Hope You Are Happy

 

I saw you the other day in a picture,

You look the same, unchanged by time’s gentle hand.

A familiar face, like a whisper of a distant song,

Echoing the brighter memories we once had.

I hope you’re happy, truly, from deep within—

And your days are wrapped in warmth and light.

May adversity keep its shadow far away,

And may love surround you, constant and bright.

I don’t speak of you, for you are sacred,

A quiet reverence held close inside.

A treasured chapter in my heart’s own story,

Where kindness and warmth softly abide.

I hope you're happy...

I Release the Pain of Lifetimes: A Journey to Freedom

For ages, I carried pain—quietly, invisibly, and often without understanding its burden. This pain wasn’t always loud. Sometimes, it came in subtle forms: a lingering ache, a moment of hesitation, a tightening in the chest. Other times, it roared in anger, isolation, and despair. Today, I name it, confront it, and let it go. This is my release. This is my freedom.

I release the pain of being misunderstood—of speaking from the heart and being met with silence, skepticism, or scorn. I let go of the exhaustion of trying to explain myself in a world that often wasn’t listening.

I release the pain of bearing the projection of someone else’s wounds—the unjust burdens of others’ insecurities, anger, and unresolved trauma that were unfairly placed on me. Their pain was never mine to carry.

I release the pain of being unheard and not considered—of fading into the background when I desperately needed to be seen, to be valued, to be acknowledged. I reclaim my voice and my worth.

I release the pain of insecurity, of second-guessing my every step, of shrinking myself to fit into spaces I was never meant to occupy. I am enough, just as I am.

I release the pain of being manipulated, suppressed, and judged—when my truth was twisted, my light dimmed, my intentions misunderstood. No longer will I carry the shadows of others’ control.

I release the pain of being punished not for my actions, but for others’ expectations. The lies I was told, the betrayals I endured, the careless handling of my soul—they are no longer welcome in my spirit.

I release the pain of being left out in the cold—those lonely nights, the abandonment, the exclusion that cut deeper than any blade. I step back into the warmth of self-love.

I release the pain of being hurt by words and actions, intentional or otherwise. The wounds they left no longer define me. I choose healing over bitterness.

I release the pain of me betraying my own essence—of ignoring my intuition, silencing my desires, and molding myself to avoid conflict or gain approval. No more.

I release the pain of trusting the wrong people—not with anger, but with wisdom. Every misplaced trust taught me something about discernment, boundaries, and the strength to walk away.

I release the pain of hurting others because I was hurting within. I forgive myself for the harm done in survival mode, for reacting from a place of unhealed pain. I offer them peace, and I offer myself grace.

I release the pain of holding on to things that harmed me—grudges, memories, regrets, and toxic attachments. I no longer tether myself to what was never meant to stay.

Today, I release everything that weighs on my mind and heart. I unshackle my spirit from the grief of the past, the fear of the present, and the anxiety of the future.

I am free.

Not because pain never touched me, but because it no longer owns me. I choose liberation. I choose peace. I choose me.

This is not just a release; it is a rebirth.

A Place Called Home

The greatest gift my parents gave to me
Wasn’t wrapped in ribbons, nor beneath a tree
It was space - safe, sacred, free.
A quiet room within their hearts
Where I could simply be.

No judgement hung in the warm air,
No expectations, no silent glare
Just voices calm, an open door,
Just love that asked for nothing more
Than that I learn to trust my core.

They knew the world would bruise and bite,
That not all battles come with light.
So they armored me in gentleness,
In truth, in grace, in soft finesse,
A strength so deep, it fears no test.

My father, fierce in quiet might,
A shield of justice, clear and bright.
He taught me “right” is never loud,
But rooted firm, not swayed by crowd
And kindness wears no prideful shroud.

My mother watched with tender eyes,
For joy to bloom, for spirit to rise.
In a world that seeks to cage and mold,
She urged me always to be bold,
A quiet fire with a heart of gold.

They spoke in gestures, big and small,
Of dreams, of doubts, they heard them all.
They never told me who to be,
They only helped me learn to see
The endless worth deep within me.

I owe them more than words can show
My calm in storms, my steady glow.
They're roots that hold, the wind that guides,
With selfless hearts and knowing eyes.
Their love and strength in me abide.

And as I stand, proud and whole,
I know their hands shaped my soul.
No treasure greater could there be
Than to be born from love so free
To be of them, and still just me.

Letter for Me

Dear Future Me,

You made it.

I know there were nights when the silence felt heavier than the air around. Mornings when you woke up, you wondered if the ache in your chest was ever going to leave. You questioned your worth because someone else couldn’t see it—but you see it now. And that vision was earned, not gifted.

The path to self-love wasn’t a soft-lit journey of affirmation and flowers. No, it was a war field. One where you had to defend your heart from manipulation, stitch your soul back together from every word that tried to unravel it, and walk away with nothing in your hands but your own truth.

You tried—God knows you tried. With patience, with compassion, with hope. You gave them more chances than they ever gave you peace. But love is not sacrifice if it only bleeds from one side.

You did the bravest thing: you stopped asking why they wouldn’t change, and started asking why you kept waiting. That question? It cracked open the sky.

And now, look at you. Breathing differently. Loving without apology. Choosing silence over chaos. Choosing peace over drama. Choosing you—not as a last resort, but as a first instinct.

You deserve to be met with gentleness, not judgment.

You deserve peace, not performance.

And love—true, steady, nourishing love—should never feel like a battleground.

You learned that self-love isn’t a one-time declaration. It’s a daily devotion. It’s saying no without guilt. It’s resting without shame. It’s remembering that your softness is not weakness, and your boundaries are not cruelty.

So whenever life tests you again—and it might—read this and remember:

You are not who they said you were.

You are not what they did to you.

You are the woman who said, Enough.

And from that moment on, everything changed.

With reverence,

Your Past Self

—the one who chose healing,

even when it hurt.

Nail on the Coffin

The mirror cracked — not by storm,
but by the hush between midnight moans,
when breath was stolen
not offered.

He wears a crown of borrowed light,
spun from flattery and fear,
a sovereign of shattered clocks
and broken glass
beneath the bed.

Tongue of rust,
soul of smoke—
his mercy, a ledger.
His love, a leash.

He calls it jest
when he leaves a mark on your face.
Calls it need
when he trespasses your dreams.
Calls it fate
when your body breaks beneath
his silence.

Yet still—
your spirit stood like a sapling
in monsoon mud,
rooted in the whisper:
"I will not die for another man's delusion."

He mourns a kingdom
he never built,
asks for caretakers
of a palace of dust.

You —
a temple
he tried to pillage
but could never own.

And so,
with trembling hands
you draw the line
not in sand—
but stone.

The divine watches,
not with wrath,
but with quiet pride.

You rose.
You remembered.
You refused.

Not ego—
but resurrection.

Not heartbreak—
but the rebirth
of your name.