A poem by Nickie | October 8, 2025 My heart is a rock, hard, sharp, and heavy. cold to the touch. Hold it in your hands, jagged edges, eager to break skin. Shrouded in a layer of dust, forgotten. Crack it open and see who I've been. A canyon
A poem by Nickie || May 20, 2026 My therapist wants me to work on showing up as my authentic self. But how do I break it to her that I've tried that and it doesn't work? Too loud. Try hard. Doing too much. Doing too much.
I never write poems for my husband because I could never provide shade to the trees or quench the thirst of a flowing river. I never replace the shingles of my roofer's home or restore the brakes in my mechanic's car. I never write poems for
A poem by Nickie | May 17, 2026 I write my poems in my ancestors' blood On the trees that were planted centuries before borders stained the maps. The steel that forms the cages imprisoning their children was crafted from the same stones they carved freely into calendars that tracked
A poem by Nickie || May 14, 2026 Our house has a collection of old planters that my husband jokingly calls, "The Graveyard." They're kept between our house and the neighbor's fence, In the most hidden spot of our backyard. Some pots still have dirt
A poem by Nickie · May 13, 2026 When I was in 3rd grade Home Room, A girl asked me why I was so dressed up. There I stood, In my mother's fashionable hand-me-downs, A blue floral tank top and denim skirt, My lips unable to form a response,
A poem by Nickie - March 26, 2026 As a child, you think you'll always remember, the feeling of your grandma's hugs. Your young, strong arms gently wrap around her lean, weathered shoulders. Fragility that was earned through decades of hard work. As an adult, that
A poem by Nickie - December 27, 2024 The night sea is a staggering force of nature. An abyss that you can feel and hear, but not see. The chaos of the waves colliding with the stillness of the earth serves as a portal from what you've known
A poem by Nickie - February 20, 2026 I poise myself in front of my keyboard and stare at a blinking cursor until my eyes are crossed. I crack open a fresh notebook and stare at a blank page until I am consumed by a sea of white. The sun
For years, I have wanted to write a book. I’ve always loved the idea of creating my own characters and having the ability to determine their fate, all while exploring various literary themes. I’ve had several plot ideas, but the most I’d ever written is one or