Some Trapped Minds

By Jazmyne

This submission is a collection of poetry titled “Some Trapped Minds." These poems offer a glimpse of what a trapped mind experiences while surviving in a world that tries to break you.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

this shit ain’t in me.

no fairytales or happy endings

for people like me.

we don’t get sunny D thoughts.

our overcast of past trauma,

bring dark days and thunderstorms,

category 5’s remain untamed

in my brain.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

is a silenced child

trained to produce error

with every thought of possibilities

creating a shortage

on the next painted smile

we place on our faces 

for the perfect family picture

thinking good thoughts.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

be a dream;

wishful thinking

like waiting for daddy to choose me,

like waiting for mommy to choose me,

like waiting to choose me,

like waiting for this country 

to really be free.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

be a goose chase

placing faith in politics 

looking for change

imagining the chains being broken

when they just change colors.

every past success being unraveled

undone, leaving loose threads

to noose heads

gaslit.

we should have known

this was bullshit anyway

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

never gave me a damn thing

but wasted breath

playing in our faces

sprinkling chaos in every corner

we called safe

boxing us in

breaking our skin

suturing strings

that move our mouths to sing their pride

“by the dawns early light”

removing DEI’s 

Project 2025

is to reframe our minds

with the white story

making America great again

black death be the fate again

having hope 

Having Optimistic Perspective

Effortlessly

be theater 

for the ones that can afford to feast

we study their lines

forgetting they’re lies

auditioning for their parts 

waiting for callbacks 

accepting the positions of the understudy

holding on to false promises

that one day we will be 

the star spangled banner

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly 

is a fraud 

dressed in colors that kill my kind.

it never gave me light

truth became my fire

and fist became my ally to fight

action will be my trigger

aiming to kill the fraud called HOPE

I reach for something crunchy

to hear the sounds

of words I want to speak 

bare down on my teeth,

bribing the monster in me 

to keep quiet

every salty letter of my curses chewed,

gliding down my throat,

swallowed to my pit of pride,

increasing my appetite to match its size

causing my heart rate to rise

who knew holding anger with food 

could make me dead

one could argue

to speak my mind— instead

I eat every word in this bag. 

I’m craving something sweet,

make me feel special, 

like all that sugary goodness

was made just for me.

I did good this week.

sacrificing all my wants

so, I’m rewarding myself 

with a cookie or two.

down aisle three and

I spot my favorite candy.

grabbing one pack of chewy, 

artificial flavors, and red 40

sticking to my gums,

helping me numb out 

take me back, 

to my fucked-up childhood.

I didn’t realize 

how good I had it, back then, 

but these twizzlers

will help me remember.

I want some soul food,

a home-cooked meal

make my loneliness feel easy.

one bite of fried chicken,

remembering grease popping

kitchen, surrounded by family. 

I smell the sweet jiffy

we fought over

the last piece.

my brother over the sink

mixing the best sweet tea 

I‘d never drink.

collard greens and yams

bring me back 

my little bitty hands

helping momma 

wash them for the umpteenth time.

those years 

went by so fast

so let this plate help me time travel back.

gimme all the bread

french toast, dinner rolls,

donuts, and cake.

get in me. stick to me.

fill my face.

warm me up from the inside.

fluffy flakes like a hug to my lips, 

your sustenance melts in my mouth

like a tongue kiss. you’ve been

my best lover. there for me 

through thin and thick

always around when I’m desperate

supporting my need for comfort.

you never let my emotions 

get the best of me.

you protected me, swallowing

insecurities down my throat

sitting in my belly where— it’s safe.

feels like asthma asking

begging your throat

to let oxygen pass.

feels like bad balance,

like your back is missing.

find a wall!

feels like bouncing bastards on your breast.

you clutch it, checking

if your heart is still there

deep breaths…

feels like final destination

one through five.

your eyes rolling toward the inside,

viewing videos of worst-case scenarios.

feels like heightened hues, hallucinations,

phantom conversations

confirming the thoughts

only you know are crazy.

stop thinking!

feels like scared screams,

sympathy stealing sorries,

sorrow slipping into silence.

it feels like devastation

dancing in your direction,

demanding a duo

daring you down into the ground.

 can’t calm down!

it feels like palpitations

pounding pulses to panic.

it feels like panic.

like shock waves under flesh.

like unregulated nerves.

it feels like fear, like crying.

like buried feelings, like anxiety—

Breathe.

I don’t have anything in my bag.

what I had 

leaked on surfaces.

