Wonderland Wanderess

  His blue eyes carry oceans deep, Not ones that roar, but those that keep, Old secrets safe; old wounds at bay, A quiet tide that knows how to stay. They’ve watched me tremble; watched me break, Seen every risk I was afraid to take. Yet never once did they turn cold, They warmed the parts I used to hold. Those eyes don’t rush; don’t need to prove, They give me space; they let me move. They meet my fear without contempt, Softening my sharp parts, still unkempt. In blue reflections, I am seen, Not who I was, or what I’ve been. The woman rising, scars and all, The one who learned how not to fall. They’ve known my silence; known my shame, My guarded heart; my whispered pain. And still they look with gentle grace, Like love was never meant to chase. His gaze is home; a resting place, A slow exhale; a steady pace. Where chaos fades and walls release, And safety finally feels like peace. No fairy tales; no borrowed light, Just solid blue, both day and night. Eyes that stay when things ge...

 I am a strong woman, steady and true, Because a strong woman showed me just what to do. She taught me to stand when the world pushed me down, To straighten my spine and to fix up my crown. I am a strong woman, my roots running deep, From lessons she lived and promises she’d keep. She carried her storms without letting them show, And taught me that strength can be gentle and slow. I am a strong woman; I learned how to fight, Not with closed fists, but by choosing what’s right. She showed me that courage can whisper, not shout, That love is not weakness, nor something to doubt. I am a strong woman because she endured, Through cracks in her heart; still hopeful; still sure. She rose every morning, no matter the weight, Teaching me resilience, patience, and faith. I am a strong woman; her echo; her flame, I carry her fire; I honour her name. Her strength lives in me in all that I do, I am a strong woman because she raised me too. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

She wakes with suns beneath her skin, A thousand thoughts come rushing in. Her heartbeat drums with fearless grace, She feels alive in every place. Ideas bloom like wildfire light, She talks in stars; she doesn’t sleep at night. Her laughter spills; her hands can’t rest, The possibilities are endless, at best. She loves too fast; she dreams too wide, No shoreline holds her rising tide. Her voice is thunder—sharp and sweet, Each moment feels like fate and heat. But beauty burns too hot to keep, The edge grows thin; the climb too steep. The light expands, then splits her seams, A crown of fire; a flood of dreams. Her thoughts begin to turn and race, Outrunning time; outpacing space. She swears she’s fine; she swears she’s whole, While sparks ignite inside her soul. Then quiet comes without a sound, The colour drains; the dark is found. The mirrors lie; the days grow long, Her body moves but something’s wrong. The weight of breath; the ache of bones, The echoing rooms; the ringing phones....

  Sobriety doesn’t say a word, Simply creates nights no longer blurred. It takes the chair beside my pain, No judgement passed; no need to explain. It doesn’t flinch at empty air, Or reach to fix what lingers there. No loud escape; no practiced cheer, Just steady breath when fear draws near. It waits patiently when my hands forget their calm, While my memories ache, raw and unarmed. While grief stands up, clears out its throat, And sinks me deep instead of keeping me afloat. It makes no promises; gives no golden praise, No finish lines, just brighter days. Just one soft vow, both stark and true: “I’ll sit here only if you stay too.” Some nights it feels so small; so thin, Just shadowed hope against my skin. It watches as old ghosts appear, The ones I swore were nowhere near. But morning comes—it hasn’t moved, Not swayed by falls, or nights I bruised. Unimpressed by what I survive, It knows it is what keeps me alive. But sobriety alone won’t save my soul, Won’t lift me out or make m...

  Today we mark your birthday, ninety-one candles bright, But Heaven holds the glow now, wrapped in softer light. We miss your laugh, your steady hands, your stories warm and true, Yet feel you close in quiet ways, in all we say and do. The years you lived were gifts you gave so freely, day by day, With love stitched into every life you helped to shape and sway. Though tears may fall, they mingle with the smiles we defend, For love like yours doesn’t finish, it simply learns to bend. So happy birthday, Grandma, beyond the stars above, Your first one spent in Heaven, held in endless love. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

 I didn’t crash in sirens, smoke, or flame, No headline fall; no shouted shame. Just dirty plates and tired light, A clock stuck blinking through the night. My son spoke soft, his voice grown flat, That careful tone kids learn like that. When hope grows thin; when trust goes spare, When answers stop arriving there. I told myself I’d earned the rest, That coping looked like that at best. That fine can rot and still survive, That barely there is still alive. I saw my face in shattered glass, A stranger wearing my own past. A woman fluent in excuse, A mother dulled by alcohol abuse. That was the rip, the silent scream, The break between the was and been. Not rock bottom and not a fall, Just truth refusing to be small. One path held numbness dressed as grace, A slow erasure; time’s soft waste. The other hurt in honest ways, Raw mornings—sober—blistered days. I chose the pain that stays and stings, The kind that costs you everything. No grand applause; no saving scene, Just showing up w...

