On my last breath,
I begged the night for a saviour—
but the darkness stayed quiet.
No one came.
The cold laid the truth bare:
in the chaos, in the ruins,
no one is coming
to pull you from your wreckage.
Your salvation is yours.
You save yourself—
or don’t rise.
LOOK FOR
A horizon
that doesn’t fade
when you reach it.
A purpose
that survives the quiet.
A reason
not to burn it all down.
Something that holds
when you lean—
And doesn’t give.
SEARCH FOR
A place
where you don’t perform.
A landing
that doesn’t collapse.
A room inside you
that doesn’t echo.
A truth
that survives the storm—
Not gentle,
but still yours.
YEARN FOR
A home
that doesn’t bruise.
Warmth
that doesn’t leave.
Something
that doesn’t shrink you
or ask you to betray yourself.
Yearn for the self
that stops asking.
The one that stands—
Unflinching,
unchosen by fear.
The one that takes the throne
without apology—
After everything
it bled to keep.
I want to know the truth of your soul,
Your strength, your story,
The fire that drives your heartbeat forward through the night.
I’m not afraid of the monsters you carry—
The rage born of old wounds, the scars,
The hurt forged in your bones.
I am no stranger to the dark underworld;
My monsters, my oldest companions—
Linger like background noise that refuses to die away.
But we are not our monsters;
We are what we create from the mess they leave behind.
Show me the artworks of your life.
Create some magic with me.
I aimed for red—
sunset bleeding orange and fire,
a perfect contrast.
Then it changed.
Green.
I almost didn’t take the shot.
But I did.
And now I see more than I planned—
not colour,
but a path.
A horizon waiting.
We spend so long waiting for the perfect red,
the perfect moment,
the perfect sign—
but life doesn’t wait.
It turns green.
And every green light
leads to the horizon.
So go.
Let them be who they pretend to be,
and let them fall.
Leave them to their misery,
their hollow claims and borrowed skin.
Negativity, truth, and karma
will swallow them whole.
For they are their own demon,
their own slow demise.
True colours fracture through the mask,
the costume stained beyond repair.
They hate the mirror of their own heart,
so they hide inside a stranger’s face.
Affogato afternoons, where the day softens and the heart sharpens.
I sip the sweetness melting into the bitter, hoping it teaches me something honest.
I remember I’m allowed to slow down.
Some afternoons are a truce.
Others are a battlefield,
Where I sit across from myself, letting the espresso burn through the fog I thought I was done fighting.
But here – in this melting moment – I let it all blur.
The past I’m trying to outgrow, the future I’m not ready for, the voices that rise like steam and disappear just as fast.
Because in affogato afternoons, I learn the same truth over and over:
Even the bitter can soften. Even the frozen can give. And sometimes, the only way forward is to let yourself melt just enough to begin again.
Find reasons to stay and stay relentless.
Rest is still progress and rebirth is a journey.
You will find your way.
JACQUELINE LENTE POETRY
The sad truth is
No one else can save you.
You have to dust away the misery.
Darker times behind, darker times ahead
We are endlessly changing.
Facing scattered dreams,
Silent screams.
Bleeding for a thousand reasons.
Rebirth,
The heart beats slow.
Safe in quiet places
Seeking my own comforts,
My own means to stay alive.
Jacqueline Lente Poetry
I cry watercolour skies,
You can see the tracks of my tears.
I’m too dead inside.
Indigo hues deepen as daylight wanes,
And I realise,
I don’t live here anymore, inside my head.
All I can think of is,
Hope is a slow poison,
And temporary ecstasy,
is enchanting,
Against the fatal embrace of time.
– “Indigo hues, watercolour skies” – Jacqueline Ann Lente
Feature Image taken by Jacqueline Ann Lente
jacquelinelente.com 