I didn’t see the trail I left

until I saw what little I had.

I tried to glue the hole,

refill my bag,

but the sealant was faulty

and I always noticed too late.

nearly empty,

meeting moments

where someone could use

what I have.

needing to keep 

the little I had 

I clutched my bag;

carrying from the bottom,

fist clenched, walking tense,

watching every drop.

fixated on what I held

I couldn’t see the empty hands,

desperate to receive.

and even when filled,

I missed chances to give.

another round of invitro, 

hoping to birth my dreams 

conception happened. 

my appetite for baby-steps

grew into a belly of capabilities. 

extended in resilience. 

pulling strength from within,

enduring heart burn of fears,

morning sickness of infinite doubt,

figuring out how to carry to term.

second trimester,

risk and recovery,

hits and restructuring, 

rising again.

I kept them healthy.

I fed them light.

I took birthing classes,

making sure I birth them right.

third trimester,

I made it to term.

started manifesting 

the life I deserve;

with mixed emotions

the labor pains came,

water started to break.

prepared to push out my dreams

to their highest form,

I worked, 

nine months’ worth,

I breathed, I hissed,

but what I thought was delivery

was only Braxton hicks.

false labor,

a stillborn vision. 

I mourned waiting for the next round 

of invitro.

depression be like menstrual cycles

unwarranted mood swings, fatigue,

eating everything

and being sick to the stomach all at once.

crying about everything and nothing at all.

healed enough to know what it is,

but not enough to stop it.

oscillating your thoughts

between equal opposites,

"let's try and find the cure"

or— " let's end It all".

surrendering to your diagnosis,

prescribing yourself the pill.

sleeping for days

to avoid pain.

maybe you do the healthy things.

water. exercise. therapy. repeat.

frustrated that it still doesn’t meet the need

to stop the bleed.

you thought you were stronger,

but depression be like mother nature,

bigger than you like deserts and forests

you walk through.

no clue when you’ll reach the end,

so little time in between

before it starts over again.

depression be like toxic baby daddies.

being cordial enough to sneak back in

dropping big D down deep

leaving confusing symptoms

like wanting more, like

“do I want to stay this way?”

depression be like dark days,

like ocean waves

crashing into you without warning,

like high tides rise

in the middle of the night

trapping you with no exit route.

depression be like cancer.

the one where you can only

cut so much out,

so you exist with the rest

praying it doesn’t grow

and the threat doesn’t come back.

depending on energetic shields

to protect your mental,

but depression be like God.

we idolize and bow down

to its almighty power,

giving up ours

waiting for hours, 

waiting for the days to get it all back.

depression be like triggers

like taxes robbing you of good days.

like america faking great and acting safe.

depression be like murders.

be like death.

be like black.

be like chasing dads.

be like chasing faith,

doing everything the bible say,

and still— no answered prayers.

to talk about the life

I think you live;

I can’t put together

words that you were never

allowed to speak.

chasing relief

from pain you never grieved.

pain you never processed.

never given anything,

but demands, blame,

and beatdown. — now

that's your first language.

your new currency —

conditional love.

the responsibility of providing

what you didn’t have for yourself.

learning wealth is power,

mirroring the face of your oppressors.

trading your insecurities,

for women

purpose for money,

reasoning for illegal protection.

this is your image of self-respect;

and still, they expect you to have it.

you never had a chance

to see who you really could be;

behind the statistic.

if only you were given the tools.

gentleness, real attention,

someone to stand

between you and the world.

maybe you wouldn’t have to

look over your shoulder,

keep your head down,

keep from being gunned down

or being robbed of opportunities

to see your crown, your worth,

that your breath has value

maybe if you had real examples,

someone to warn you of the predator,

to stop you from becoming one.

learning to feed off weakness.

we only see what they show

watching bad news

seeing it as the only truth.

conditioned to flinch at the skin

of our brothers; staying away

not trusting each other.

never knowing

what’s behind those eyes.

questioning what’s inside your mind.

no wonder you never speak.

why you live out their story

on repeat, being what everybody thinks,

beaten by their beliefs.

black man don’t cry!

don’t steal. don’t speak.

lay low. don’t feel,

and don’t fail me!

be strong!

stay calm.

don't cause any harm

but to yourself.

don’t be yourself,

don’t be like other black men.

don’t depend on black men.

black men don’t be a black man.

be better! be great.

be the black man you never had.

the one you never seen.

be the black man

no one ever taught you to be.

the feeling is mutual

suspect, white male 

walking like he owns the place;

but stole the whole thing.

claiming freedom.

he pledged his allegiance 

to the blood 

of the indigenous people.

he declared his white-striped privilege 

over theirs.

keep your belongings close.

when he approaches,

something goes missing.

the feeling is mutual

suspect, white female

proclaiming her superior existence,

constant seeking for attention,

convincing us all 

her emotions take the room.

bending the situation her way.

beware of the narcissism,

making you question yourself.

the feeling is mutual.

antagonizers stroll this earth with me.

breathing uneasy every time 

I see white.

they clench purse.

