I fell asleep today with a terrible case of wishful thinking
and woke with my ribs aching like they remembered something
they weren’t supposed to.

Love stitched the crack in my spine
with thread made of old lullabies and teeth.
It whispered: “Shh. Stay still. This won’t hurt long.”
And I believed it.
Of course I did. I always do.

It kissed my silence like it wanted to own it,
pressed its mouth to the scream I buried in the drywall.
It didn’t ask permission.
It lit a match inside my throat
and waited to see what would burn.

My dreams—
they came barefoot and ******,
clutching a map of all the places I left myself behind.
They rubbed balm on my bruises
with hands that looked like mine
but steadier.

They said:
"You were not born to starve on your own sorrow."
But I’d grown so used to the taste,
I didn’t know how to eat without bleeding.

Love swept in like weather—
a hurricane in a soft dress,
a war poem with a soft mouth.

It did not heal me gently.
It cracked my ribs open
and climbed inside,
said “Here. Let me haunt you kindly.”

And I let it.
Of course I did. I always do.

[shadow:]
dear God,
lately,
i’ve forgotten how to be a person.
my hands feel too heavy.
my skin, too loud.
i keep failing at something
no one ever taught me.

my thoughts unravel like cheap thread,
and i keep trying to knot them quietly—
so no one sees the mess.

some days,
i’m just too tired of carrying
a soul that doesn’t sit right inside me.
like it was made for someone else.

– V


---



[light:]
"you keep track of all my sorrows.
you have collected all my tears in your bottle."
— psalm 56:8

"the Lord is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit."
— psalm 34:18

"so do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."
— isaiah 41:10


---



[shadow:]
i feel like a ghost,
pretending to deserve
food,
touch,
rest.

i move through the world like background noise.
i hurt when i’m supposed to hope.
and i run when i should reach.

i shrink from love,
because part of me still believes
i have to earn being seen.

– V


---



[light:]
"you are precious and honored in my sight,
and because I love you,
I will give people in exchange for you,
nations in exchange for your life."
— isaiah 43:4

"come to me, all who are weary and burdened,
and I will give you rest."
— matthew 11:28

"even to your old age and gray hairs I am he;
I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you."
— isaiah 46:4


---



[shadow:]
i can’t tell anymore
if the numbness is mercy,
or judgment—
or maybe just You
not knowing what to do with me.

– V


---



[light:]
"before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.
before you were born, I set you apart."
— jeremiah 1:5


---



[shadow:]
i don’t want to perform
my way into being lovable.
i don’t want to be worshiped.
i want to be held.
softly. quietly. without audition.

‘i don’t feel like a person today.’
but i still talked to You
for an hour
on the highway.
and even when i ran out of words—
You stayed.

– V


---



[light:]
"for I am convinced that neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God
that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
— romans 8:38–39

"my grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness."
— 2 corinthians 12:9

[light whisper:]
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze."
— isaiah 43:2

Honey its been a while but i know you exist between heartbeats — not quite joy not quite grief, just the long inhale before either arrives.
you lived in a house where silence carved the hallways out of not being chosen so i know that you wear sound like an armour,
for when the room goes quiet the ghosts start speaking in full sentances and you are left with no language to bury them.
you answer messages in your head, smile at texts you never send and mourn connections like you've buried them with your own hands — even tho they are still alive
just not with you.
you wage a war between
reach out
and
stay safe.
between
i miss you
and
don't look at me.
you stand still.
mid-sentance
mid-dream
mid-you.




your house is a mess- your head is worse
wondering if this is healing or you are just getting really good at pretending so you bolt the doors
and you don't dare let anyone come in.
your mother used to say that the cruelest is the hour when you must beg the stars to remember your name — you'd then say
that the pain is a fruit, bitten too soon
and yet so sweet, so knowing.
because you know you must remember everything
and overcome it.
for if you don’t overcome it, you will always be the child whose soul never grew, the woman who kept apologizing for needing too little, and loving too much.

Long are overdue the deeds you owe to yourself.

-V

In my dream that I love and hate to recall-
The sky is made of amethyst,
and you’re dancing in a metal kitchen,
laughing, telling me
that God is a handsome blonde guy.

Your last miracle
was making spring come sooner.
And I love you for that.

Memory of the first time I saw your smile,
Now ocasionally sneaks out of my eyes
and rolls down my cheek

I used to trip over our memories,
breaking a bone or three,
but now I just crack open windows,
let the air in,
Finally accepting to live with divorce and sunset.

Your voice notes expired
long before I was ready.
The realization settles first
beneath my lungs,
then crawls up my throat
before sinking into my coffee.

I miss you,
but I won’t ask you to come back anymore.
I finally understand.
Goodbye, my friend.
Be free.

they say
"i don’t get it."
as if the words I write are puzzles
and not seances
with the bones of my childhood.

they want metaphors that purr,
not ones that bleed.
Many don't like
teeth in the fruit.

my poems are not
for mouths that chew politely.
they are for those
who’ve sat inside silence
and still carry
the shape of the scream.

Writing is the equvalent of
plucking out the wires
stitched into my throat
and spelling out
a map
for anyone who’s ever felt
too much
to speak.

so no,
you don’t have to get it.

this was never for the ones
who only read
with their eyes.

do you still dress up your sadness
or have you seated it in the corner table
to eat with the children?
funny thing about tables and tears is
they get absorbed into the wood
because no one is going to notice the spill
in time to wipe you up.
it’ll just be an unsightly mark
where the wood swells with your sadness.

long gone are the insects
you forgave my dear
don't rent your heart out
to too many ghosts.

fear is a feast,
my teeth stained purple
from eating bruises—
and i am always
carcass picked clean
by second thoughts.

love?
love is a butcher at the market,
smiling sweet
while weighing out a heart
i can't afford.
it's an executioner—
it asks me to place my own head
on the block—
to kneel before joy
as if it will not
tear me limb for limb
when it tires
of my trembling.

i am fearless among ruins,
skinning my knees
on broken chapels,
yet i fear hands
that thread stitches into my ruin
with the patience
of a surgeon,
and breath that curls in my mouth,
making me taste futures
i am too cowardly
to swallow.



i survive loneliness
like a vulture survives drought—
tight-bellied,
sharp-eyed,
full of memory.

but hope—
hope pours syrup
into my lungs
and calls it resurrection.

hope convinces me
that i want love—
but
only if it promises
not to break
what it finds.