#truestory - Hello Poetry

#truestory

What can I write about California sun rocks sand blooming flowers year-round waxy succulents of every size determined shrubs with thorn-like twigs What can I write about the soothing clicking of palm leaves rustling in the wind bold seagulls spying searching soaring dark fins of dolphins slipping through rolling blue-green water water stretching past the horizon What can I write about the soundtrack of crashing waves a comforting affirmation whispered over and over the cascading curves of water like a woman twirling in a flowing skirt trimmed with frothy white lace What can I write about the tide that pulls and pulls and pulls How it seems to pull out my sorrow, my pain How I am found when lost in its current How this water lifts me and I am a child embraced by the strong arms of a fearless parent How good it feels to be carried to let go of making decisions, directing steps let go of any destination any time but this moment to feel the need to control release its panicked grip on my heart How this baptism tastes like salt as I am engulfed in each wave as I am reborn rising from the water with a gasp reborn sinless free © SincerelyJoanWrites

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May 23

May 23, 2026 at 3:52 PM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

About California

What can I write about California sun rocks sand blooming flowers year-round waxy succulents of every size determined shrubs with thorn-like twigs What can I write about the soothing clicking of palm leaves rustling in the wind bold seagulls spying searching soaring dark fins of dolphins slipping through rolling blue-green water water stretching past the horizon What can I write about the soundtrack of crashing waves a comforting affirmation whispered over and over the cascading curves of water like a woman twirling in a flowing skirt trimmed with frothy white lace What can I write about the tide that pulls and pulls and pulls How it seems to pull out my sorrow, my pain How I am found when lost in its current How this water lifts me and I am a child embraced by the strong arms of a fearless parent How good it feels to be carried to let go of making decisions, directing steps let go of any destination any time but this moment to feel the need to control release its panicked grip on my heart How this baptism tastes like salt as I am engulfed in each wave as I am reborn rising from the water with a gasp reborn sinless free © SincerelyJoanWrites

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They say childhood lives in back gardens, in scraped knees and dinner bells, in front doors left open and laughter down the stairs— but mine lived under fluorescent lights on Ward 10, behind curtains that whispered like walls pretending to be home. I played hide and seek between metal beds and quiet machines, counting seconds in heartbeats, laughing louder than the beeps that watched over us. Ward 10 was my playground, its corridors my streets, and every child there was family for the time we had. We weren’t supposed to run— so we ran. We weren’t supposed to wake each other— so I did, whispering, “come on, let’s play,” like the night belonged to us. And for a moment, it did. A nurse would sit with me, paper and pencil in hand, turning homework into something softer, like it wasn’t work at all but time together. She’d let me write my name— crooked, unsure, mine— then trace it back so the world could read it clearly. Someone always came around with toys, with something to do, so I wouldn’t feel the quiet too much. And when the day was done, they’d run me a bath— bubbles rising like clouds in a room that smelled clean, not like fear. Fresh pyjamas. Warm water. A small kind of peace. I was mischievous— always pushing the edges, always smiling, because there, being a child didn’t feel like a risk. I even had keys— little bits of responsibility that made me feel big, like I belonged. Like I mattered. And maybe that’s the strangest part— not that it was a hospital, but that it was the first place that felt like home. No shouting through walls. No waiting for something to go wrong. No learning how to be small. Just rooms filled with people who showed up, again and again, without hurting me. So yeah… my happiest memories live in a place most people fear. But that’s because it was the only place I didn’t have to. Ward 10. Where I wasn’t just surviving— I was a child.

