Tag: poetry

Posted in writing

Villain Origin

Posted on by There for You Editing

Oh, I remember.

I used to shrink myself to make others comfortable.

Smiled through gritted teeth. Bit my tongue until it bled.

I was the helper, the healer, the “of course I don’t mind.”

But soft doesn’t mean stupid.

Kind doesn’t mean weak.

And silence doesn’t mean consent.

They laughed when I set boundaries.

They mocked my fire and called it “too much.”

And when I finally said no, they called me the villain.

Fine.

Let them.

Let them whisper about me in rooms they thought I’d never enter.

Let them fear the storm they created.

Because I’m done being digestible.

This is the part of the story where the soft girl sets everything on fire …

not out of cruelty,

but because she finally realized

she never needed their permission to burn.

Now I wear my rage like red lipstick.

Now I protect my peace like a dragon guards gold.

Now I smile when they flinch …

because I earned my crown,

and I’m not handing it back.

Not for them.

Not ever again.

Posted in authors, book editor, indie authors

“Quiet Corners”

Posted on by There for You Editing

I miss you in the quiet corners—

not the loud ones full of tears,

but the soft, invisible spaces

I’ve learned to cry inside for years.

Like folding laundry in silence,

or standing in checkout lines,

or when someone says, “Tell me about him,”

and I just say, “He was kind.”

I carry your name like a whisper

stitched into my seams,

smiling when I speak of you,

but screaming in my dreams.

They think I’ve moved on,

because I laugh and get things done,

but I still flinch at father’s day cards

and pretend the grief weighs none.

You were my first safe place—

my compass, my home, my guide.

Now I pretend I’m fine

with a storm just under the tide.

So I miss you in the quiet corners,

where no one else can see—

grief is a ghost I dine with

while the world has coffee with me.

Posted in book editor, writing

The Burning Bridge

Posted on by There for You Editing

I was soft once—

quiet, careful,

apologizing for storms I didn’t summon.

But even silence has a snapping point.

Even mercy burns.

You mistook my grace

for a leash,

my peace for permission.

So you sparked the fuse,

drenched in your own pride—

and still expected rain.

But I don’t beg when I’m blamed.

I don’t kneel when I’m pushed.

I don’t apologize

for lighting the fire

when all you did was pour the gas.

So here I stand,

back turned, match lit,

watching the bridge crackle

with every lie you ever told.

And no, I won’t look back.

Let it burn.