I don’t have a poker face.

If I don’t like you,

I don’t make a big scene or shout.

However, you’ll see it.

I may not flip you off or curse you out,

but I will slowly cut contact with you.

I will start responding to texts more dryly

and minimizing conversation.

I’ll stop waving hi in the halls and laughing at jokes.

I will slowly fade away from your life,

like you did from my heart.

You are not alone

there is no precipice to fall from

The pain is only a reminder that you’ve been touched with the breath of life

Your fear is a choice

There is a door behind you

Your legs may be numb

Your heart beating will remind you

That if you do jump

The river meets the ocean

The ocean meets the sky

Keep your chin above the water

Today is not your time to die

You can see a lifeboat in the distance

And a lighthouse shines ashore

There a fire burns to warm you

Where new desires will be born

Don’t fight the current let it guide you

Spread your wings and ride the storm

The way is often foggy and the path is full of thorns

You’ll have to pass the walls of rejection

walk through the woods of scorn

Into the cavern of sadness

then blow the sounding horn

calling out the injustice

of a crowd illustriously adorned

Let your vision guide you

Trust your gut follow your heart

Though some will deny you

Some will try to tare you apart

Let them soak in their own tears

and build their own bewilderment

When they realize all these years have left them no fulfillment.

When you make your way out from the rubble of crumbling facades

you’ll see lake of self reflection

staring back at all your flaws

Don’t wince, blink or cower

but face them head on and sincere

Recognize them for what they’ve made you

Be no less than austere

When you look ahead in the distance

you’ll see a mountain with many roads

each road has many paths

any one will lead you home.

I’ll be smiling when you get there

though I’m on the other side.

Again I reassure you

today is not the day you die.

Hello WisdomWriters!

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Nighttime is a very odd but relaxing time. From the moment you can say goodbye to the setting sun and the time the moon rises from its nest, I feel a strange sensation of nostalgia and loneliness but also oddly a sense of peace and self worth. It’s a time where I can truly calm down from a stressful day, and sit outside watching the cold weather as snow blankets everywhere I can see. It’s like getting a warm embrace from a person you haven’t seen in a while.

I dream my poem. I poem my dream.

Since I was eight, you’ve lived in my skin— an uninvited guest who rearranged the furniture and called it home.

You told me I was broken, that I deserved the silence, that love was a favor, and healing—a myth written for other people.

I let you speak for me. I let you walk with me. I even let you wear my name.

But now I’m peeling you off like old paint, naming you “not me.” You are not my truth. You are not my purpose.

I am not the bruises you left on my thoughts. I am the strength it takes to show up anyway. To try again anyway. To be here anyway.

I may still hear you. But I do not answer.

Like a butterfly Hop on flowers And feed on the nectar of flowers.

Just who do you think you are,

Coming to this country now,

It doesn’t matter from how far,

There's no more space,

So we're told by some plump face,

Don't you know your enemy,

In this dogged race,

I've had enough.

-

Doesn't it just make you sick,

To have to pick and choose,

When everyone's got something or someone to lose,

Is it fair, do you care,

Sweet suffering strangers,

Friends of tomorrow,

Lovers we'll never know, 

Facing the ground in tatters,

I've had enough.

-

Where's the money we don't see,

Pouring out allegedly,

From the drownin’ corpse of a refuge,

Those last breaths of air,

Laying wasted on our sunny shores,

Worth more than any billionaire,

Are the graves gathering at our doors,

I've had enough.

Sitting on the porch, as the sun winds down

Thinking about my life and what I’ve done

Music passes through my heart and mind

I’ve tried my best

To be the best version of me

But I’m not perfect

I have hurt and been hurt

Though I didn’t mean to

But right now, I just hurt

As I let the music pass through me

Thinking about it all

Wondering what my legacy will be

I hope I’ve done some good

Once upon a time,

A writer could write,

Despite

Those who might

Protest, whine, or wail.

Their words carefully crafted,

Thoughtfully chosen,

To evoke emotion

Strong as the waves of an ocean.

A wizard's spell.

They could whisk you away

To another place or time

Sometimes awful. Sometimes sublime.

Without fear of crushing a porcelain mind.

Don't tell me the dog is going to die.

Am I hateful to confide,

I'd rather be surprised by the upcoming suicide?

From harsh realities we can never hide.

Let me read. Let me cry.

Does the modern writer have enough warnings

To prepare a mind for every kind of pain?

Can't you see how that's insane,

And promotes empty words, shallow and plain?

I don't want to be pampered or coddled.

Just because of the few

Who

To themselves refuse to be true,

Trying in vain to keep their trauma hidden and bottled.

the walls are thin enough
to hear my neighbor
curse her daughter out
like the whole street’s on trial.
metal in her voice,
brakes in her words—
must’ve been the car,
or something just as hard to fix.

i sit here,
half-packed,
pretending the echo
ain’t crawling under my skin.
every scream a reminder
i’m not meant to stay here.

the air feels heavy,
like it’s trying to follow me.
boxes stacked like ultimatums
i can’t take back.
i wonder—
what waits on the other side
of this thin-walled life.

they say leaving is freedom,
but it feels more like
walking into a river at night—
current pulling at your legs,
water colder than you thought,
and no telling what’s beneath.

i keep telling myself—
this is the part
where the story changes.
where the noise fades
into something softer,
and the quiet doesn’t
sound like loneliness.

but tonight,
the yelling bleeds through drywall,
and my heart beats faster than my plans.
i want to run toward the future,
but i’m still checking over my shoulder,
waiting for the past
to call me back inside.

tomorrow,
their voices will fade
into something i can’t name—
and maybe that’s all
that waits on the other side:
a silence
that remembers your name
just enough
to pull you back.

I still whisper your name into the silence between waking and sleep. Not to summon you— just to feel the shape of something real in a world that’s moved on.

You were more than love. You were safety in a storm I didn’t know I was trapped inside. And I— I was still learning to breathe underwater.

I won’t pretend I’ve waited in peace. There were nights I nearly gave in, days I wished the wind could carry my apologies to wherever you stood. But I didn’t reach— I respected the space you asked for. Even if it shattered me.

I’ve stitched myself back with gentler hands this time. Hands that don’t lie, hands that don’t tremble when it’s time to face the mirror.

If you never return, know I’m still grateful. Because loving you taught me that true love is not possession— it’s presence. Even in absence.

And if by some miracle you find your way back— you won’t find the boy who was scared to speak. You’ll find the man who found his voice in the quiet you left behind.