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Apr 26

Apr 26, 2026 at 12:09 PM UTC

Anonymous_Flame

Ward 10 Was Home

They say childhood lives in back gardens, in scraped knees and dinner bells, in front doors left open and laughter down the stairs— but mine lived under fluorescent lights on Ward 10, behind curtains that whispered like walls pretending to be home. I played hide and seek between metal beds and quiet machines, counting seconds in heartbeats, laughing louder than the beeps that watched over us. Ward 10 was my playground, its corridors my streets, and every child there was family for the time we had. We weren’t supposed to run— so we ran. We weren’t supposed to wake each other— so I did, whispering, “come on, let’s play,” like the night belonged to us. And for a moment, it did. A nurse would sit with me, paper and pencil in hand, turning homework into something softer, like it wasn’t work at all but time together. She’d let me write my name— crooked, unsure, mine— then trace it back so the world could read it clearly. Someone always came around with toys, with something to do, so I wouldn’t feel the quiet too much. And when the day was done, they’d run me a bath— bubbles rising like clouds in a room that smelled clean, not like fear. Fresh pyjamas. Warm water. A small kind of peace. I was mischievous— always pushing the edges, always smiling, because there, being a child didn’t feel like a risk. I even had keys— little bits of responsibility that made me feel big, like I belonged. Like I mattered. And maybe that’s the strangest part— not that it was a hospital, but that it was the first place that felt like home. No shouting through walls. No waiting for something to go wrong. No learning how to be small. Just rooms filled with people who showed up, again and again, without hurting me. So yeah… my happiest memories live in a place most people fear. But that’s because it was the only place I didn’t have to. Ward 10. Where I wasn’t just surviving— I was a child.

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*** Still That Boy There once was a lad sat in Carlton town, By an old oak tree where he’d often sit down, Not lost in a daze— But deep in his plays, With whole other worlds spinning round. I saw myself brave with a sword in my hand, A knight riding strong through a faraway land, Fighting dragons and flame, For honour, not fame, Doing things only dreamers had planned. Then I’d turn to the sea with a shift of the day, A pirate now sailing wherever I may, Through storms I would steer, With no sign of fear, Captain of all in my way. Travelling farther again—past the stars I would roam, No longer on earth, no longer at home, Through galaxies wide, With courage as guide, Finding places no one had known. But I never stood there on my own in any fight, There were others beside me, steady and right— A wizard so wise, A warrior who’d rise, And a healer who carried the light. Together we faced whatever would come, Dark forces, hard roads—we never would run, Each strength played its part, Head, hands, and heart, And somehow the battles we won. But life has a way of quieting dreams, Or making them smaller than how they once seemed, I thought I’d outgrown The worlds I had known, And left them behind— merely dreams. Till a time in my life when I felt off my feet, Unsure of my path, not steady or sure, And I reached back inside Where those old voices hide, And found the boy was still there. Those heroes I made weren’t just in my head, They were lessons in how I should walk where I tread, Be brave when it’s tough, Be kind when it’s rough, Stand firm in the words that I said. I picked it back up—not the sword, but the way, Not the ship, but the choice of how I would stay, Facing life as it came, Still playing the same old game— Just with real things that come each day. Because truth is, that lad never really left me, He still sits by that oak where the world used to be, And when I write lines, It’s his voice undermine— Still shaping the man that you see. Not a knight, not a pirate, not lost up in space— Just a man trying hard to stand in his place, With a bit of that fire, That old, quiet desire, And a boy— still writing truth through his voice.

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Apr 15

Apr 15, 2026 at 7:54 AM UTC

LongJohnPaulBaldry

Where My Heroes Began

*** Still That Boy There once was a lad sat in Carlton town, By an old oak tree where he’d often sit down, Not lost in a daze— But deep in his plays, With whole other worlds spinning round. I saw myself brave with a sword in my hand, A knight riding strong through a faraway land, Fighting dragons and flame, For honour, not fame, Doing things only dreamers had planned. Then I’d turn to the sea with a shift of the day, A pirate now sailing wherever I may, Through storms I would steer, With no sign of fear, Captain of all in my way. Travelling farther again—past the stars I would roam, No longer on earth, no longer at home, Through galaxies wide, With courage as guide, Finding places no one had known. But I never stood there on my own in any fight, There were others beside me, steady and right— A wizard so wise, A warrior who’d rise, And a healer who carried the light. Together we faced whatever would come, Dark forces, hard roads—we never would run, Each strength played its part, Head, hands, and heart, And somehow the battles we won. But life has a way of quieting dreams, Or making them smaller than how they once seemed, I thought I’d outgrown The worlds I had known, And left them behind— merely dreams. Till a time in my life when I felt off my feet, Unsure of my path, not steady or sure, And I reached back inside Where those old voices hide, And found the boy was still there. Those heroes I made weren’t just in my head, They were lessons in how I should walk where I tread, Be brave when it’s tough, Be kind when it’s rough, Stand firm in the words that I said. I picked it back up—not the sword, but the way, Not the ship, but the choice of how I would stay, Facing life as it came, Still playing the same old game— Just with real things that come each day. Because truth is, that lad never really left me, He still sits by that oak where the world used to be, And when I write lines, It’s his voice undermine— Still shaping the man that you see. Not a knight, not a pirate, not lost up in space— Just a man trying hard to stand in his place, With a bit of that fire, That old, quiet desire, And a boy— still writing truth through his voice.

