Tag: selfReflection

  • BIRTHDAYS

    Birthdays,
    rolling in faster every year,
    dragging their long shadows behind them.

    Something terrible
    always circles back.

    The innocence fled early,
    left me sleepless
    in a cold room of memories turned nightmares.

    I still hear younger laughter
    through half-lit hallways, like ghosts through another house—


    sugar-stained fingers, small hands,
    bright candles,
    warm lights in winter windows.
    The world untouched by dread.


    Time bruises in unknowing ways.

    Memory decays softly.

    Now I grow flowers alone,
    watering them with versions of myself I no longer recognize.

    No candles to burn.
    Only silence waiting in the walls.

    Getting older
    feels like watching winter
    move into the bones.

  • BONES AND ASH


    I am made of bone
    and a restless mind.

    Coffee gone cold.
    Cigarette to ash.

    Watching the world
    pass
    without me.

    I got too good at goodbyes.

    Left pieces of myself
    in every one.

    Something in me
    didn’t survive them.

    Now I find my own way
    through what’s left of me.

  • JUST ENOUGH

    I stayed standing
    Not steady—
    Just enough
    to pass as strength.

    Bending quietly.

    Hands shaking.

    Mind slipping—
    just enough to lose hold.

    No one noticed
    how close I was.

  • We don’t see what’s waiting.

  • IN MY TRENCHES

    In my trenches–
    this haunted house
    eats me whole.

    Ghosts of memory
    wander.

    Whispers in the walls.

    My mind—
    a forbidden dungeon
    no one enters.


    Something inside
    won’t stay still.

    Dead eyes.

    On the floor again.

  • BUILT IN RUIN

    Holding roses,
    bleeding out on the floor—

    the witching hour waits,
    voices at the door.

    my love,
    built in ruin,

    wounded.

    there’s blood in the water—

    and still
    I ruin more.

  • between silence and survival.

    the night knows—
    and that’s enough.

  • 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.

  • FUEL

    Yesterday’s faults

    become tomorrow’s sorrows.

    In the dark corners of my mind

    I string stars like fairy lights.

    I take thunder in my chest

    and turn it to fuel—

    to light the fire within.

  • LOOK / SEARCH / YEARN


    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.

  • 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