Tag: guidance

  • BRIEF WARMTH, LONG ECHO.

    Just another season passing through 🖤

  • QUIET SURVIVAL

    I spent years
    waiting for grief
    to come roaring back through the door.

    Instead it learned to sit beside me.

    Never gone,
    only softer now,
    lingering like an old friend waiting across the table.

    The years no longer howl
    like they used to.

    Light returns slowly,
    through the kitchen windows,
    laying gold across unwashed dishes
    and half-watered plants.


    Half-warm coffee.
    Rain against the garden.
    The cat asleep nearby.
    My name resting safely in my own hands.

    The light asks nothing of me.

    There are still nights
    where memory returns like weather,
    slow thunder in the bones,
    old wounds opening their tired mouths—

    but it passes.

    I no longer confuse peace with emptiness.

    No one tells you,
    how strange it feels
    when your life finally stops hurting.


    How silence itself
    can make you weep.

    Some wounds never vanish.
    They simply loosen their grip.

    The world grows around it.


    Now the winters arrive gently.
    Not as punishment—
    just another season passing through.

  • MY GRIEF TAUGHT ME DISCIPLINE

    My grief taught me discipline.

    Not the clean, motivational kind—
    the quiet, brutal kind.
    that holds you together
    when everything you love comes undone.

    The discipline of surviving
    what should have broken you.

    Grief carved the truth in front of me—
    the pause before collapse.
    Tears taught me
    what words never could.

    My peace arrived—
    honest, not gentle.

    Now I honour the scars that taught me—
    the ones that closed without permission,
    that carried wisdom into my skin
    and proved I was worth healing.

    I let go of what no longer serves me.
    I stand in the truth of my heart
    and the marrow of my soul.

  • THE WRATH OF THE BROKEN

    I carried the wrath of the broken.

    Or maybe—

    It carried me.

     

    Are we broken for the better,

    Or just addicted to the dark?

     

    A rose in the mud.

    Wrong side of midnight.

    Nothing grows here—

    It survives.

     

    Shadows of old friends

    Linger longer than they should.

     

    Laughter echoes—

    Warped now,

    Still sharp enough to cut.

     

    There is a stillness

    Between breaths.

     

    Not peace—

    Just pause.

     

    We reach for it anyway,

    Mistaking silence

    For healing.

     

    Trapped in the quiet unravelling,

    We miss the tremors

    Of collapse.

     

    No impact.

    No warning.

     

    Just the slow, sinking truth—

     

    We were never fighting anything else.

     

    We became

    The enemy

    We swore we’d never face.

     

  • ON MY LAST BREATH

    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.

  • REVIVAL

    Regrowth is not gentle.
    I died at midnight—

    A slow bleed,
    crying spells,
    fractures beneath the surface.

    Learning to grow
    in the soil of last year’s failures—
    they are lessons,
    not a death sentence.

    I shed the stories that kept me small,
    shut the doors that fed the dark.
    I make peace with sunlight,
    and the quiet pull of moonlit nights.

    I embrace the changes—

    soft,
    loud,
    necessary.

    I hold the tender moments.

    I love—despite the madness.

    Revival.

  • Burning out, beautifully
    – Jacqueline Lente Poetry

  • STARGAZING

  • Artworks

    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.

  • My tears remain the same, but I will never be that me again.

  • Thunder

    As thunder cracks and the heavens break
    We are pulled back into each other’s storm,
    Drawn by a tether neither of us can name.
    Our cords run deep.


    We search for the centre calm – the fragile quiet buried beneath all this noise.
    For the home of belonging in each other’s heart.

    Chaos surrounds us, chaos tests us,
    Thunder pressing its questions hard against our ribs.


    Yet in the wreckage, we reach for each other first.
    Searching, finding each other
    In the stars,
    In the dark of the night,
    In the rain and the cold,
    And in the last flicker of the flame.


    Always returning, always pulled back in.


    Hold my hand and let it rain,

    You are mine –

    through every storm,

    in every lifetime that finds us again.

  • 🚦 Green Light 🚦

    🚦 Green Light 🚦


    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 Fall

    Let Them Fall

    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, karma
    will swallow them whole.
    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.

  • Untitled post 856

    Love survives us,
    even when nothing else does.
    In all this madness,
    your hands still find me.
    We stay—
    even when the world doesn’t.