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"Marry me!" said she, She had one eye... so reply: "I choose death! thanx - bye!"

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Mar 30

Mar 30, 2026 at 7:41 AM UTC

The devil or die?

"Marry me!" said she, She had one eye... so reply: "I choose death! thanx - bye!"

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I’ve come unmoored Unsure Unfocused Unsettled I can’t decide the best path In a landscape so new Living in limbo Wanting more Wanting less All at the same time My past begs me to shut down Pull back Give up Retreat My scars whisper ominous predictions of future pain More time together means certain doom If he sees me more, he’ll see my flaws And start to hate me He’ll get mean He’ll look at me with disgust His irritation will boil over The stakes feel too high going through that a second time would break me for good I need to be good on my own I am good on my own But then those sweet moments of unalone They crack open something inside me Something I thought was lost A need I am scared to face What if the safety of solitude isn’t worth missing out on the highs of togetherness As my one true love grows up Needing me less and less Wanting my time less and less I’m desperate to fill that void I feel myself floundering But I don’t believe in love I don’t believe in love I don’t believe in love What do I need to anchor me in this world Will I blow away, an insignificant leaf if I don’t tie myself to a partner I was flying high and free Didn’t realize how cold I was Until his warm arms held me Like a divine lullaby His voice vibrated against my cheek The thrill of him wanting me Woke up a need in me, an aching need A need that unsettles me And steals my sleep And leaves me longing for touch for more Can I continue to satisfy this need without losing my peace Why must every pleasure come with a cost Does every pleasure come with a cost What am I doing What should I do next Is it even up to me It feels it is time to sink or swim Floating to survive is no longer an option © 2026 SincerelyJoanWrites

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Feb 15

Feb 15, 2026 at 9:06 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

Time to Sink or Swim

I’ve come unmoored Unsure Unfocused Unsettled I can’t decide the best path In a landscape so new Living in limbo Wanting more Wanting less All at the same time My past begs me to shut down Pull back Give up Retreat My scars whisper ominous predictions of future pain More time together means certain doom If he sees me more, he’ll see my flaws And start to hate me He’ll get mean He’ll look at me with disgust His irritation will boil over The stakes feel too high going through that a second time would break me for good I need to be good on my own I am good on my own But then those sweet moments of unalone They crack open something inside me Something I thought was lost A need I am scared to face What if the safety of solitude isn’t worth missing out on the highs of togetherness As my one true love grows up Needing me less and less Wanting my time less and less I’m desperate to fill that void I feel myself floundering But I don’t believe in love I don’t believe in love I don’t believe in love What do I need to anchor me in this world Will I blow away, an insignificant leaf if I don’t tie myself to a partner I was flying high and free Didn’t realize how cold I was Until his warm arms held me Like a divine lullaby His voice vibrated against my cheek The thrill of him wanting me Woke up a need in me, an aching need A need that unsettles me And steals my sleep And leaves me longing for touch for more Can I continue to satisfy this need without losing my peace Why must every pleasure come with a cost Does every pleasure come with a cost What am I doing What should I do next Is it even up to me It feels it is time to sink or swim Floating to survive is no longer an option © 2026 SincerelyJoanWrites

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They stole your youth, And they stole your words: The rockers of Kiiminki And Oulu Saw your talent, And they were envious. I know your style, And I know who the thieves are. The audience doesn't know you: Your old band mates didn't give you Any credit. (The audience is yours, really, Not theirs.) With this poem, I want to tell you about Aadi: He looked like Kid Rock, And he was an honest and A gentle man. He would've been a great husband and A great dad, But he ended up with the wrong gang.

