The cradle sat waiting, untouched, yet full of her dreams.
The pink lines never appeared, but her hope clung like breath.
In her heart, she rocked a child the world could not see.
The needles didn't hurt at all
But the heart's cry
The pain killer couldn't hush
The soul was numb
And the Silence grew heavy
Her arms longed endlessly.

Still, she whispered lullabies into the night.
Still, she believed spring might come.
Still, she carried love too deep to fade.

-

The lines vanished.
Dreams remained.
She kept cradling.

-

when peace settles within the soul.
Happiness glows through the heart,
rising softly to the lips
curving into a smile
that needs no words.

-

Her eyes held a quiet tenderness,
the fragile gaze of a frightened deer.
They tried to speak
but every thought dissolved,
drowned beneath the endless waves
of her own ocean.

-

Sometimes, in chaos, I find rest
my heart unsettled, perhaps.
Yet in the silence, I am quietly rebuilding
the part of me that still beats,
fragile, stubborn, alive.

-

To where the air hums with devotion,
where lilies drift in sunlight,
untethered by roots or water,
dancing in their own grace.

Take me to a place
where love surrounds me like wind,
soft, relentless, endless
where I am whole,
and every part of me is adored.

-

The broken heart sleeps beneath frost,
roots tangled in shadowed soil.
The barren land whispers promises,
waiting for rain to awaken its seed.

In another season,
buds will pierce the quiet earth,
petals unfurling like forgotten dreams
and spring will finally remember us.

-

The eyes could not hide
the ache tucked within the chest.
A thousand whispers slipped
through the quiet cracks of being,
messages unspoken,
rippling softly into the world—
felt but unseen,
heard but never answered.

-

is like a war inside your own heart.
Every word
is an arrow you fire at them
and feel the pierce yourself.
You fight with them,
but the wound
finds its home in you.

-

The scars she carried on her heart
remained caged,
unknown.
She wove brave stars across the sky,
stitched from fragments of longing,
in a make-believe world she built herself.
She raised a wooden fence
painting it bright,
so no one would see
how weathered she had been.
She let others believe
she was all light, all laughter.
And sometimes
she almost
believed it too.

-