• The Time of Death of Us

    I didn’t just twist my ankle; I didn’t just scrape my knee. This isn’t a “Rub some dirt in it” Kind of pain. This isn’t a broken bone, This isn’t surgery recovery. No – this feels like My chest ripped open,My heart torn out. This is the hurt people sing about. The kind that lingers,The…

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  • What’s worse than heartbreak? The not-knowing. The half-truths and lingering doubts that make moving on impossible. Break It Right is a raw, confessional poem about craving a clean break—even if it hurts more—because at least then the pain would bring clarity.

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  • A raw and honest poem about love, loss, and the fear of losing yourself again while capturing the pull of toxic love and the journey back to yourself.

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  • A voice can be more than sound—it can be an anchor. In my worst moments, yours has been the one place I’ve felt safe, the one place I could still feel like a child again in a world that demanded I grow up too soon.

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  • Something More

    I thought stability was happiness – until losing him taught me what living was.

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  • How Was I to Know?

    I thought I was afraid of losing you – until I discovered what I truly feared.

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  • I know I’ll never have the mom most do.I know I’ll never have the urge to call with big news,But I will write to you. You don’t know my name.You don’t know I exist.But you have always been the mom I neededIn some of the hardest moments of my life. From the first time I…

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  • Behind Her Heels

    She walks with confidence, heels striking the pavement in perfect rhythm. But inside, she’s drowning in deadlines, imposter syndrome, and the haunting echoes of being told she was never enough.

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  • She’s That Auntie

    Every family has that one daughterThe one that is a little bit wildHas tattoos Drinks a bitSmokes a littleAnd isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. Some will fear herSome know she’ll take it too farBut only in defense of her family. She’s the auntie, Not the mom. She’s the one people worry aboutBut also know she can handle herself. She’s…

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  • Tight Fitting Jeans

    Monday through Friday you’ll find me in a blouse A nice pair of flats And my nicest pair of jeans Or if I’ve got to meet with people a pair of slacks As soon as that clock strikes 5 That blouse comes off And a t-shirt takes it’s place. I’ll trade my nice jeans For the ones covered in dirt Maybe they are just…

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