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Jan 31

Jan 31, 2026 at 1:31 PM UTC

Aadi - He Looked Like Kid Rock

They stole your youth, And they stole your words: The rockers of Kiiminki And Oulu Saw your talent, And they were envious. I know your style, And I know who the thieves are. The audience doesn't know you: Your old band mates didn't give you Any credit. (The audience is yours, really, Not theirs.) With this poem, I want to tell you about Aadi: He looked like Kid Rock, And he was an honest and A gentle man. He would've been a great husband and A great dad, But he ended up with the wrong gang.

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I hear the numbness in her monotone voice the lack of affect in her face as she recounts the shock the betrayal the Herculean effort of each next step she must take Looking into her slow-blinking eyes as she recounts telling their children I recall how heartbreak can turn one into an automaton I, too, have been the wartime nurse applying pressure to bleeding wounds while the man responsible for the carnage is AWOL I give her the name of my divorce lawyer I send her daily affirmations words of encouragement humorous anecdotes to help her find the escape of laughter to remind her she—source of life—is still alive I will continue to show up in the waiting room of her trauma bearing witness to her metamorphosis from trampled caterpillar to butterfly with razor-sharp wings of shiny steel I will spread thick warpaint upon her bruised cheeks summoning the strength of all women warriors whisper into her ear to harness it this burning fury rising up within her I’ll hold up a mirror to her emerging power her beautiful, bullet-proof resiliency remind her she will not drown in this man-made disaster No, she will not drown for her numb heart will heal and as her feelings return she will find strength has replaced weakness she will realize she is not choking on salty water of violent waves she will discover she is, in fact, the motherf*cking hurricane © 2026 SincerelyJoanWrites

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Jan 10

Jan 10, 2026 at 6:12 PM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

I hear the numbness in her monotone voice the lack of affect in her face as she recounts the shock the betrayal the Herculean effort of each next step she must take Looking into her slow-blinking eyes as she recounts telling their children I recall how heartbreak can turn one into an automaton I, too, have been the wartime nurse applying pressure to bleeding wounds while the man responsible for the carnage is AWOL I give her the name of my divorce lawyer I send her daily affirmations words of encouragement humorous anecdotes to help her find the escape of laughter to remind her she—source of life—is still alive I will continue to show up in the waiting room of her trauma bearing witness to her metamorphosis from trampled caterpillar to butterfly with razor-sharp wings of shiny steel I will spread thick warpaint upon her bruised cheeks summoning the strength of all women warriors whisper into her ear to harness it this burning fury rising up within her I’ll hold up a mirror to her emerging power her beautiful, bullet-proof resiliency remind her she will not drown in this man-made disaster No, she will not drown for her numb heart will heal and as her feelings return she will find strength has replaced weakness she will realize she is not choking on salty water of violent waves she will discover she is, in fact, the motherf*cking hurricane © 2026 SincerelyJoanWrites

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Heading to the welfare office to collect another check, the cost of surviving keeps compounding—I can’t outrun the debt. I’ve been staring in the distance, trying to recollect whoever’s left, because I’m drowning in the struggles I’m facing and I can’t catch a breath. Waking up exhausted from whatever I have going on daily, every bill’s a reminder that I’m barely standing stable. The rent’s due, my phone’s off and the fridge is running empty, I’m trading peace of mind just to keep food on my ******* table. Yeah I ****** it up for myself, made the calls that got me stuck, can't blame the world for choices when I pushed my own luck. But the system's got me circling now, can't climb out of this rut, and tomorrow looks the same as today—another day I'm ******

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Dec 23, 2025

Dec 23, 2025 at 8:02 PM UTC

Heading to the welfare office to collect another check, the cost of surviving keeps compounding—I can’t outrun the debt. I’ve been staring in the distance, trying to recollect whoever’s left, because I’m drowning in the struggles I’m facing and I can’t catch a breath. Waking up exhausted from whatever I have going on daily, every bill’s a reminder that I’m barely standing stable. The rent’s due, my phone’s off and the fridge is running empty, I’m trading peace of mind just to keep food on my ******* table. Yeah I ****** it up for myself, made the calls that got me stuck, can't blame the world for choices when I pushed my own luck. But the system's got me circling now, can't climb out of this rut, and tomorrow looks the same as today—another day I'm ******

