Poems About Self-Discovery, Growth & Inner Healing

On Forgiveness

Just as a drop, and another.Driblet and a stream.A river, and a waterfall.Back to the sea.So does forgiveness cry,its first teardrop. Salt of life.Salt of life.On hands or lips? “Forgive yourself,no, you can’t forgive yourself,but you can forgive others,”all is said. But forgivenessdoes not proscribe.It embodies all.A blanket,and a ground. To forgive one,is to forgive…
Simplify

Simplify life.By choosingthe weight of truthover the lightness of lies. Move,not out of obligation or demand,but because your soul knows the path.Even if it’s slow, even if it’s unseen,move with meaning, not with noise. Or stay,but stay with integrity,not as a ghost in your own skin,but as a presence that breathes honesty.Let silence speak when…
Stone Held Open

You were walking,shoulders bent beneath a weightyou forgot you carried. Then- awareness:a quiet whisper in the gale,the moment you heard your own breathover the thunder of blame.You stopped.You turned.You saw the trail of fragmentsyou’d scattered like stones. Acknowledgment:no defense, no excuse-just the soft whisper,Yes, I did.This is mine.No flinching from the mirror,no turning the light…
The Judge

Do not judge others,let their own conscience be the mirrorthat reflects their truth.For every soul carries its own path,its own weight,its own silent reckoning. To judge is to impose your lightupon their darkness,to claim a claritythey may not yet see.But true wisdomlies not in passing sentence,but in standing beside,in holding space,in trusting that each soul,in…
A Letter to Your Attention

If your mind goes where you want it,would your heart follow? Your heart is not a book of old fractures,its value measured by the breaks.It is a garden where every loss,like a season’s turn,composts into ground for what comes next.The name of the last frost is irrelevant.The thaw is what matters. But beneath the soil,a…
The Dream Room

There’s a room in the mind,We visit at night,to ride the waves in the mouth,and fly on the winds of the lungs. Call it the endless dream-plane.Where evil is familiar, old as sin.While the angel is an unwelcome stranger,waiting at the gate.But the soul sees and knows,battles without a sword. What died long ago, buried…
The River Remembers

Childhood trauma doesn’t vanish. It lurks in the space between inhaling and exhaling.After all, It is what a child perceives. The river breaks the dam, a flood unleashed without warning. Tears fall like rain on cracked heart, each drop a memory, heavy and cold. Sorrow arrives first, cloaked in silence, then pain follows, barefoot and burning. Confusion, dressed as contentment, moves…
Echoes of the Cosmic Self

If you choose to think, then seek the truth, not like a scholar seeking answers,but like a flame seeking air. For without it, you wander into caverns where light forgets the way, a labyrinth of shadows blend from doubt, where self-sabotage chants like a hymn in the blood, and hopelessness settles like dust on forgotten altars. You grow accustomed to the dark. You stop seeing the…
Yield

Triggers live not in the world, but in the wallsof our own making—built from echoes,bricked with yesterday’s tears,mortared with fear disguised as memory. They are not real—not truly.Only felt.And what is felt…can be unmade. We are the architects.We hold the trowel.We choose:to let the past seep through the cracks…or to seal them—with breath, with stillness,with…