I clench heart, 

praying I can walk by 

and live another day. 

I look away,

wishing death on my killer.

an equal dispute.

turkey for mourning. 

turkey for their morning victory.

watching native blood leak

 all over this land.

they worked over it,

creating something unfamiliar.

one nation playing God,

inadmissible to justice.

cuffs for brown bodies.

they can’t have them free.

they can’t leave them be.

they can’t have them

live the way they want.

reinvention be the key

to the slave cycle.

placing blame on me

as we bleed 

from the bullets of their gun.

their will be done.

no liberty continuous injustice 

for us all.

I’m at war with mental health and myself.

Self: “bitch — you know you depressed

lying in this bed.”

Mental health: “it’s ok to rest. rest is not defeat.”

I’m drained from the back-and-forth.

Self: “being tired is crazy —

black don’t crack, buckle, or fold.

you don’t get tired. you got goals.

they're not coming to you. get up.

do you know what you’re up against?”

Mental health: “what if I fight anyway?”

Self: “then the disappointment —

is on you.”

Mental health: “you deserve better than you think. whatever you do — 

will lead you — to you—

 Self: “barely making it now!

how you hanging on by a thread — you’re better off dead.

you might as well take your — “

Mental Health: “time.

let your mind be what it is.

don’t give in. don’t give up.

don’t feed that voice too much power.

you know where your power is — you’re —"

Self: “powerless. this struggle is real.

these dreams gaslight the hell outta you.

ain’t no future — there’s only now,

remember?”

Mental Health: “remember your worth.”

Self: “you don’t even belong here.”

Mental health: “they’re just energies.”

Self: “you gotta make them look at me —

but you can’t. they don’t like us ‘cause—”

Mental Health: “you’re unique.”

Self: “you’re weak!”

Mental Health: “you cannot give up.”

Self: “just give it up!”

Mental Health: “submit…?”

Self: “surrender —

—to your fate”

Mental Health: …or surrender to your destiny.”

I’m at war with mental health

and with myself.

casualties mount.

Self: “how many times you tried 

to be more than who you are?

you didn’t get that far, did you?

still in survival mode —

paycheck to paycheck,

picking up, putting down your plans

just let it go — “

Mental Health: “let go of the time-frame. it’s an illusion. the future is made 

by doing at your pace. 

you get to choose fast or slow. 

you get to shape the flow.

nothing’s lost — only learned.

you earned the right to be safe,

to be secure. your future is now.”

Self: “remember this, shit.”

Mental health: “remember your worth.”

peace don’t make noise.

it don’t get loud.

it don’t make sound.

silent, like quiet rooms,

like dry phones,

no one calling no one texting back.

quieter than you know what to do with.

don’t call him back.

don’t call her back.

don’t start shit.

don’t scream.

don’t question 

this peace, is a good thing.

it’s just quiet,

quieter than you’re used to.

listen to your heartbeat.

it’s only panicking 

because you are—

beating triple time, 

working too hard,

loving the wrong ones too far.

you’re alone for the first time,

only carrying yourself.

you might need help,

but don’t reach for the familiar.

you are the healer in your circle.

get some practice with silence

maintain your breath;

when there’s no one left

to fix, nurture, feed—

bleed those neglected wounds,

dress them, tend to them

with the same love you gave others.

sit in the quiet.

let the tears fall.

be weak in this space.

fall apart!

break into pieces!

no one is here to mirror your pain,

so face it, 

and call it beautiful anyway.

pick up every flaw, every pain,

the way you picked up your friends.

acknowledge and validate them.

this is where your overflow begins then —

maybe you won’t feel so empty,

maybe you won’t choose people who leave,

maybe you and I

could spend time

fixing, nurturing, feeding you.

come into this quiet room,

listen to it,

be in it,

and no matter what we do,

don’t walk away from your peace.