 He could have knelt on ageing knees, To tie small shoes with patient ease. His laughter warm; a steady sound, In simple joys the days could’ve been found. He could’ve snuck them sweets when backs were turned, And shared the truths that life had learned. Pointed out the stars in velvet skies, With wonder living in his eyes. He could have been the quiet chair, A calm, dependable presence there. A strength that never needed show, Just love that stayed; love that could grow. I see him in the way they smile, In echoes reaching through the while. A grandfather he never became, Yet felt so real all just the same. He lives within the love he missed, In moments time could not enlist. The grandfather my dad might’ve been, Still walks beside us, just unseen. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

 I did not rise on strength alone, My bones were tired; my hope overthrown. I walked through days that felt untrue, A fragile heart the dark once knew. I came undone where silence stayed, Where fear and doubt had softly laid. You met me there to understand, No need to pull, just held my hand. You loved me slow; you loved me kind, With patient grace and an open mind. You saw the cracks I tried to hide, And never once asked me to divide. You held my pain without repair, No rush to fix; no weight to bear. You let me grieve what life had been, And made me safe and finally seen. Some nights your love was quiet light, A steady glow against the night. No grand display; no promised art, Just constant warmth around my heart. And somewhere in your staying true, My breath returned; my courage too. I stand alive, my pulse in sight, All because you loved me right. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

 He tried to end our lives on a hot Summer night, With hands full of chaos, reaching for our light. The dark pressed close; the fear too sharp to name, Yet dawn still came, and we remained the same. Our world cracked open; safety torn apart, Trauma carved its echo into our hearts. My daughter’s eyes learned truths too soon, Yet still they searched for stars, beneath the moon. Police sirens wailed in the deathly night, Fuel stung our lungs, as we screamed into the quiet. A knife in my hands, I vowed to end his life, If he got close to my daughter, or tried more strife. We carried terror, heavy as our own breath, Each memory a whisper, dressed as death. But love stood watch, when sleep refused to stay, And taught our shaking bodies to wait for the day. What tried to break us forged a deeper strength, Resilience born through an abuser’s cruel length. We are not defined by what he tried to do, We lived; we healed, and nothing broke us two. Scarred but standing—tender, fierce, and whole...

 I didn’t become myself through light, Or gentle change, or things done right. I came apart; I split; I bled, I learned the cost of what I fed. I fed the ache; I fed the lie, I fed the need to feel not I. I fed the voice that said, “Endure,” As if slow death could be a cure. Becoming came with broken vows, With children learning through snapping boughs. They’d read my silence; read my fear, Before they learned the calendar year. I buried girls who begged to be, Chosen, saved, or carried free. I raised a woman hard and plain, Who chose herself and bore the pain. My body learned what numbness stole, My mouth learned love; my spine, its role. To stand without a crutch or myth, To face the days; mine to sit with. No one applauds becoming whole, There’s no arrival siren, or kicked goal. Just choosing right when wrong feels near, When old lives whisper, “Miss me, dear.” I am not soft because I lived through hell, I’m sharp because I chose to dwell; Here—awake—with shaking hands, Becoming...

 My body was a crime scene, taped in yellow fear, Every breath an echo of what once happened here. Fingerprints of trauma lingered on my skin, Every touch a question I was scared of letting in. I walked myself like evidence, guarded and still, A witness to my own pain against my will. Bruises lived in memory; shadows in my head, Testimonies whispered of the things I left unsaid. I learned to live in fragments; lock each fragile door, Calling numbness safety, convinced I needed more. I mistook the quiet for peace; absence for control, Built walls around my body to protect my wounded soul. But healing came like kindness; patient, slow, and true, A voice beside the wreckage softly saying, “This is you.” Not here to take or question; not here to claim or blame, Just here to help me remember, I am more than just the pain. I peeled away the caution tape; let sunlight trace my skin, Turned the evidence into history, and let the living begin. My body is not proof of all the harm I’ve known...

  Dear inner child, come sit with me, I see your hurt, I hear your plea. You learned too young to stand alone, To call cold silence, being grown. You tried so hard to always cope, To turn your fear into your hope. You wore your brave, you hid your cries, With shaky hands and watering eyes. I’m here now, love; I won’t look away, I’ll choose you gently, every day. You don’t have to earn your rest, You’ve always, always done your best. It’s safe to feel; to break; to heal, To trust that warmth and joy are real. I’ll hold the pieces while you’re small, I’ll catch you every time you fall. Dear inner child, the war is through, The world is softer now, and you. You get to laugh, you get to play, I’ve got you, darling; you can stay. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

It doesn’t start with shattered skin, But quiet rules that creep within. A harsh voice; a watchful stare, A leash disguised as loving care. It edits you in subtle ways, Your words; your clothes; your nights; your days. Each, “I just worry” tightens more, Until you’re smaller than before. Your world contracts, the walls move in, Your thoughts feel watched beneath your skin. You learn the weight of every sigh, The danger in a question, “Why?” Your laughter fades; your edges blur, You stop remembering who you were. Your “no” dissolves to please; appease, Your silence learned as expertise. Now bruises bloom and blood is shown, Yet something vital has been overthrown. Not flesh or bone, but will and choice, The quiet murder of a voice. They take your trust, then take your name, Rewrite your truth; reframe your pain. You doubt your mind; your past; your sight, Because they swear that wrong is right. This is domestic violence, refined and slow, A careful theft no one can show. Hands clenched ...

  A brand new year unfolds today, A clean white page; a clearer way. We set down weight we no longer need, And choose new hope in word and deed. The past can teach but cannot stay, Its echoes fade; we turn away. What broke us once, now shows us how, To stand up stronger, here and now. We promise growth; we promise grace, To meet ourselves fully, face to face. To try again when plans fall through, To keep our hearts both brave and true. Each morning offers something new, Another chance; a brighter view. Small steps still count, slow progress too, The quiet work we choose to do. The road ahead is far from clear, But hope’ll walk us through the year. No perfect lives; no flawless start, Just honest days and open hearts. So let us vow, as this year starts, To keep our word; to play our parts. A fresh slate held in open hands, New promises and better plans. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026