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“There is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.”

I dreamed of a hall where the shadows grew,

Filled with faces I once knew.

Crushes, friends, and fleeting ties,

Their eyes held questions, but no replies.

They stood in silence, a quiet crowd,

No words exchanged, no voices loud.

Just echoes of moments long since passed,

A mirror of time that couldn’t last.

Why did they come, these ghosts of mine?

To show me the cracks in the march of time?

Or to remind me of paths I chose,

The doors I opened, the ones I closed?

Maybe it’s me, holding too tight,

To fragments of love that slipped from sight.

Or perhaps it’s a sign to let them fade,

To free my heart from the past it made.

When morning came, their faces blurred,

Their silent voices left unheard.

But still I wondered, soft and true,

Do they dream of me, as I of them too?

And here it is! I hope you enjoy the read, thanks! ;)

Unseen

Because I have a different style,

they glance and look away,

as if the surface they see

is all there is to me.

No one will know I’m a writer,

spinning through deep thoughts into fragile threads.

No one will know I want to fight,

not just for my place at the table

but for all my people’s places—

chairs carved from dreams denied.

No one will know my favorite color is red,

The shade of passion, rebellion,

and love unspoken.

No one will know I cry silently,

letting the darkness catch my tears

so my family doesn’t have to.

No one will know I am the therapist,

a steady for others’ storms,

because I’ve forgotten how

to let my own voice break free.

But maybe they don’t ask to know.

Maybe they don’t want to see.

And yet, I remain—

whole, hidden,

-Kelly Barnhill, When Women Were Dragons

For you, I would,

Cleave the stubborn skin of the pomegranate,

A bleeding heart, wild and pure,

Its beauty unruly, chaos beneath my hands.

Crimson stains bloom on my white dress,

A quiet surrender to love’s mark.

Still, I persist—

Delicately, I free each jewel,

Threading through tangled veins,

Rinsing away the pale bitterness.

I hold the harvest, trembling,

Offer it to you with reverence.

You devour it, thoughtless,

As if it were nothing.

But I feel each bite—

A seed torn from the marrow of my heart,

Love unspooled,

Spilling into the void of your hunger.

And yet, for you, I would.

Again and again,

Until the last shard of me