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Oh, Isabella Wild, giggling Isabella with hair like pure golden thread Every girl wants to be you, every boy yearns for your glance I’d sell my soul to be you for only one mere day To regain the one thing that I desire Who desires you instead But who wouldn’t, with looks like that And that fierce sense of humor Anything you could want is yours But are you truly happy? Each quip, each joke, each one-liner Only earns you more followers to your cult of dreams But do they really care, Isabella? Do the boys who follow, whispering the sweetest of nothings See beyond your body and into the girl within Oh no, Isabella Are the rumours true? The one person you truly loved Never truly loved you You and me, we’re much the same With our unfulfilled dreams of love So there we sit alone together Oh, poor Isabella

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Dec 7, 2025

Dec 7, 2025 at 4:04 AM UTC

Oh, Isabella Wild, giggling Isabella with hair like pure golden thread Every girl wants to be you, every boy yearns for your glance I’d sell my soul to be you for only one mere day To regain the one thing that I desire Who desires you instead But who wouldn’t, with looks like that And that fierce sense of humor Anything you could want is yours But are you truly happy? Each quip, each joke, each one-liner Only earns you more followers to your cult of dreams But do they really care, Isabella? Do the boys who follow, whispering the sweetest of nothings See beyond your body and into the girl within Oh no, Isabella Are the rumours true? The one person you truly loved Never truly loved you You and me, we’re much the same With our unfulfilled dreams of love So there we sit alone together Oh, poor Isabella

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His eyes are the fragile sheets of ice spread across the deep, storming ocean His hair is the wild sands of the desert His laugh is the music of angels His smile is the crown jewels, putting every other gemstone to shame His chest is the warm hearth at the centre of a barren home His lips are Atlantis His cheeks are a sweet cake dappled with sprinkles His voice is the rhythmic, comforting percussion of drums His mind and Loki’s are one in the same His hands are ancient carved marble His skin is the most precious pearl in all the seas His love is a mirage on the horizon seen by the madman His new girls are lit matches His stare is the bullet of a sniper’s gun And I am the wounded soldier who remains unseen by his comrades Left To Die

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Dec 6, 2025

Dec 6, 2025 at 10:41 PM UTC

His eyes are the fragile sheets of ice spread across the deep, storming ocean His hair is the wild sands of the desert His laugh is the music of angels His smile is the crown jewels, putting every other gemstone to shame His chest is the warm hearth at the centre of a barren home His lips are Atlantis His cheeks are a sweet cake dappled with sprinkles His voice is the rhythmic, comforting percussion of drums His mind and Loki’s are one in the same His hands are ancient carved marble His skin is the most precious pearl in all the seas His love is a mirage on the horizon seen by the madman His new girls are lit matches His stare is the bullet of a sniper’s gun And I am the wounded soldier who remains unseen by his comrades Left To Die

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I once saw the body of a dead man Grey and thin on the pavement First I saw his black plastic comb Then his shoes knocked from his previously alive feet at the moment of impact “Is he alive?” The driver anxiously asked “Oh, god! Is he alive?” No one answered No one wanted to voice the truth With care, I covered him with a blue and white beach towel from the trunk of my car I will never know Was it an accident Struck while crossing the road in the pre-dawn darkness Or was I a witness to the aftermath of a desperate man’s solution an intention realized I will never know what I covered up that day Like a mother putting her child to bed Beneath a blue and white towel © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrite

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Dec 4, 2025

Dec 4, 2025 at 8:28 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

On the Pavement

I once saw the body of a dead man Grey and thin on the pavement First I saw his black plastic comb Then his shoes knocked from his previously alive feet at the moment of impact “Is he alive?” The driver anxiously asked “Oh, god! Is he alive?” No one answered No one wanted to voice the truth With care, I covered him with a blue and white beach towel from the trunk of my car I will never know Was it an accident Struck while crossing the road in the pre-dawn darkness Or was I a witness to the aftermath of a desperate man’s solution an intention realized I will never know what I covered up that day Like a mother putting her child to bed Beneath a blue and white towel © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrite

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I can't trust anymore. It's okay- don't fuss. Really, I'm fine. I'm not upset about it. The concept of trust has always- Theory, been a loose concept. Maybe it was never real in practice. I mean let's be honest- Theory always sounds better- Practice is just...a bore to us. This idea that you can behold Someone's secrets in entirety and not- Say a word?... I know people crack eventually... And why is it we, As humans- Think it acceptable that when We are friends or companions no longer- Those secrets are free game? Trust is just your prop- You play it. Get bored of it. Then throw it away like it was never useful in first place- I don't trust anyone, anymore. Flicking through my phone each morning While I lay dead asleep next- To you? The one person I thought- Might keep my secrets. My trauma. My aching to be seen as more than an add on to our relationship. Do you remember the concert?- The one in London with the flashing lights and the heavy metal band, Safe, did I feel in your arms. Trust I did exude. You broke that within seconds- Not even a hairs length of a warning- You abandoned me. You whispered all night up until the doors opening- "I'll be right here..." So where were you?- When that man grabbed me and pulled me into the pit. Where I was touched and mauled by too many hands- You were ******* gone. I took the train by myself while calling my friend in- a panic. At least... I could still trust her. Right?- I could still trust...you- right? Cassie? You didn't answer that night. You stopped answering the following nights. Neither of you did...- What were you doing?... I had to call my mother. Tears, A fountain- Actually, Cascading down my face as I walked those littered streets Alone. While you were likely whispering sweet nothings- Into the shell of her ear like an oath. And you? Cassie?- You melted under it. So yeah- I can't trust anymore. **** the both of you.

0

Nov 11, 2025

Nov 11, 2025 at 6:39 PM UTC

An Exercise In Trust

I can't trust anymore. It's okay- don't fuss. Really, I'm fine. I'm not upset about it. The concept of trust has always- Theory, been a loose concept. Maybe it was never real in practice. I mean let's be honest- Theory always sounds better- Practice is just...a bore to us. This idea that you can behold Someone's secrets in entirety and not- Say a word?... I know people crack eventually... And why is it we, As humans- Think it acceptable that when We are friends or companions no longer- Those secrets are free game? Trust is just your prop- You play it. Get bored of it. Then throw it away like it was never useful in first place- I don't trust anyone, anymore. Flicking through my phone each morning While I lay dead asleep next- To you? The one person I thought- Might keep my secrets. My trauma. My aching to be seen as more than an add on to our relationship. Do you remember the concert?- The one in London with the flashing lights and the heavy metal band, Safe, did I feel in your arms. Trust I did exude. You broke that within seconds- Not even a hairs length of a warning- You abandoned me. You whispered all night up until the doors opening- "I'll be right here..." So where were you?- When that man grabbed me and pulled me into the pit. Where I was touched and mauled by too many hands- You were ******* gone. I took the train by myself while calling my friend in- a panic. At least... I could still trust her. Right?- I could still trust...you- right? Cassie? You didn't answer that night. You stopped answering the following nights. Neither of you did...- What were you doing?... I had to call my mother. Tears, A fountain- Actually, Cascading down my face as I walked those littered streets Alone. While you were likely whispering sweet nothings- Into the shell of her ear like an oath. And you? Cassie?- You melted under it. So yeah- I can't trust anymore. **** the both of you.

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She has a counterpart Dark and dreary architype Lucid dreams paralyzed flat Your peripheral is no fool Silhouette dons blackest of hat

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Oct 30, 2025

Oct 30, 2025 at 7:29 PM UTC

Finn_Taylor1013

She has a counterpart Dark and dreary architype Lucid dreams paralyzed flat Your peripheral is no fool Silhouette dons blackest of hat

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On a sailboat On Lake Superior This shimmering body of water and I are separated only by a thin layer of sunblock, a pair of shades On a sailboat On Lake Superior Moments move as slowly as the low breeze nudging the sail I know not the year or state I’m in out here I know only that I am the water and the water is me To Do Lists of life on land cannot find me sheltered here by waves Cradled here by currents older than any human care I am free as I float Agendas, ambitions, anxieties—all inferior On this sailboat On sacred Lake Superior © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