By This submission is a collection of poetry titled “Some Trapped Minds." These poems offer a glimpse of what a trapped mind experiences while surviving in a world that tries to break you.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

this shit ain’t in me.

no fairytales or happy endings

for people like me.

we don’t get sunny D thoughts.

our overcast of past trauma,

bring dark days and thunderstorms,

category 5’s remain untamed

in my brain.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

is a silenced child

trained to produce error

with every thought of possibilities

creating a shortage

on the next painted smile

we place on our faces 

for the perfect family picture

thinking good thoughts.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

be a dream;

wishful thinking

like waiting for daddy to choose me,

like waiting for mommy to choose me,

like waiting to choose me,

like waiting for this country 

to really be free.

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

be a goose chase

placing faith in politics 

looking for change

imagining the chains being broken

when they just change colors.

every past success being unraveled

undone, leaving loose threads

to noose heads

gaslit.

we should have known

this was bullshit anyway

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly

never gave me a damn thing

but wasted breath

playing in our faces

sprinkling chaos in every corner

we called safe

boxing us in

breaking our skin

suturing strings

that move our mouths to sing their pride

“by the dawns early light”

removing DEI’s 

Project 2025

is to reframe our minds

with the white story

making America great again

black death be the fate again

having hope 

Having Optimistic Perspective

Effortlessly

be theater 

for the ones that can afford to feast

we study their lines

forgetting they’re lies

auditioning for their parts 

waiting for callbacks 

accepting the positions of the understudy

holding on to false promises

that one day we will be 

the star spangled banner

Having

Optimistic

Perspective

Effortlessly 

is a fraud 

dressed in colors that kill my kind.

it never gave me light

truth became my fire

and fist became my ally to fight

action will be my trigger

aiming to kill the fraud called HOPE

I reach for something crunchy

to hear the sounds

of words I want to speak 

bare down on my teeth,

bribing the monster in me 

to keep quiet

every salty letter of my curses chewed,

gliding down my throat,

swallowed to my pit of pride,

increasing my appetite to match its size

causing my heart rate to rise

who knew holding anger with food 

could make me dead

one could argue

to speak my mind— instead

I eat every word in this bag. 

I’m craving something sweet,

make me feel special, 

like all that sugary goodness

was made just for me.

I did good this week.

sacrificing all my wants

so, I’m rewarding myself 

with a cookie or two.

down aisle three and

I spot my favorite candy.

grabbing one pack of chewy, 

artificial flavors, and red 40

sticking to my gums,

helping me numb out 

take me back, 

to my fucked-up childhood.

I didn’t realize 

how good I had it, back then, 

but these twizzlers

will help me remember.

I want some soul food,

a home-cooked meal

make my loneliness feel easy.

one bite of fried chicken,

remembering grease popping

kitchen, surrounded by family. 

I smell the sweet jiffy

we fought over

the last piece.

my brother over the sink

mixing the best sweet tea 

I‘d never drink.

collard greens and yams

bring me back 

my little bitty hands

helping momma 

wash them for the umpteenth time.

those years 

went by so fast

so let this plate help me time travel back.

gimme all the bread

french toast, dinner rolls,

donuts, and cake.

get in me. stick to me.

fill my face.

warm me up from the inside.

fluffy flakes like a hug to my lips, 

your sustenance melts in my mouth

like a tongue kiss. you’ve been

my best lover. there for me 

through thin and thick

always around when I’m desperate

supporting my need for comfort.

you never let my emotions 

get the best of me.

you protected me, swallowing

insecurities down my throat

sitting in my belly where— it’s safe.

feels like asthma asking

begging your throat

to let oxygen pass.

feels like bad balance,

like your back is missing.

find a wall!

feels like bouncing bastards on your breast.

you clutch it, checking

if your heart is still there

deep breaths…

feels like final destination

one through five.

your eyes rolling toward the inside,

viewing videos of worst-case scenarios.

feels like heightened hues, hallucinations,

phantom conversations

confirming the thoughts

only you know are crazy.

stop thinking!

feels like scared screams,

sympathy stealing sorries,

sorrow slipping into silence.

it feels like devastation

dancing in your direction,

demanding a duo

daring you down into the ground.

 can’t calm down!

it feels like palpitations

pounding pulses to panic.

it feels like panic.

like shock waves under flesh.

like unregulated nerves.

it feels like fear, like crying.

like buried feelings, like anxiety—

Breathe.

I don’t have anything in my bag.

what I had 

leaked on surfaces.

