This section contains poems written to capture emotional truth through rhythm, line, and compression. These pieces focus on feeling, voice, and immediacy rather than narrative sequence or explanation.
The writing may draw from lived experience, memory, and observation, but it is shaped by image, sound, and pause. Meaning often emerges through what is suggested as much as what is stated.
This space is for readers who want language that resonates rather than instructs, and who are willing to sit with intensity, ambiguity, and insight.
My first memory is of corn.
Chunks, golden and whole, floating in a sour puddle.
My first memory is three concrete steps and a landing, slick with dew.
A door that opened. A mother’s voice, sharp.
Not my mother—someone else’s.
Disappointment.
I wanted to play. I wanted to laugh.
Instead:
A swing, alone.
Then my mother’s face, storming through the park.
Hands pulling.
The walk home.
Do I remember the spanking?
No.
Do I remember the corn?
Always.
As I sit upon the witness chair
At the judge I’m supposed to stare
Give my story, my heart I’ll bare
Beg for a sentence long and fair
Explain how hard it’s been to cope
May confess how I’ve turned to dope
Through words of emotion I will grope
Hold myself together, is my hope
I’ll tell of memories I hold dear
Then tell of what I now most fear
All his charges I dread to hear
When it’s over I’ll seek a beer.
I walk in numbness, dread and pain
The thought of seeing him again
Is nothing more than a mental strain
My love for him I need to explain
I just want to hold him one last time
Regardless of the type of his crime
My soul and heart aches and pines
knowing he may be away for a lifetime
Will they let me see him?
I hope
Will they let me hug him?
I hope.
Will he want to see me?
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.
I have the write to remain sane.
Anything I say or do can and probably will be used against me at any given time.
I have the write to my own opinion.
If you do not like or accept my opinion, another one will be presented to you.
Do you understand these writes as they’ve been given to you?
I am “the Write to sanity”.
Pleased to meet you.
Have you ever asked God “why?”
Have you ever questioned His existence?
Have you ever screamed out in agony wondering why YOU even exist?
Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?
Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?
Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?
Have you ever tried to wake up hoping it was just a nightmare?
Have you ever sought answers but found none?
Have you ever wondered “why me”?
Have you ever put on a fake smile just so you didn’t have to talk about it?
Have you ever wanted to just start all over?
Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?
Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get in on the good side of life?
Have you ever felt cursed?
Have you ever felt sad and regretted so much of your life?
I have.
My son wrote this before attempting suicide May 7, 2014
I’ve lost my way
I am the one to make this go around,
But I’d still like to be 6 feet under ground.
Children of abuse
One by one they fall like drones
The children of abuse
Can’t you hear their cries
Vitriolic and caustic words
Ingrained into their minds
Silently they sigh
Quietly they go through life
Never telling a soul
Pretending to be shy
Seeking ways to cope in life
alcohol, cutting and drugs
their memories to nullify
Suicidal thoughts prevail
Withdrawal and depression
He took her innocence
Shamed her youth
He calls me “mom”
Hurts worse then a broken tooth
He didn’t stop with just one touch
He kept going back
Had her innocence in his clutch
He calls me “mom”
I hear his voice,
see his face
He’s in my dreams
Through my thoughts he does race
He calls me “mom”
I see his sin
I hear her cries
She calls me “mom”
My soul begins to die
They call me “mom”
My (ex)husband made me cry.
Brought me to tears.
Held me down forcefully.
Dared me to succeed.
Cursed my name, my existence, and the breath I breathed.
He watched me try to commit suicide and did nothing.
He kept me weak.
He was a curse,
a reality that I had no friend or security in him,
EVER.
#comingOutOfTheCloset
EMOTIONLESS
Emotionless I stand
Eyes glazed
Mind dazed
Indifferent I sit
Body cold
Feeling old
Detached I lay
Heart numb
Feeling glum
Distant I remain
Blank stare
Soul spared
Here I lay
Near I sit
In feeling I stand
In passion I will rise
The walls are closing in on me
So fast, their vacuum force is sucking the breath right from my lungs.
I feel trapped.
I feel I can’t breathe.
I feel I can’t move as they get closer and closer.
It’s getting stuffy, almost stifling hot.
The air is thick, and my chest feels heavy.
It’s getting dark, my breaths are shallow.
It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.
I can’t see; there is no light in here.
Total darkness.
They’re moving closer and closer;
I can feel the corners.
It’s pressing on me faster and faster, with increasing urgency.
My arms and legs can’t keep the walls from getting closer.
Trying with all my might, pushing as hard as I can.
I am no match for the strength of these walls.
Walls are supposed to be for our protection
But theses walls are going to be the death of me.
Yoli's Write To Sanity 