0

Jun 21, 2025

Jun 21, 2025 at 2:05 PM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

On Lake Superior

On a sailboat On Lake Superior This shimmering body of water and I are separated only by a thin layer of sunblock, a pair of shades On a sailboat On Lake Superior Moments move as slowly as the low breeze nudging the sail I know not the year or state I’m in out here I know only that I am the water and the water is me To Do Lists of life on land cannot find me sheltered here by waves Cradled here by currents older than any human care I am free as I float Agendas, ambitions, anxieties—all inferior On this sailboat On sacred Lake Superior © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Like soldiers of comically varying heights I line up my pill bottles along the border of my place mat for morning roll call Some plastic, some glass— Green, white, purple, yellow, gold Each with their own earnest promise— Energy, metabolism, muscle function, allergy relief And I earnestly swallow each down Willing each to complete their mission To find success in the battle against time Willing them to bring new life to this tired body of mine © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Jun 11, 2025

Jun 11, 2025 at 8:32 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

Secular Prayer for Vitality

Like soldiers of comically varying heights I line up my pill bottles along the border of my place mat for morning roll call Some plastic, some glass— Green, white, purple, yellow, gold Each with their own earnest promise— Energy, metabolism, muscle function, allergy relief And I earnestly swallow each down Willing each to complete their mission To find success in the battle against time Willing them to bring new life to this tired body of mine © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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I wear my past like a cape Superman’s got nothing on me now that I’m free All I’ve overcome widens my stance straightens my shoulders I didn’t die so I raise my chin up high Shame, regrets, fear in bullet-shape bounce right off my bullet-proof drape Finally, I truly mean it when I say, ‘I’m fine’ for I wear it like a cape, this past of mine © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Jun 4, 2025

Jun 4, 2025 at 9:33 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

This Cape of Mine

I wear my past like a cape Superman’s got nothing on me now that I’m free All I’ve overcome widens my stance straightens my shoulders I didn’t die so I raise my chin up high Shame, regrets, fear in bullet-shape bounce right off my bullet-proof drape Finally, I truly mean it when I say, ‘I’m fine’ for I wear it like a cape, this past of mine © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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The Foundation We Build Beneath new beams and fresh-cut pine, In the hush of evening’s slowing time, We shape a space with care-worn hands— A daughter’s dream, a life’s new plan. My son-in-law, with steady grace, Beside me in that shadowed place. We lift and frame, we brace and bend, Not just a room—but means to end. My father’s voice, still calm, still wise, Echoes through sawdust-scented skies. Three generations, hearts as one, Driving nails until it’s done. There’s laughter echoing off the studs, And plans sketched out in drywall dust. Each hammer’s swing, each nail we drive, Another way we keep love alive. And yet, amid the joy and sweat, There lies a quiet, soft regret. A space beside me not yet filled, A longing that won’t quite be stilled. I wish my son could see this too, And feel the pride in what we do. To pass this torch, to share this bond, To build a life he’s proud beyond. And someone else—I feel the lack, A presence missed, a voice held back. To share the dusk, the ride, the road, To lighten up this blessed load. For family’s more than blood or name, It’s showing up through joy and strain. It’s knowing love in tired hands, And finding peace in shared demands. And when the stars begin to show, And quiet calls me home to go, The country roads stretch soft and wide, With sunset bleeding on each side. My body aches, my spirit soars— For in these nights and through these chores, I’ve come to see what matters most: Not walls, not tools, but who we host. A future built with sweat and care, With love poured out in each repair. And in that basement, warm and bright, Lives not just shelter—but their light. To give, to build, to stand beside, To share the load, to swell with pride— I know now what family means: It’s not the house, but all the scenes Of working late and driving slow, Of quiet peace when day lets go. Of building futures, hand in hand— On sacred, sawdust-covered land. © 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