I didn’t see the trail I left

until I saw what little I had.

I tried to glue the hole,

refill my bag,

but the sealant was faulty

and I always noticed too late.

nearly empty,

meeting moments

where someone could use

what I have.

needing to keep 

the little I had 

I clutched my bag;

carrying from the bottom,

fist clenched, walking tense,

watching every drop.

fixated on what I held

I couldn’t see the empty hands,

desperate to receive.

and even when filled,

I missed chances to give.

another round of invitro, 

hoping to birth my dreams 

conception happened. 

my appetite for baby-steps

grew into a belly of capabilities. 

extended in resilience. 

pulling strength from within,

enduring heart burn of fears,

morning sickness of infinite doubt,

figuring out how to carry to term.

second trimester,

risk and recovery,

hits and restructuring, 

rising again.

I kept them healthy.

I fed them light.

I took birthing classes,

making sure I birth them right.

third trimester,

I made it to term.

started manifesting 

the life I deserve;

with mixed emotions

the labor pains came,

water started to break.

prepared to push out my dreams

to their highest form,

I worked, 

nine months’ worth,

I breathed, I hissed,

but what I thought was delivery

was only Braxton hicks.

false labor,

a stillborn vision. 

I mourned waiting for the next round 

of invitro.

depression be like menstrual cycles

unwarranted mood swings, fatigue,

eating everything

and being sick to the stomach all at once.

crying about everything and nothing at all.

healed enough to know what it is,

but not enough to stop it.

oscillating your thoughts

between equal opposites,

"let's try and find the cure"

or— " let's end It all".

surrendering to your diagnosis,

prescribing yourself the pill.

sleeping for days

to avoid pain.

maybe you do the healthy things.

water. exercise. therapy. repeat.

frustrated that it still doesn’t meet the need

to stop the bleed.

you thought you were stronger,

but depression be like mother nature,

bigger than you like deserts and forests

you walk through.

no clue when you’ll reach the end,

so little time in between

before it starts over again.

depression be like toxic baby daddies.

being cordial enough to sneak back in

dropping big D down deep

leaving confusing symptoms

like wanting more, like

“do I want to stay this way?”

depression be like dark days,

like ocean waves

crashing into you without warning,

like high tides rise

in the middle of the night

trapping you with no exit route.

depression be like cancer.

the one where you can only

cut so much out,

so you exist with the rest

praying it doesn’t grow

and the threat doesn’t come back.

depending on energetic shields

to protect your mental,

but depression be like God.

we idolize and bow down

to its almighty power,

giving up ours

waiting for hours, 

waiting for the days to get it all back.

depression be like triggers

like taxes robbing you of good days.

like america faking great and acting safe.

depression be like murders.

be like death.

be like black.

be like chasing dads.

be like chasing faith,

doing everything the bible say,

and still— no answered prayers.

to talk about the life

I think you live;

I can’t put together

words that you were never

allowed to speak.

chasing relief

from pain you never grieved.

pain you never processed.

never given anything,

but demands, blame,

and beatdown. — now

that's your first language.

your new currency —

conditional love.

the responsibility of providing

what you didn’t have for yourself.

learning wealth is power,

mirroring the face of your oppressors.

trading your insecurities,

for women

purpose for money,

reasoning for illegal protection.

this is your image of self-respect;

and still, they expect you to have it.

you never had a chance

to see who you really could be;

behind the statistic.

if only you were given the tools.

gentleness, real attention,

someone to stand

between you and the world.

maybe you wouldn’t have to

look over your shoulder,

keep your head down,

keep from being gunned down

or being robbed of opportunities

to see your crown, your worth,

that your breath has value

maybe if you had real examples,

someone to warn you of the predator,

to stop you from becoming one.

learning to feed off weakness.

we only see what they show

watching bad news

seeing it as the only truth.

conditioned to flinch at the skin

of our brothers; staying away

not trusting each other.

never knowing

what’s behind those eyes.

questioning what’s inside your mind.

no wonder you never speak.

why you live out their story

on repeat, being what everybody thinks,

beaten by their beliefs.

black man don’t cry!

don’t steal. don’t speak.

lay low. don’t feel,

and don’t fail me!

be strong!

stay calm.

don't cause any harm

but to yourself.

don’t be yourself,

don’t be like other black men.

don’t depend on black men.

black men don’t be a black man.

be better! be great.

be the black man you never had.

the one you never seen.

be the black man

no one ever taught you to be.

the feeling is mutual

suspect, white male 

walking like he owns the place;

but stole the whole thing.

claiming freedom.

he pledged his allegiance 

to the blood 

of the indigenous people.

he declared his white-striped privilege 

over theirs.

keep your belongings close.

when he approaches,

something goes missing.

the feeling is mutual

suspect, white female

proclaiming her superior existence,

constant seeking for attention,

convincing us all 

her emotions take the room.

bending the situation her way.

beware of the narcissism,

making you question yourself.

the feeling is mutual.

antagonizers stroll this earth with me.

breathing uneasy every time 

I see white.

they clench purse.

