Cradle of Her Heart

She steps out of the darkness with resolve,
Her broken heart not fully healed;
Still, she carries on with quiet strength and beautiful calm.
She is not deterred, though her tears are carried in the wind;
She does not weep for herself but for him;
It was in the second trimester, that she named him.
She weeps over her loss but will try again;
In her pain, she called on heaven to safely deliver him,
But it was not as she prayed for it to be;
In tears, blood, and agony she miscarried—
But now, it is in her heart, that he is carried.
She says his name in beautiful whispers
And sings to him lovingly,
Saying, My beautiful baby, forever you are a part of me.

For the less fortunate Children at Christmas

You are loved.

You are beautiful flowers
arrayed in different colors.

You are precious.

You are worth more than beryl,
gold, and diamonds.

You are priceless.

The light in you, shines brightly.

You are like the moon in the sky
that shines nightly.

Though you may not have many gifts this year,
or any at all, remember in your heart there is a song;
remember, you might shed tears and be sad,
but it will not last long.

You are not less than, you are more than
you can ever imagine.

Always stand tall, even in the face
of cruel whispers and mockery
from those with more material possessions.

The angels look upon you.

You are heaven’s passion.

— Merry Christmas


Her Only Son

When I was a child, I thought if I stared at my mother’s pictures for hours and weep, I could bring her back from her eternal sleep. I joined the ranks of the motherless children who rode their bicycles in the night, in tears, with their mother’s memory still in them. An only child, I witnessed the pain in my grandmother’s eyes; the agony she carried from the loss of her children. She told me long held secrets before her transition; in my young body and receptive mind, I sat quietly and intently listened. Early in her marriage she had suffered a miscarriage, and through her life, she had endured tremendous damage. That evening I became a man; holding back my own tears, she knelt and wept, and let out all the pain of the years. I took my grandmother’s hand — and kissed her, and held her, and told her that she had become my mother, and that she was all I had, and that I loved her. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered; and on that night, oh that precious night, I swore an oath to myself in a small room under the heavens, that I would die to protect her, and stored that night in the depths of my soul, so I could always remember.

We Live

We were but striplings, some without mothers, some without fathers, running wild in the night unafraid of pitch darkness with hearts of lions. Our aura glowed beautifully in the souls of us; we laughed and we wept in fierce countenance. We were young, yet many were the trials for us; our bodies skinny and undeveloped, so in the company of monsters we fought with tears and dreamt of vengeance. To keep the pain from sorrowful and depressed grandmothers, some held in their agony and kept the devastating silence. Go back in time, and look into the eyes of us. Move past the innocent smiles, and see the hurt in us. The unresolved pain of our past is the illness of us. We cry on the graves of our mothers and curse the abandonment of our fathers. If I could, I would take away the trauma from all of us. We seek heaven’s light to take away the darkness. They are scarred, and they are beautiful. They are my brothers. They are my sisters. Still, now, with the blood of hope, and with the blood of vengeance, we survive tormented summers and bitterly cold winters.

Beautiful Mother

In and out of consciousness, before she left, she reached for her son, who wept with his head turned, and in that moment, she released all the pages of her depths, so that even in death, he could hold onto her; and with all the strength she had left, she lovingly whispered three words to him, while wiping away the tears of his weeping, in her last breaths.

A Child’s Eyes

I am a child of the night
Hear my growls of hunger
See the pain that I suffer
Witness the eyes that have 
Seen what can never be unseen
Hear my cries 
Look into my soul and see
The dark secrets that 
I withhold from my mother
See my tears and the hurt 
That I daily suffer
Witness the pain inflicted
By a real life monster
Who causes great harm
And nights of insomnia 
Record my dreams of 
being a bird in flight
And escaping the torture
See the scars on my mind 
And on my soul
Witness the physical and mental
Trauma that takes a double toll
See the land of peace
That my mind has devised
Where there is no more pain
Only love and clear blue skies
Hear the screams that awaken
Me at night
The bad dreams, the fear, the fright
See my Christmas list to Santa for toys,
And for the suffering to go away
To be accepted by my peers at school
who tell me I’m not wanted,
And exclude me from their play
See my poverty and the laughter in class
From boys and girls of a different class
Feel my anger and feel my pain 
Feel my sadness walking home in the rain
See my ideations of not wanting
To be here anymore
Looking at cars go by 
Wishing I wasn’t poor
See the feelings of pain
And revenge that I hide
That I’ve never told, and eat me up inside

This cold cold world is no place for a child
I’m sorry I have to go; the street lights are on
Mom says I have to come inside.