Poems

1.
I write for the girlies who seldom feel
safe because their safety was taken
from them, and their trust was breached.
Who keep their munitions near, and sometimes
leave the lights on when they sleep.
Who are overwhelmingly vigilant,
even when they no longer want to be.
Who can't quite grasp the protest of being carefree.
I know the days are often restless, and your
fight takes lead over your flight, although
you wouldn't mind a break from both.
And though your arms are full of precaution,
you deserve to be held close.
And many will not understand you, and those who
aim to love you will be somewhat far and few.
But if you've ever any doubt of ever being loved at all,
there's a world of other warriors who most certainly do.

2.
Your heart has carried more grief than it has ever planned,
and your hands have held many things, but
today, it only remembers what it cannot.
And you’ve journeyed down so many roads,
but as of late it seems you’ve not a single plot.
And you’ve many questions like “How will this end?”
“How could this happen?”, and also "Why?”
Sometimes wondering what would happen if you chose to no longer try.
And no one can take on this weight that pulls
you deep, nor all of the ways you may feel…
But if you never write your part of the story, then, my love, who will?
So for today, and maybe even tomorrow, or
for even some time, may you let yourself just be.
And feel the hearts that love you, wrap around you like the roots to a tree.
And we will love you in your sorrow, in your joy, in your uncertainty,
and when you-again-stand with your feet set.
Where the sunshine will, once more, find its way to you...just in case you forget.

3.
No one else
can tell you
the size of the
fires you’ve had
to put out, nor will
their lungs remember
the tormenting storms
you’ve swam through
trying to find safe land.
And no one can feel the
weight of your world...
and then judge all of
the ways you stand.

(your best is good enough).

4.
The darkness that pours
from the palms of depression fills
your room, and sways your bed frame.
And instead of fighting back this time,
you just want to be free from the pain.
And the bedsheets are heavy, and
they pull you deeper into the mattress,
leaving you searching for air.
Your brain at odds with your heart,
and it's convinced you that no one cares.
And the noise has surmounted the
good that still exists, and it remains hard to feel.
And every dismal day that passes, feels so horribly unreal.
The love you thought held space for you,
seems-now-as if it's left you neglected.
Your hope, dancing on the brink of defeat, left worn down and infected.
But as you reach up your hand to shut the blinds,
there's a light that finds your eye.
Sunshine forcing itself into your room,
and pleading for you to still try.
A promise, that, where there is a chance of rain,
there is still a sun that comes after.
And a whisper from what cannot be seen,
reminding you that you still matter.
A mind that is often a warzone seldom rests,
and it's hard not to believe that life is worthless...
But even in your darkest hours, you are still loved,
still seen, still needed, and still full of purpose.