I clench heart, 

praying I can walk by 

and live another day. 

I look away,

wishing death on my killer.

an equal dispute.

turkey for mourning. 

turkey for their morning victory.

watching native blood leak

 all over this land.

they worked over it,

creating something unfamiliar.

one nation playing God,

inadmissible to justice.

cuffs for brown bodies.

they can’t have them free.

they can’t leave them be.

they can’t have them

live the way they want.

reinvention be the key

to the slave cycle.

placing blame on me

as we bleed 

from the bullets of their gun.

their will be done.

no liberty continuous injustice 

for us all.

I’m at war with mental health and myself.

Self: “bitch — you know you depressed

lying in this bed.”

Mental health: “it’s ok to rest. rest is not defeat.”

I’m drained from the back-and-forth.

Self: “being tired is crazy —

black don’t crack, buckle, or fold.

you don’t get tired. you got goals.

they're not coming to you. get up.

do you know what you’re up against?”

Mental health: “what if I fight anyway?”

Self: “then the disappointment —

is on you.”

Mental health: “you deserve better than you think. whatever you do — 

will lead you — to you—

 Self: “barely making it now!

how you hanging on by a thread — you’re better off dead.

you might as well take your — “

Mental Health: “time.

let your mind be what it is.

don’t give in. don’t give up.

don’t feed that voice too much power.

you know where your power is — you’re —"

Self: “powerless. this struggle is real.

these dreams gaslight the hell outta you.

ain’t no future — there’s only now,

remember?”

Mental Health: “remember your worth.”

Self: “you don’t even belong here.”

Mental health: “they’re just energies.”

Self: “you gotta make them look at me —

but you can’t. they don’t like us ‘cause—”

Mental Health: “you’re unique.”

Self: “you’re weak!”

Mental Health: “you cannot give up.”

Self: “just give it up!”

Mental Health: “submit…?”

Self: “surrender —

—to your fate”

Mental Health: …or surrender to your destiny.”

I’m at war with mental health

and with myself.

casualties mount.

Self: “how many times you tried 

to be more than who you are?

you didn’t get that far, did you?

still in survival mode —

paycheck to paycheck,

picking up, putting down your plans

just let it go — “

Mental Health: “let go of the time-frame. it’s an illusion. the future is made 

by doing at your pace. 

you get to choose fast or slow. 

you get to shape the flow.

nothing’s lost — only learned.

you earned the right to be safe,

to be secure. your future is now.”

Self: “remember this, shit.”

Mental health: “remember your worth.”

peace don’t make noise.

it don’t get loud.

it don’t make sound.

silent, like quiet rooms,

like dry phones,

no one calling no one texting back.

quieter than you know what to do with.

don’t call him back.

don’t call her back.

don’t start shit.

don’t scream.

don’t question 

this peace, is a good thing.

it’s just quiet,

quieter than you’re used to.

listen to your heartbeat.

it’s only panicking 

because you are—

beating triple time, 

working too hard,

loving the wrong ones too far.

you’re alone for the first time,

only carrying yourself.

you might need help,

but don’t reach for the familiar.

you are the healer in your circle.

get some practice with silence

maintain your breath;

when there’s no one left

to fix, nurture, feed—

bleed those neglected wounds,

dress them, tend to them

with the same love you gave others.

sit in the quiet.

let the tears fall.

be weak in this space.

fall apart!

break into pieces!

no one is here to mirror your pain,

so face it, 

and call it beautiful anyway.

pick up every flaw, every pain,

the way you picked up your friends.

acknowledge and validate them.

this is where your overflow begins then —

maybe you won’t feel so empty,

maybe you won’t choose people who leave,

maybe you and I

could spend time

fixing, nurturing, feeding you.

come into this quiet room,

listen to it,

be in it,

and no matter what we do,

don’t walk away from your peace.

By Jazmyne