#healing poems on Hello Poetry

lisagrace Jul 20

Sussurus

She stands, it calls her
From the cold and damp, stale air
These walls - a cage now
Orange flowers a scatter
Past the plethora
To the quiet green, she moves
Shadowed sussurus
Of leaves, root and soil afoot
They whisper. She stops,
And settles into the grass
Her eyes, blinking slow
Cool gusts move
through her fingers

Softly, she exhales
She didn't know she'd withheld
That breath -
Now a tear

A poem about escaping what’s heavy and letting the earth hold some of it for you.
Sometimes healing starts with a whisper through the trees—and a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

#poetry #healing #nature #forest #grief #quiet #stillness #susurrus #softness #emotionalrelease

blackbiird Jul 20

My First Love

You were there when no one else was
So I shall return
To my first love
Who loved me
Before I took my first breath.

Returning to Jesus after years of depression.

#healing #returning #depression #anxiety

William A Gibson Jul 19

Petunia

I moved it off the porch today,
where sun falls hard and wide.
The *** is cracked, the roots are weak.
Still, something waits inside.

The blooms were bruised, a weathered pink,
like lips that lost their say.
Still, one had cupped the morning rain
and hadn’t looked away.

My back cried out. I crouched and worked,
Hard knuckles in the dirt.
I cut the dead, I turned the soil,
poured water where it hurt.

I set it by the cedar rail,
where shade and heat align.
Still stiff. Still sore. You’re gone. That holds.
It’s standing. So am I.

#petunia #resilience #tenderness #loss #gardening #survival #healing #memory #absence #growth

lisagrace Jul 19

What's The Opposite of Woe?

My coffee sings a morning lie
I greet the room and get no reply
Still, I talk to myself—at least I try
The walls never say hello or goodbye
Maybe the silence is just being shy...
but we usually see eye to eye
Now it’s time for ham and egg pie

The bookshelf waits. Dust comes to stay.
Unread for weeks. This is the way.
My pile of clothes begins to sway—
A soft rebellion, mild decay.
Necklaces lounge in proud display,
Bright lollipop earrings steal the day,
I dress like I’ve outrun dismay.

Otonoke in my ears, pocketed hands
I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a plan
The clouds clap with a flash and a BANG
I walk like I'm lit by streetlamp spite—
just me and the echo of maybe-I-might

One step, two step, three step, four
I giggle in the face of thunderstorms
Rain, rain, please don't abate
Let me linger in this state
Wet socks squish, but they carry their weight
Wish I had nowhere to be, that'd be great
The clouds and I are late for our date
My umbrella dozes – dry, ignored
Drip-dry dreams on the hallway floor
I hang up my coat and set my plea:
Oh woe is not me

I refuse to droop, to wither, to mope
Not all the time, at least, I hope
Let joy arrive on tiptoe
A spark that only I bestow
A tiny smile for what I miss the most

Because what is the opposite of woe?
If not a blink that dares to glow

Wrapped in fleece, the evening mine
Slow sips of golden honey wine
Just me, and this quiet offering
Where everything small becomes everything

A slightly ridiculous, slightly profound poem about rainy socks, rebellious outfits, and refusing to mope (at least not all the time).
For anyone who’s ever asked “what if I’m okay anyway?”—and meant it.

#poetry #whimsy #healing #selfreflection #rainyday #joy #melancholy #hope #defiance #softrebellion

lisagrace Jul 19

Honey, Lemon and Ginger

I must look ridiculous
to these other café patrons—
just a woman with orange-dyed hair
blinking back stubborn tears,
trying not to cry
into her honey, lemon, and ginger.

But I sit there, half-failing
to maintain my composure.
I look anywhere else—
up at the ceiling,
out the window,
trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

These tears dare to seep,
but this sadness needs to steep—
not pour.
Or else they'll overflow
in overwhelm.
I must take the helm.

So I take a sip:
that warm, sweet bitterness
rights the ship.
And the gentle calm
soaks back in.
They may glance over and wonder
What must be on her phone
To evoke such emotion?

Oh, don't mind me
I'm just writing poetry
about a silly girl,
and her hopes for understanding
Falling onto deaf ears yet again
and again,
and again,
and again
One more long swill
A sharp intake of breath
They prickle at my eyes,
Again

My teacup is empty -
I think I'll need another ***
For the sake of my sanity
I cannot let them see it pour
For a flood, an empty teacup
Has begot

A poem about writing a poem in a café – literally TODAY, trying not to cry. It's about holding it together when your heart is steeping in too much.
Warmth, near-overwhelm, and one more *** of tea.

#poetry #grief #softness #overwhelm #healing #tears #cafe #vulnerability #warmth #processing

lisagrace Jul 19

Still Enough As I Am

My friend, I love you

I'm not in love with you, just to be clear.
It's not so much
in the way that you walk,
or the way that you talk.
Or even the way your long hair
is always just so.
Or your smile.
Or your warmth.

