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for my kids I miss you everyday and I hope that one day you look back and you realize how much that your mother loves you and I've never stopped fighting for you guys

08/12/2026

We had this stupid little rule.

Never split the poles.

If one of us walked on the wrong side,
we had to go all the way back around
and fix it.

One day my stepson asked why.

And my oldest daughter said,

“So we don’t ever get split apart.”

God.

We really believed that.

You kids used to say it all the time:

“As long as we’re together, we’re home.”

And I believed that too.

I fought like hell
to keep us together.

And I still fight.

I fight people.
I fight courts.
I fight myself.
I fight through days I can barely get through
because some part of me still believes
there has to be something
on the other side of all of this
that looks like us.

I keep thinking if I fight hard enough,
if I keep going long enough,
somehow I get my babies back.

Somehow I get my life back.

But now when I split the poles.

I don’t turn around.
I don’t make anybody go back.
I just keep walking.

Because we got split apart anyway.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

Not that the little rule was stupid.

It wasn’t.

It meant something.

We meant something.

There was a time
when being together was enough
to make anywhere home.

And now I can stand a few feet away
from my own child,
say hey,
hear hey back,
and watch her walk away.

I still want my baby.

I still want my life back.

I’m still fighting for children.
Still trying to show them they belong.
Still trying to water them,
hold their hands,
give them some kind of guidance,
because nobody ever showed me much
besides the back of a hand.

But I’m tired.

I’m tired of fighting this hard
and still waking up without my kids.

I’m tired of people thinking
three years means it shouldn’t hurt anymore.

It hurts every fu***ng day.

Some days louder than others.

And now,
when I’m walking with someone
and a pole comes between us,

I don’t go back.

I don’t fix it.

I just keep walking.

Because once,
we thought walking around a pole
could keep us from ever being split apart.

And now I know
some things can break you apart
no matter how many times
you walk back around.

06/14/2026

nothing lasts.

Would I even want to be meif given the choice?Would I still carrythese morals,these wounds,this voice?If I had been taug...
05/11/2026

Would I even want to be me
if given the choice?

Would I still carry
these morals,
these wounds,
this voice?

If I had been taught
instead of struck,
maybe I would have learned sooner
I was already enough.

I didn’t realize
the things that happened to me
were not happening
inside other people’s families.

I thought silence was safety.
I thought being scared was normal.
I thought kids were always alone.

I had been touched
by more abuse
than love had ever shown.

I thought becoming
whoever people needed
was just what I should do.

So I became versions of myself
I barely even knew.

Some were loud
because no one listened.

Some were quiet
because silence
kept people at a distance.

Some learned to fight
because no one
was coming to save them.

And now sometimes
it feels like I walk
through a graveyard
of former selves.

I visit them from time to time.

Some were kind.
Some were clever.
Some were blind.

Some were only children
wearing whatever face
kept them alive.

I grieve them when I do.

But they are not meant
to keep speaking for me.

I am learning
to speak without them too.

And even after all this loss,
all the years I never got,
I still would not erase the pain
or undo the life I fought,

if it meant changing
who my children became.

05/03/2026

They come to your house pretending to understand,
smiles and small talk,
executioner pen in hand.

They talk about rights,
then bury the most sacred one.

Twist every word,
loading it into a gun,

aim it at your mind
till you come undone,

then use it against you
so you don’t see your daughter or son.

It’s not just systems.
It’s people.
Friends.

People who see where you’re hurting
and still choose to do it again.

You tell them your pain,
your story,
your fight.

They swear they’re different.
They’re not that type.

Then they turn around
and prove you right.

That don’t make no sense to me.
Seriously.

Destroy a life,
call it mercy.

Erase a family,
act worthy.

They play God.
Nobody questions it.

They decide what family should look like,
what’s healthy,
what’s irrelevant.

They throw around “best interest”
like it’s theirs to define,

turn best interest of the child
into best interest of mine.

They decide what matters,
who stays,
who’s gone.

Sign on the dotted line
and move on.

And still call it right
when it’s wrong.

It destroys the child’s sense of self.

And for what?

A story to tell?

Where they get to play heroic
while condemning you to hell.

What happens when the child grows
and learns the truth beneath the lie?

What happens when the child grows
and learns the truth beneath the lie?

When the story they were handed
no longer tells them why?

The statute closes quietly,
the file gets tucked away,

but the child still carries damage
no court can sign away.

No one stands accountable.
No one pays the price.

They ruin a child’s whole world
and still call themselves right.

With a snap of their fingers,
they fracture what was there,

then walk away clean
and still call it care.

Inspired by 3 or 4 letter actors those who know know,those who don't,I pray you never find out

Maggie mae

05/02/2026

I truly love this one. I will share the song later too.

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Cedar Rapids, IA

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