Before I Knew Myself
2002
Silently
I fall
in the abyss I call
my home
Quiet
steps I walk
toward a place
I call my own
Moments of clarity
sing effervescently
through my mind
Solemn, as I wait,
when the time
will cloud my mind
Surely, life
is more than this
Certainly
I feel
light surrounds my life force
and dims when troubles near
Silently
I think
of a reason
to go on
Quiet memories
linger
shadows pushing,
racing on
Moments of clarity
shine bright
’round my stead
Solemn, as I wait
my time is close
God, don't let it end
Surely, time
lasts longer than this
Certainly
I feel
Moments are like sunshine
as the sun sets on my life
*
Learning Myself Forward
2025
I remember the quiet that once surrounded you,
the way it felt familiar enough to call it home.
You didn’t know yet that silence would one day loosen its hold,
that your voice would rise, steady and unashamed,
that the scars you carried would become maps—
guiding you not to a finished self,
but to a woman who learned, slowly and bravely,
to challenge the thoughts that told her she wasn’t enough,
to take step after step toward healing,
and to see her own worth with clearer eyes.
I remember the place you fell into,
the one that felt so deep and familiar
you mistook it for where you belonged.
You couldn’t see then that it wasn’t a home,
only a moment—
one you would climb out of slowly,
learning with each step
that darkness is not a destination
but a passage you survived.
I remember how clarity came to you in flashes,
bright for a moment, then gone before you could trust it.
You waited for the fog to return, certain it always would.
But clarity is different for me now—
not a spark that vanishes,
but a steady light I’ve learned to tend each morning,
even when the day begins in fog.
Fear still visits in unexpected moments,
yet it no longer decides my path.
Even the old self‑talk fades faster now,
because I know it won’t stay.
And when my strength wavers,
I lean into the support that holds me,
into the community I’m learning to let in.
I remember when your light felt like it was fading,
when being alone made everything heavier
and regret whispered that nothing would ever change.
You weren’t disappearing—
you were carrying too much by yourself,
trying to make sense of a life that felt unsteady beneath you.
But the light never left.
It waited, patient and steady,
until you were ready to see it again.
Now it grows with me,
brighter for every truth I’ve learned to hold,
and I no longer walk alone.
I let others walk beside me,
and the world feels wider because of it.
I know you feared it would all slip away,
that time would outrun you
before you ever had the chance to feel whole.
But I’m here now,
living a life you couldn’t yet see—
one shaped by growth, connection, and the courage to keep learning.
Nothing ended.
Everything opened.
And I carry you with me still,
not as a shadow of who I was,
but as the beginning of who I’ve become.