Heather Wegner

01/16/2026

Text reads:
Helping hands need healing.

How many people have I served?
How many lives touched?
How many more can I reach as my hands continue to fall apart?

Raw crevasses of split skin
So deep I can see the individual layers

Epidermis suffers after every caring effort:
Tender hands of love on fire from anti-septic procedures.

How many more people can I help while I continue to scrub my epidermis away?

A little more, everyday.

Until my hands appear filleted.

“Filleted” poem by Heather Wegner

01/12/2026

The text reads:
I mouth-breath into my pillow,
Wond’ring of the ancient lovers.

My eyes are a slave to my phone—
Which emits bright’r rays than moonlight.

Mysterious lovers of past—
Coitus sealed my destiny...

While my will to exist dwindles
The love stories will continue.

The fruits of my own loin grow strong
My love will remain unbroken

Finally, drift into slumber
To dream a lifetime of stories.

Dancing through eternity with DNA sewn into the fabric of the earth—
Because of a million loves.

"Because of a million loves" poem by Heather Wegner.

04/23/2025

CW: graphic poem

03/15/2025

I’ve been quiet lately, I still write but I just haven’t shared. I decided it’s silly to sit with the hurt alone, when everyone else is hurting too. I believe in vulnerability & transparency so here I am letting the wall down.

11/27/2024

I share some personal & introspective thoughts on this page. None of that compares to the gutting feeling of not being recognized by your own mother.

11/17/2024

If money could talk.

11/07/2024

09/30/2024

Title: Salty Bitch
By Heather Wegner, published 9/29/2024

The People-Pleasing Polka,
a tiring dance that once rendered me—
unable to produce poetry.

But now the powerful stories untold
erupt out of my chest.
I’m no longer afraid to be bold:

My thirst for justice is stronger
than my selfish cravings to be liked.

My being “kind” & “nice” serves no one,
except for those that are already benefitting
from the broken —
socioeconomic systems of this country.
And it no longer serves me.

I was once deemed sweet by everyone I met.
But sweetness doesn’t change the dynamics of flavor.
It only hides the existing layers, that may otherwise not be palatable.
A spoonful of sugar helps the putrid patriarchy norms go down.

Instead I prefer being salty.
Salt has the power to chemically alter sustenance:

Salt preserves.
Salt savors.
Salt enhances already existing flavors, that would otherwise go unnoticed.

I once danced the people-pleasing polka
but now I’m a salty bitch.

Now, I’ll continue to contribute content
with hopes of changing the unsavory culture
of this country.