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May 23, 2025

May 23, 2025 at 10:11 AM UTC

The Foundation We Build

The Foundation We Build Beneath new beams and fresh-cut pine, In the hush of evening’s slowing time, We shape a space with care-worn hands— A daughter’s dream, a life’s new plan. My son-in-law, with steady grace, Beside me in that shadowed place. We lift and frame, we brace and bend, Not just a room—but means to end. My father’s voice, still calm, still wise, Echoes through sawdust-scented skies. Three generations, hearts as one, Driving nails until it’s done. There’s laughter echoing off the studs, And plans sketched out in drywall dust. Each hammer’s swing, each nail we drive, Another way we keep love alive. And yet, amid the joy and sweat, There lies a quiet, soft regret. A space beside me not yet filled, A longing that won’t quite be stilled. I wish my son could see this too, And feel the pride in what we do. To pass this torch, to share this bond, To build a life he’s proud beyond. And someone else—I feel the lack, A presence missed, a voice held back. To share the dusk, the ride, the road, To lighten up this blessed load. For family’s more than blood or name, It’s showing up through joy and strain. It’s knowing love in tired hands, And finding peace in shared demands. And when the stars begin to show, And quiet calls me home to go, The country roads stretch soft and wide, With sunset bleeding on each side. My body aches, my spirit soars— For in these nights and through these chores, I’ve come to see what matters most: Not walls, not tools, but who we host. A future built with sweat and care, With love poured out in each repair. And in that basement, warm and bright, Lives not just shelter—but their light. To give, to build, to stand beside, To share the load, to swell with pride— I know now what family means: It’s not the house, but all the scenes Of working late and driving slow, Of quiet peace when day lets go. Of building futures, hand in hand— On sacred, sawdust-covered land. © 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

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Hills, trees, rocks, cold waves A city wrapped in the wild Duluth, steel and heart © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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May 9, 2025

May 9, 2025 at 10:32 PM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

Three Lines For A City I Love

Hills, trees, rocks, cold waves A city wrapped in the wild Duluth, steel and heart © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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I need truth & light, not lies & fights. Emotional security, not shame & anxiety. I need love that’s true. Sometimes ‘Hello Me’ is pronounced ‘Goodbye You.’ Not every promise is golden. Sometimes, vows need to be broken. Leaving was brave, given how you behaved. Not every ending is unhappy. Sometimes ‘Goodbye You’ means ‘Hello Me.’ I’d rather be single than a married martyr. I’d rather laugh & mingle than keep on trying harder. I need something new. Sometimes ‘Hello Me’ is pronounced ‘Goodbye You.’ I choose my mental health over double-income wealth Wellness over weakness, happiness over secrets, freedom over familiarity. Sometimes ‘Goodbye You’ means ‘Hello Me.’ © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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May 4, 2025

May 4, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

I need truth & light, not lies & fights. Emotional security, not shame & anxiety. I need love that’s true. Sometimes ‘Hello Me’ is pronounced ‘Goodbye You.’ Not every promise is golden. Sometimes, vows need to be broken. Leaving was brave, given how you behaved. Not every ending is unhappy. Sometimes ‘Goodbye You’ means ‘Hello Me.’ I’d rather be single than a married martyr. I’d rather laugh & mingle than keep on trying harder. I need something new. Sometimes ‘Hello Me’ is pronounced ‘Goodbye You.’ I choose my mental health over double-income wealth Wellness over weakness, happiness over secrets, freedom over familiarity. Sometimes ‘Goodbye You’ means ‘Hello Me.’ © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Your family hates me for leaving you They don’t know I would have died had I stayed Even a cactus can die of thirst © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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May 2, 2025

May 2, 2025 at 7:52 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

Your family hates me for leaving you They don’t know I would have died had I stayed Even a cactus can die of thirst © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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jagged little tooth protruding from the roof of my mouth, unseen by all but me inside it hangs a secret fang hidden by my smiles my feminine wiles reminding me unbeknownst to you that I can bite draw blood if I need to Do I need to? © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Apr 29, 2025

Apr 29, 2025 at 10:46 AM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

jagged little tooth protruding from the roof of my mouth, unseen by all but me inside it hangs a secret fang hidden by my smiles my feminine wiles reminding me unbeknownst to you that I can bite draw blood if I need to Do I need to? © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Inside the shadows of my mind I search and reach and try to find I kneel And dig And scratch the black Aching for direction An answer back What buried treasure will I find What happiness Motivation Peace of mind? Is there really any reason to be found? What’s it all even for? Maybe it’s just darkness And dirt And nothing more © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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Apr 27, 2025

Apr 27, 2025 at 7:55 PM UTC

sincerelyjoanwrites

Digging in the Dark

Inside the shadows of my mind I search and reach and try to find I kneel And dig And scratch the black Aching for direction An answer back What buried treasure will I find What happiness Motivation Peace of mind? Is there really any reason to be found? What’s it all even for? Maybe it’s just darkness And dirt And nothing more © 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

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