I remember the way that I used to be.
Quiet.
Unsure.
Afraid.
Naive.

But you pulled me away,
made me see that I could be more -
would be more, beside you.

I remember your birthday
at your family's restaurant.
I knew I'd already
ruined the night for myself,
but you found me
where I stood alone in the street...
and the silence softened.
You asked me if I wanted to dance.
I said no, it was already too late,
the damage was done...
but I wanted to say yes.

****, I wanted to say yes.

You're the one who listens to me,
who doesn't assume
I'll always say no thankyou.
I'd had "friends" like that before,
They made me believe
that I wasn't enough, just as I am.
But you...you believe that I am.

Now? I’d say yes.
No hesitation.
With you, the nerves quiet down.
I don’t feel like I have to hide.
It just feels safe.
Like I can dance without thinking,
and not be afraid of being seen.

But I've worried, even now.
Am I doing enough?
Do I check in, when it matters?
Am I still enough as I am?
You are a ******* gem, and all I want
is for you to sparkle.

I see how you are with others.
Lighter
Laughing
The way it skims the air,
untouched by my knowing.
I look at you and I wonder,
could I be like that?
Do I even want to?
I know my energy is quiet and subtle,
yet you meet me there and reflect it...
but is what we have enough for us?

This could all just be in my head.
I know I'm a worrier.
But I think you know
how much you mean to me.

I'll never say it.
I can't.
Not out loud, anyway.
But I can manage a birthday card
and a felt frame of a tabby cat
who looks like Julia.
The words flow easier that way.
And so I write it here too.

I really, platonically love you.
My squish.
My gem.
I love you.

A platonic love letter to the friend who helped me grow into myself.
This is for the ones who stay soft, who see you clearly,
and love you as you already are.

#platoniclove #friendship #selfacceptance #healing #growth #quietlove #spokenword #squish #foundfamily

lisagrace Jul 19

Silly Girl

Ah,

The cyclical effect
Of generational trauma
The incessancy of his
Encroaching dark aura
He refuses to look past his umbra
He cannot perceive the pain he inflicts
I'm sure that
He doesn't even wallow - only wails
A piteous cry. A melodramatic howl
And he dares to sit there and wonder
Why no ties prevail?

He is an old man now
And still he believes
That the disease that was he,
Was nothing more than
An elaboration. A tease.
The last so-called apology he had given
I had somehow still accepted gladly
The girl, still clutching one last note
She slid it under the door
And hoped

Silly girl,

She should have known
That hope is dead
There was never any perception
No conception of his venom
Two decades later,
And still he wails
This woman does not feign indifference
Moonflowers abloom,
Defiant in their noctilucence

**** him and his darkness!
How dare his mere presence
Make my stems cower
I'd thought those memories
Had begun to wither
Fading, obscuring into evanescence
But he'd made my leaves quiver

And here I am again,
Trying to bloom
Again

A poem about the long echo of abuse, and the girl who hoped—
until she didn't.

For anyone who's had to grieve someone still living,
and grow anyway.

#poetry #trauma #healing #abuse #generationaltrauma #survivor #hope #family #selfgrowth #moonflower

Maryann I Jul 19

The Sky Still Opens

I’ve been collecting broken mornings
in jars that once held
moonlight.

Each one fogs the glass
like a soft exhale
from a dream I couldn’t finish.

But still—
the birds keep singing,
and the clouds,
like gentle leviathans,
float on as if they know
the sun will show up again.

I pass trees that bow
from the weight of weather,
yet bloom
without apology.

I want that kind of peace—
not loud,
not sudden—
but the kind that grows in the cracks
of yesterday’s heaviness,
that drips down like honey
into a life
that remembers sweetness.

Some nights I cry
for the version of me
who thought love had to hurt
to be real.

I’m softer now—
not weaker.
There’s a difference.

And I know
the world doesn’t hate me.
It just rains sometimes.

And sometimes,
the right people
arrive like spring
after a ruthless frost—
quiet,
warm,
and entirely enough.

I’m not there yet,
but I’m going.

And maybe that’s
the most beautiful
part.

#healing

Evly Jul 18

I Am Not a Puppet

Girl, you are no puppet.
You are not made to entertain.
You are imperfect and should love it—
That you are beautifully whole—
Despite the pain.

Not in batting eyes,
Lies the truth of what a woman is.
It’s in the red she bleeds
And in the dreams her wounded heart keeps—
Aching to be perfect, yet
Unknowing, brings life to earth.

She needs no angel hair or curves refined,
Nor tall, nor petite must she be.
She is the soul that breathes life,
Not the heart that seeks validation,
For she is heaven’s whispered gift,
A light that lifts, a spirit swift.

#femininity #womanhood #empowerment #hope #selflove #confidence #growth #resilience #healing #strength