glass house
not a welcome home.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
11 years ago
the last words you told my father were
"I'm coming back."
He waited 7 months,
Even called your mother.
Where did you go?
you left your family,
a daughter and potentially husband.
but **** was more beautiful than a bright future for yourself.
you've missed events your never gonna experience.
Your daughter turns 16 in 56 days.
Cliff wells he's got a woman now its been almost 10 years.
That woman raised me.
Shes the mom you could have never been.
Coleen.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
the cat died
a few months ago
and now they use
his food dish
as an ash tray
rest in peace.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
He steals her toys
then yells at her
for losing them
after he's already sold them
online.
I can't figure out His logic
i think Its just another way He
acts grimy to keep his Lady
in high spirits.
How much was
her pedicure this week?
it cost about
the price of one
limited edition
funko pop figure
and the sad face of
your little girl.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
When I was a Girl who's only super power was sleeping and crawling
My mother passed away
Left my father to raise two young children all on his own
He gave up everything for us
Sold the restaurant he had spent years saving to build
The motorcycle he swore would always be his
The one that set off car alarms and ****** off neighbors.
When I was a girl who's greatest superpower was my ability to make imaginary friends
I thought my dad was superman
He fixed scraped knees
Fended off scary bugs
And beat impossible levels on video games.
I never realized it but he did more noble feats than kiss booboos and squish spiders.
Money never came easy to us, most of the time my father stayed unemployed so he could raise two children with love
Raised us on the retirement from fighting like captain America for our country
When I was a girl who's super power consisted of seeing the good in the world I always wondered why my dad didn't eat with us most days
Or why the lights sometimes went off
And water was cold
I know now that my superhero chose to pay for food for us over bills
And spread Mac and cheese boxes to last a lifetime
He gave up the comfort of food so we could have full tummies
And for that I'll always be grateful
When I was a girl who's super power was selfishness
I hoped for a mother
Wished on every birthday cake and shooting star
Praying to one day have a mom.
I paid the price for my selfishness
My wish came true the day my dad brought his new fiancé home
When I was a girl who's superpower was invisibility
My stepmother told me my mom never wanted me
Called her a useless **** head
And called me stupid.
I saw my father less and less
And At first he swooped in to save me from the wounds of her words.
But she stole his cape.
I am a girl with the power to masquerade as a woman now
And I speak only a few words to my father a week
My stepmothers words still wound me
But she is my fathers kryptonite
Stripping him of his powers leaving behind a tired man.
she has pulled our family from poverty and for that I'm grateful
But I'll never forgive her being the reason my fathers cape lay folded in the closet.
And every time I hear my father say he misses me it sounds like an apology for the last six years!
And when I say it back
I hope he can hear the begging to see him more.
My dad used to tell me he loved me every night before I went to sleep
Now we go days without saying it.
Without seeing each other
And now every time I hear it whispered under his breath as he gives a quick hug so the hulk doesn't see
It still sounds like the booming voice of the hero who carried me all the way home at three after getting stung by a wasp on the webbing of my finger and sobbing like I was going to die
And I feel the lump in my throat swell every time I echo it back like sonar
And can still see whisps of a cape behind him as he diffuses dr.dooms time bomb by saying the dish in the sink is his and sneaking me a wink.
I refuse to lose my dad to distance before I lose him to disease.
I am a girl learning how to control the power of the world around me
My father is dying.
Liver giving out from years of untreated disease after years of putting his health aside.
And he pulls oh his cape every time he smiles like a rain after a 100 year drought and tells me
'I'll be okay. You know I'm invincible.'
And I always say that I do forcing insincerity out of my voice.
I can see the weight of the cape he has worn for so long take its toll
His back is arching from the weight of having to be strong
A bulletproof savior of this family.
So I will take it from him.
Bear the burden of being strong and putting others needs before me.
I will shelter him under it whenever deadshot's bullets of insults come flying.
Because even though at times I thought I lost him.
With or without a cape
My farther is still my hero.
And I am a girl learning to be his.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
Dear stepmom,
You should know that I wanted to talk to you.
I had it all planned out in my head -
How I was going to ask about the baby's birthday
And try to start one of those things called conversations.
But instead we sat
And didn't breathe a single syllable to each other.
And how am I supposed to open up, when
I part my lips and nothing comes out?
When the words in my brain are trampled
By the thoughts that tell me I'm going to do it wrong?
A heaving anxiety governs my mind's playground.
There's a fence around it with high walls.
On some days
They are stronger than others.
I have trouble talking with a lot of people,
But you're a special case.
Dear stepmom,
You should know that I not only love you,
But I also like you.
Don't worry about winning me
Because you've already won.
You won years ago,
When you stuck around,
When you talked with me about Twilight
And when you never tried to parent,
Because you knew it wasn't your place.
Dear stepmom,
I have a strange sort of social anxiety
That creeps up when we're alone.
I cannot tell you why
Or how to fix it
But I'll try to try harder
Because I think
(Just maybe)
You have some too.
But until then,
We might sit and suffer
In a thick, murky silence
Every once in a while.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC