Sitting on my velvet throne,
opening up to unknowns.
Noticing the subtle hues,
searching for another clue.

Sitting on my velvet throne,
entering my sacred zone.
Close my eyes to see the truth,
images create great views.

Sitting on my velvet throne,
feeling every lesson shown.
Sense each heartbeat as it pumps,
form dimensions, to then jump.

Sitting on my velvet throne,
with no one, but not alone.
Taking gulps of brilliant light,
letting go of pain and spite.

Sitting on my velvet throne,
trusting fully, letting go.
Allowing my soul to flow,
so my character can grow.

Sitting on my velvet throne,
journeys teach the fate I know.
There is much more than most think,
held within the quickest blink.

– Grace. Y. Estevez – Reddy


Who built a fortress,
to help find true you?
In a green forest,
removing the blues.

Who captured your falls,
and cushioned them all?
Then helped you stand tall,
made your life a ball.

Who heightens your sense,
provides solid truths?
Clearing your blurred lens,
enhancing your view.

Who never said bye,
and joined every sigh?
Stood firm by your side,
wiping tears you cried.

Who will remain here,
loyal till no end?
Listens through your ears,
Projects, and defends.

Who urges your tries,
hoping you comply?
Uses both your eyes,
so you can rise high.

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy


My heart despises the cruel kind,
ones that play games with other minds.
They often cheat, embrace deceit,
and never turn the other cheek.
Most carry spite, are always right,
smiling while instigating fights.
The narcissist with no regret,
always searching for more to get.
Provoking tears when they are near,
knock spirits down simply from fear.

They teach me how to defeat fears,
wipe my own tears, when they are near.
Providing lessons to forget,
forgiving them, absolves regrets.
Avoiding spite, dissolving fights,
allows my conscience to feel right.
I learn from them to turn a cheek,
how not to cheat, or hold deceit.
To not let them play with my mind,
so my strong heart can remain kind.

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy


Cares so much for how she is seen,
ignoring her heart and her needs.
Perfection has no in-between,
searching for nods to then proceed.

Her life is just a giant screen,
formed by high hopes that must succeed.
Every smile worn creates a scene,
assuring she is well received.

Inside she feels like a machine,
no longer sure if she could bleed.
Her empty eyes fill with saline,
as swallowed tears water her seed.

She takes a breath to feel serene,
then promises to not concede.
An inner sparkle intervenes,
so that her soul can take the lead.

A future painted fresh and clean,
so self assured her goals exceed.
She only says the words she means,
so her actions could not mislead.

She builds a throne, sits like a queen,
a higher joy is guaranteed.
Pure honesty is her routine,
all prior anchors have been freed.

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy

Misty Wind

Who painted tears onto her face?
What made her turn away from grace?
Where did she run while still in place?
When did her slip become her pace?
Why is her mind caught up in space?
How can she find her own escape?

How did she build a sweet escape?
Why is her sweet song heard in space?
When was she tuned and synched to pace?
Where did she flow to find her place?
What did she carry to spread grace?
Who placed happy tears on her face?

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy

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