I tried hard
not to hear forced
gasps and stop-start
slaps of feet on floorboards
upstairs.

I just sat
stirring Shreddies
beneath the milk
like submarines.

        ‘The hits keep coming’,
the man on the radio said,
as if he knew.
And a neighbour took me to school again.

I don’t know why the ambulance came,
details forever submerged in waters
deep and murky.
At least he was gone for a while.

Eleven-years-old should be bold and boyful
Joyful, jelly beans and snow on Christmas
Robert Frost’s birches, swinging on branches
Latching to hopes that have yet to become.

Seventeen should be dreaming, dress-up as grown-up
Growing and grinning and racing the time—
Sprint to the finish, and then look behind
Hours to minutes and seconds to breaths.

But his face had roundness that gave way to edges,
Glittering, forged from the weight of the press
How much can you take away from the boy?
You take and you take until there’s nothing left.

He howled at night, at the stars and the sky
He’d have pulled down the moon, if only he could
And he should, he ought to have clawed down the heavens
For the hole gaping wide, for a god who deserts.

And still, though he trembled, sweat slicking his skin
When he saw you watching, he gave you a grin.
It was tender, titanium, tenacious and thin
And tremulous, breaking apart in the wind.

His fingers pressed into the dirt and the dice
Then he gazed at you, O Fate, like a vise
His heart made of gold but his eyes made of ice
And he told you, O Fate:
“𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.”

we promised ourselves
to never turn out  
like our parents
and yet any  minor
inconvenience the mask slips  crumbling to the floor  
revealing a piece of them
through us.
We quickly grab
the mask
trembling hands
Hold tightly
onto the shame
we promise ourself
to never act
Like that again
Repeat the cycle.

Childhood
The first breath of life.
A memory stitched into every soul.

For some, it is filled with laughter and dreams,
For others, a daily search for food.
Some chase education with shining eyes,
While others fight silent battles just to stay alive.

One day, I looked up at the sky and asked,
"If the beginning itself is so heavy,
how are we supposed to survive the rest?"

Life smiled gently and whispered:
"The beginning is always hard.
But remember, we are all blessed with two childhoods—
One at the start of life,
And one near its end.

The first is not ours to choose,
But the second... the second is a gift we shape ourselves.


The more weight you carry now,
The lighter your soul will be later.
The more you burn in struggles today,
The brighter you will shine tomorrow.
The more you break early on,
The stronger and sharper you will stand in the end.

Pain is not the end of your story;
It is the beginning of your masterpiece."

Hearing this,
I wiped my silent tears.
I no longer asked why.
I began to work quietly,
Planting seeds of hope,
Watering them with patience.

I chose to shape my second childhood
Not with fear, not with regret,
But with dreams larger than my fears,
And with a heart ready to bloom.


Because in the end,
It is not how life begins that defines us,
But how we choose to finish
With peace, pride, and a story worth remembering

I once was a child
Walking next to seemingly endless brick walls
Running my tender fingertips against the rough edges of the blocks
Slapping my tender feet against the hard sidewalk
Discovering a surprise
Threads of green with yellow stars on top
I once was a child
Who thought those weeds were the most beautiful flower I’d ever seen

© 2025 SincerelyJoanWrites. All rights reserved.

I don't like it when people fight.
My mom and dad do every night.
I lie in bed and pretend to be asleep.
My mom looks in; I don't make a peep.

Sometimes I wish I didn't live here.
I'm a little girl who only feels fear.
When I go to school I put on a big smile.
I pretend things are fine, and it works for a while.

But there are days when I am very sad.
When I've been called names and told that I'm bad,
Then I keep to myself and hide my shame,
For I don't really know who to blame.

I'm scared to have friends come over to play.
I never dare ask if my friends can stay,
For I don't know when they will start.
I'm just a little girl trying to be smart.

The dishes breaking, the yelling, the shouting.
Their fights are ever so mounting.
I'm the innocent victim who feels rejected
Instead of feeling loved and respected.

But maybe if I wish really hard
The memories will ease and I won't be scarred.
When I awaken, maybe my wish will come true.
Out with the old and in with the new.

A new way of living for my parents and I.
There'll be no more tears for the little girl to cry,
But it's really ******* children to grow up like this.
They'll look back on a childhood they really missed.

i think i was meant
to be a flower --
maybe a tulip.
soft,
sunlit,
open.
but i spent
way
too
long
wilting away
before i even got the chance
to bloom.

there were summers
i didn’t feel.
playgrounds i left
way too early.
and dresses i never wore
because i didn’t feel pretty --
or skinny enough
to.

i wanted to run
along the beach
with my group of friends,
laughing,
smiling.
but i was too shy.
too scared
they’d make fun
of the way i run.
so i didn’t go.

i’m only fifteen,
but some days
i feel like
my petals
already fell.
like i was just
too late.

and maybe one day,
i’ll grow again --
maybe as an orchid.
maybe softness
isn’t something you miss,
but something
you return to.