Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · home · micropoetry · Poem · Poetry · prose · sadness · Uncategorized · Writing

Where was Home?

But where was home?

Was home a building, a place, a time, a person?
Was home the warm smell of coffee brewing early in the morning
Or was home the clean smell of detergent on your pajama clothes late at night?

Was home the crisp smell of paper as you sat down to read or was home the stingy smell of ink leaking from the pen?

Was home even a smell,
Or was home the feel of your worn out comforter as you laid to rest each chilly evening?

Was home the feel of slippery tiles under your bare feet
Or was home the feel of fraying petals between your fingers?

Was home the view of the city lights outside arched windows
Or was home the view of green grass outside narrow ledges?

Maybe home was a time, a time to where you were more happy
Or a time to when your heart was more whole,
when those you thought you’d never lose were still by your side.

Was home your house, or was home the house where your grandparents lived
Where the air always felt lighter, and the stomach always fuller?

Perhaps home was the old coffee shop across the park where the people were always kind, or perhaps home was the library down the street where the stories never ended and magic was always within hand’s grasp.

Was home your country where the roads were always familiar
Or was home a foreign place, yet not explored?

Was home your mother who always calmed your heart, or was home your friend who stuck by you through thick and thin?

Was a home a building, a place, a time, or a person, yet not found?

How was anyone supposed to guide you to home
If you didn’t even know where home really was?

body image · female objectification · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · micropoetry · Poem · Poetry · positive body image · prose · sadness · Uncategorized

No More Pretty

No more flowery words
No more wispy vocabulary
No more false hopes woven into
beautiful phrases
No more lovely poetry
No more lies
No more pretty
No more pretty
No more pretty

Here’s a salute
to all those
who could not hide behind
a pleasing exterior,
who could not package themselves
into pretty wrapping paper
with a bow on top
just to visually appease
those who looked at them

Here’s a salute
to all those
who could not deceive others
with their delicate lies,
who were
just as they appeared to be,
who did not hide behind
cakey surfaces
to earn approval
and validation from those
who did not care
to look beyond
the pretty picture

Here’s a salute
to all those
who were brave enough
to stand just as they were
and were not ashamed
of all the things
that made them
to all those
who did not hide
marks and bumps and ridges
just to appear
more than they were

Here’s a salute
with my middle finger
to all those
who dared put down others
just for having flaws
and imperfections
for being human;
for being themselves

So no more flowery words
No more wispy vocabulary
No more false hopes woven into
beautiful phrases
No more lovely poetry
Just the truth
No more lies
No more pretty
No more pretty
No more prettycd69fa304e14703812980b919b38eb2d

body image · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · Poem · Poetry · prose · sadness · self love · words · Writing

The beautiful I was 

God I wish I was beautiful
I wish I was beautiful
In the conventional way
All light skinned
Hour glassed
Glossy cheeks
And red lips
The kind of beautiful
That turned heads in public places
The kind of beautiful
That drove girls
Wild with jealousy
And men
Wild with desire
The kind of beautiful
You found on the front page of magazines
The kind of beautiful
That you knew was beautiful
At first glance

I was just the beautiful
That was in my own way
The beautiful
You really had to look for
And dig deep to find
The beautiful
That only certain people saw
The beautiful
That didn’t catch eyes
Or turn heads
Or drive girls wild with jealousy
I was the beautiful
That didn’t really make me feel
All that beautiful
Most of the time


depression · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · Love · love poem · love quote · Poem · Poetry · prose · sadness

A Heart Turned Black

wp-1480257216208.jpgI wrote over the lines on my heart
Where your name was heavily scribbled,
Replacing each letter with ink
That turned my hand black.
I erased memories and feelings,
Burying them deep underneath,
Hidden away,
So they never threaten to resurface again.

I repeatedly scrawled over
All that was you
And filled in all the empty spaces.
Like a patched up quilt,
I colored each gaping hole
Where missing pieces once resided;
Pieces that didn’t belong to you
But you took anyway.

When I was done
I stepped back
And took a moment
To admire my masterpiece .
I noticed my hand
Which was now all black
Much like my heart
And with no trace of you.

Free verse Poetry · Love · love poem · love quote · Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Walls And How They Fall

The walls you’ve built
Will come tumbling down one day
And you’ll feel helpless
Like a child
Reaching for things
With too small arms
And failing.
You’ll wonder
How it got to this
How those walls you intricately built
Could come crashing down so easily.
But here’s the thing,
It wasn’t easy
It wasn’t easy to bring them down
Like it wasn’t easy to put them up.
And I pray for once
That you’d let them stay down,
And I promise
It won’t be too bad
When you’ll see
That someone can finally look in
At who you really are,
And love you for it.

depression · Poem · Poetry · prose · reality · sadness · Uncategorized · World

Little Princess

Little Princess, the castle that you sit in,
Seems not to be made of brick or stone,
Instead, it stands atop a base of happiness,
A foundation I have never known.

Little Princess, I see you soaring so high,
On a cloud sailing, taking you to Neverland.
There you’ll stay a little princess forever, discovering magic;
Peace; dreams that you’ll carry in the palm of your hand.

Little Princess, putting that tipping tiara back in place,
Intricately weaving dreams, a stitch at a time,
Bringing them together out of nothingness,
A blanket to wrap yourself in when melancholy will chime.

Little Princess, frolicking amongst the flowers,
Remind yourself not of times that were coarse and brittle,
Learn to forget; forget the world that was before,
A time where you were not royalty, where you were just little.

Little Princess, your dress is tearing!
Coming undone, struggling to weld the seams,
The seams that threaten to wake you from your stupor,
Taking you away to lands where dead are dreams.

Little Princess, dare not look down below,
At the abyss to which you will return, the meadows that fade,
Vanishing and departing to the blackness where you came from,
A life where fantasies will no longer consolidate.

Little Princess, falling; falling from her abode,
Reaching helplessly for clouds that will no longer catch her,
Everything fades, all the castles she created obliterating,
Returning to reality, back to how things were.

Little Princess, you lied to yourself,
Your great wings were never unfurled,
You’re not royalty, you’re just a little girl,
Trying to survive in this mess of a world.

body image · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · Love · mental health · Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

I Dare You

“I love you”, he whispered.
The words came out of his tainted lips, like an airy wisp,
demanding to be caught by her, and demanding to be answered to.
Her own lips formed the very words, but remained unmoving.
Her heart, wounded tightly, refused to say them back,
for her brain that thought too much, could not believe them to be true.

She was not what he saw, nor was she what he thought of her to be.
She was not the willowy hair that spread across the pillow,
neither was she the soft mouth that begged to say something back.
She was not the alluring eyes that looked fondly ahead,
neither was she the gentle smile that played across her lips.

Before him, she bared herself then, to show who she truly was.
Depth of emotion and a confused mind brought themselves forth.
Whirlwind of sentiments and a raging brain were exposed.
Hours of lying on the bathroom floor in tears were revealed,
and days where she was drowning in despair were unconcealed.

The war within her mind was harsh against the soft curve of her face,
the turmoil that she lived in gave an edge to the pleasant aura that surrounded.
He better tread soft, for the edges were sharp,
And so were the words that sometimes escaped her lips.

Her clothes fell free, disclosing the secrets that her body held.
Scars, wounds, blemishes, and stretch marks, she wore them all,
like old and dusty medals on a trophy case that was no longer treasured.
She was a work of art neglected, once started and never finished.

She was everything she did not portray; she was everything he did not see.
Unveiled and bared open,
“I dare you to love me now”, she whispered back.

Photography by Laura Williams