Tag: writingblog

  • 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.

  • NOTHING LEAVES CLEAN

    I learned early—
    nothing leaves clean.

    Not grief.
    Not love.
    Not the versions of you
    you had to bury to survive.

    Fallen tears.
    Coffee stains.

    Sunlight
    cracks through the window—
    soft,
    but unforgiving.

    Heaven—
    a state of mind.
    Hell
    lives deep in the heart.

    Smoke without fire.
    Footsteps that don’t return.
    And something in you
    still counting the dead. 

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Lost in Ruin.
  • 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.

  • Untitled post 898

    I am thunder, I am storm.
    Bones of mountain, skin of sea.
    A field full of roses and unfinished stories entertwining in the quiet in between.

  • Affogato Afternoons

    Affogato Afternoons

    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.

  • Untitled post 852

    Tra fiori selvatici e vino, I toast the ghosts that never learned to leave me.

    I tear the petals, I drain the bottle, I dare the night to swallow me whole.

    I bloom where I burn.

  • Harvest From The Loss

    Harvest From The Loss

    I thought it would destroy me but I harvested from the loss.

    Release, under a crimson red sky.

    I craved crisp air for my lungs. I willed my cold dead heart back to life.

    Not determined to live under the damage done, determined to rise up from it and rebuild again.

    JACQUELINE LENTE POETRY

  • Find Reasons To Stay

    Find Reasons To Stay

    Find reasons to stay and stay relentless.

    Rest is still progress and rebirth is a journey.

    You will find your way.

    JACQUELINE LENTE POETRY

  • Untitled post 810

    I lay under a sky painted with sweet dreams of us.

    Planets in my head,

    Galaxies in my eyes.

    The night whispers your name, you are always on my mind.

    JACQUELINE LENTE POETRY

  • Untitled post 814

    Wisdom rises from failure.

    Dwell not on the past nor inflame the source.

    Correct your misconceptions.

    Transcend limitations.

    Move into the unknown.

    All the power lies within your true self and untroubled spirit.

    JACQUELINE LENTE POETRY