Eleven
I was eleven the first time the world made less sense than the silence it left behind. I lost the man I looked up to — the one I measured my own shoulders against — and a part of me went with him. After that, mornings stopped feeling like mornings.
The Years That Followed
Grief turned into anger, and anger turned into something quieter and far more dangerous. There were nights I did not want to be here. There were nights I hurt myself just to feel something other than missing him. If you have ever stood in that dark, you already know — words for it are hard to find.
Fourteen
I was fourteen when I lost my best friend to gang violence. One day he was laughing in the hallway. The next day his name was on a candle. I learned how to carry two funerals in one chest. I learned that some streets ask for boys and never give them back.
Finding Poetry
I didn't choose poetry. Poetry chose the parts of me I couldn't say out loud. The first poem I ever wrote saved my life — not because it was good, but because it was honest. Writing became the only place big enough to hold what I was carrying.
Why This Site Exists
I built this website so the next kid in the dark doesn't have to feel alone in it. Every poem here is a hand reaching back through the storm. If even one line keeps someone breathing one more night — then everything I survived had a reason.
What Comes Next
Right now I'm saving for a computer so I can keep building this site, designing new work, and reaching more people who feel unseen. Every poem, every visit, every kind word — it keeps the mission alive.
If you are still here — please stay.
Your story is not over. There is room for you in this storm.