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The weight of choice unmade
Some seasons don’t begin with purpose—we rise only because standing still isn’t an option. This poem comes from that space: where we move not from certainty, but survival. The tree here doesn’t boast triumph; it endures. A monument to becoming when the path is unclear. If you’ve ever felt shaped more by circumstance than choice,…
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The House I Built
Some houses are built to sell. Others are built with sacrifice—late nights, sore hands, and the hope of something lasting. I poured myself into restoring a home, believing it would hold our future. But life veered. My husband, battling old wounds, left. I walked away from the house to fight for us. What followed broke…
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Ballad of the Quiet Evening
Sometimes the hardest truth comes not from others, but from within. My husband is facing the painful reality that his father—once admired—was emotionally abusive, and he’s seen those same patterns in himself. It’s been raw, but he’s met it with courage and tears. Last night, we watched the sun set in silence. That quiet moment…
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The relapse
Sometimes survival isn’t leaving—it’s staying when you’re unsure why, whispering truths before dawn, and imagining life beyond the wreckage. This piece is fiction, but not fully. It’s built from memory, pain, and the ache of almost leaving. I’ve known love twisted by addiction, apologies unspoken, and bruises beneath the skin. This isn’t revenge—it’s release, and…
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Dear You,
This epistolary poem is for anyone blamed for shadows they didn’t cast, betrayals they didn’t commit, or wounds they tried to heal but were accused of causing. It’s not a cry for vindication, but a release of truth—a mirror turned toward a love distorted by fear and insecurity. These words aren’t revenge; they are reclamation,…
Echoes In The Current 