Each morning
My soul is filled with wonder
That of all the warmth in the world
It is my arms you seek.
Poem by J. Grace
Magic
Remember,
once upon a time
you believed in magic, too.
Poem by J. Grace
somewhere between
Somewhere between
good morning and goodnight,
I found you.
And somehow,
even though you had
a future already imagined,
you wanted to create one with me.
I think we must have looked
at the night sky,
and seen the same stars.
Poem by J. Grace
She is Courage
She is not a bag or a box
To be shoved in a corner
Or placed on a shelf
She is insecurity
She is imagination
She is as strong
as she is emotional
She is a tender heart
That needs to be held
Not hidden
Let her out
She cannot grow into
Courage if she is not watered
With love.
Poem by J. Grace
This is one of those early morning poems that wake you up needing to be freed. We all have those little insecurities and quirks that just need our own acceptance before they can grow into our strengths. Whatever fear or part of yourself that you hide – stop. Don’t keep one bit of your brilliance hidden. Human beings are much too interesting to be perfect, and you are the sum of every imperfect thought, clumsily speech, heartbreak, and scar. Let the world see you.
spring wind
some days
I wonder if the windows
invite the dust in
just so they can feel
the wind.
Poem by J. Grace
remember
When I start to doubt
the strength of my hands
and the reach of my arms
I remember that I’m loved
by a man who knows
my strength
and sees beyond the reach of
my doubts
And never lets me forget:
how incredible
how beautiful
how strong
I am.
Poem by J. Grace
writer
Sometimes I forget that
I am a creature of inspiration
and all I create
is worthy.
Poem by J. Grace
a thought
I think
words can open up old wounds
just as well
as making new ones.
Poem by J. Grace
autocorrect
The hatred, the envy, the disappointment
It all turns to sadness.
There must be something wrong
within
to be corrected.
Poem by J. Grace
home
My home is a cabin
on the edge of a current,
between the shore and the mountains,
guarded by tall, frightening trees
green with life and loving.
My home is a cabin
with steps leading up from
the barnacles bestrewed on the rocks
visited by small crabs with little claws
and my feet with little toes.
My home is a cabin
with a deck built of creaking wood
with crispy and wet flip flops,
grouped together in a sandy embrace,
whispering of fireworks and s’mores.
My home is a cabin
in the back of my mind
where only memories keep it lit,
the warm, orange light glowing beneath
the front door, always leading me back.
Poem by Poem by J. Grace
