2025

The hands that cradled me,  Now push me away, The promises they made, Turned into wisps of smoke, The warmth in their eyes,  Now replaced

The day my mother left, the house grew cold, Empty rooms, shadows bold. I called for her, but silence fell, A living hell created, a

I was a child of immense pounds, Smooth. soft and round. I believe I hurt the ground, Upon which I walked; It shook, I was

Shadows, storms, My breath hitches; a caged bird, Everything shrinks, To the bout of pain, Curses, then silence again. My body is accustomed, To the

Their venomous words, aimed at me, Hurt, saddened, and broke me, Their wicked laughter,  As they called me names, Made me feel small as I

I stand before a mirror today, And their words stare back at me. A distorted reflection I can’t undo. Years have passed, yet their echoes

White walls, syringes, drips, Antiseptic, silent cries, My small frame trembles, like a wounded cub, As the white coat swishes back and forth before me.

An entwined road, Where love and hate meet, The bittersweet thought, Of that gentle hand that embraces , Yet strikes with sudden might.  A yearning

The world had judged it all already, By the time I took my first breath Soft and small. With a name, face with a deeper

I grew up, lost in a world that made no sense. Being a woman—an unspeakable curse. “No school for you,” they told me, And no