Giana Grace, so bold, so bright, you fill our hearts with joy and light. At twenty now, you’ve come so far, a shining soul, a brilliant star.
In gold, green, black, you proudly stand, sunflower queen, so strong and grand. At UNCC, dreams take flight, you walk with purpose, strength, and might.
Pure essence can remove all doubts, beautiful curls sparkle about. Infectious laugh produces smiles, charisma flies infinite miles.
With every step, you rise and grow, this world is yours, you make it so. Happy birthday, with love so true, so proud of everything you do.
– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy
Happy Birthday to my beautiful daughter!!! You will forever be my baby!!!💕
I wandered far through evening dust, without a map, just silent trust. Cool winds whisper through scented pines, hidden riddles and secret signs.
Under the moon, lavender hues, wild flowers wept with drops of dew, I found it there, glimmer so small, half buried near an ancient wall.
A lens of glass, felt strangely warm, it felt as though it held a storm. I raised it gently to my eye, witnessed magic reshape the sky.
Enchanted optical stood clear, the earth turned soft and drew me near. No sorrows touched the children’s play, night could not steal the song from day.
Rivers laughed loud in crystal light, mountains stood tall with humble might. Each face I saw, serene, unscarred, free hearts unchained, all spirits starred.
What is this place? A dream or spell? a truth the broken seldom tell? I gasped, then wept, not out of pain, but wonder I could not contain.
I slowly lowered lens from sight, the world returned to shade and fright. Deep in my soul, the vision stayed, a map of what could be, if made.
Now through that glass I sometimes see not just this life, but what could be, pray all new steps taken are blessed, to bring that vision into rest.
Beneath the sky, peacefully gray, an old man sits, to end the day. Great wisdom sets his weathered face, a threadbare coat, outlived by grace.
Black plastic bag slumps at his feet, secrets kept in silence, discreet. Beside him, in a hint of shade, tiny cat rests, friendship is made.
Acknowledgement, with patient eyes, watching the world that slowly flies. Tail curled in a half closed loop, sweet moment in the twilight stoop.
The bench is worn, like hands that shake, cracked wood remembers each small ache. It holds him still, it bears his weight, as time pools round like water, fate.
Held gaze is cast to distant right, where colors bloom in shades of light. There, in a hush of pale lagoon, where breezes hum a forgotten tune.
Flamboyance stands with fragile pride, flamingos drifting, side by side. Their mirrored stare, their painted plume, contrasts the bench, brightens up gloom.
Around them, trees in tangled mass, rise like tall walls where shadows pass, fortress of green, so lush and tight, cloaking the edge of true insight.
The cat beneath, he sits above, all silent aches, reach out for love. Yet there they are, in dusk’s embrace, relaxing in their happy place.
She sat still in the concrete cold, deep secrets hushed whispers so bold. Left arm exposed beneath her sleeve, a scarlet script that would not leave: bold “Love yourself, not me” it read, a tender phrase the ink had bled.
Before her rest, on stone so grey, a clutch of blooms in soft display. Burnt orange petals, bright and thin, fragile flames provoke inner grins. They relaxed near the edge with grace, as twilight kissed her shadowed face.
Behind her blurred, the city climbed, towers stood tall and streets aligned. A thousand windows shimmered hues, but none could frame a clearer view, the flowers smiled at words she wore, a quiet heart that wanted more.
The wind would tug her unkept hair, but still she sat, untouched by care. Her gaze was calm, each exhale slow, as if she knew how to let go. Warm feelings paint a love that stays, separates truths from trauma’s haze.
And as the evening veiled the sky, her crimson ink refused to lie. She traced each line with new insight, a vow to leave, but not to fight. Love in herself would set her free, to not be bound by memories.
Pages unfold, whisper pure grace, Intimate truth, hard to erase. Emotions laid within each line, Confessions pour, rhythmic design. Every stanza, help deep hopes fly, Stories stirs soul, pushes faith high.
Open and raw, lessons set free, Fractured scars fall, painful thoughts flee.
Moments in time, hard to believe, Echoes still chime “Pieces of Me.”
– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy
As most of you know, I was away from WordPress for a while last year. During that time one of my favorite blogger Maggie Watson, wrote a book. I recently ordered and read this book. I absolutely love it. Thank you Maggie for creating this powerful book and sharing it with the world.💕
Pieces of Me by Maggie Watson is a moving collection of poems about the experience of living through and healing from domestic abuse. The poems are short and powerful, using simple language to express deep emotions. Maggie’s words are gentle and compassionate, and even though the topic is difficult, the book ends with a sense of strength and hope. Pieces of Me is an important book, it is a brave and beautiful collection. I highly recommend it.💕
Hat wearing shadow, slowly sways, in cemented grass woven days, as fields of nature break apart, to trace this figure’s absent heart.
Upon his face where eyes should be, dandelions paint all he sees, bright golden heads create a flame, to witness how he plays life’s game.
Behind him, where nature prevails, visions of hope embrace and sail, a mirror rests, square, cracked, and still, pressed by the earth, to free his will.
Within its glass, a unique hand, two palms that rise to understand, cupping a spray of wild delight, a burst of flowers, bloom so bright.
Color bleeds in trembling seams, roses and cherry blossom streams, a tapestry that dares to glow, places once barren, start to grow.
Shadow, flower, stone, and glass, each symbols of how moments pass, yet somewhere in a fractured beam, the broken earth relearns to dream.
