"Mother Gave"

by Vanessa Lopez

Crows,
flying, encircling, swarming like ants,
gnawing at a flimsy apple core.

Agape is the wound,
fleshy was the skin,
Mother gave,
and we ate.

Leaving juices pouring from our lips,
satiating a hunger
that will never end.

Mother gives,
Mother gives,
and from her corpse, we take.

Leaving husks of all she made,
wasteful odors rising beside her.
Mother gave,
Mother gave,
sullen,
savaged,
remains.

Mother gives,
lying in pain,
holding her breath.

Hopelessly,
she cries, storming in rage—
but they do not see,
shallow as can be,
consumed by greed,

until the oasis
succumbs to its lack,

empty pots, empty pans,
cabinets filled with torn cans,
nothing left to fill our hands.

Mother gave,
Mother gave,
watching as her fertile womb is ravaged from within,
insatiable crows tearing at her ribs,
like a cancer spreading all around.

Verses sing of demise—
what once was,
of sweet, sapping trees,
fertile life,
lands still loved,
still, at the end,
giving all of herself to us.

For it will never be enough.

"Do You Remember?"

by Emerson James

An Ode to Edward H. Smith Jr.

Do you remember the day

when we walked to the Graves?

You picked me little pink flowers

And we watched the trees sway.

You told me the stories of the ones that had passed,

yet I never did think

about how long you would last...

But just like those pink flowers

I watched you wither away

your body lost all its powers

and your mind went astray.

I’m doomed to this earth with all these old memories

and the heartbreak I have

will never truly ease.

Even though you’re on a new adventure,

I find myself wondering:

“Do You Remember?”

"Canvas"

by Megan Gray

Upon this earth, I arrived, a canvas pure and white 

In quiet stillness, I yearn and wait

For hands to shape my form, to create 

A vision of beauty, a work of art 

To breathe life into my waiting heart.

What visions would they bring to life? 

A landscape, perhaps? 

A portrait, maybe? 

Or perhaps they would create with pastels, soft as velvet 

a gentle touch of color on the canvas of hope 

Endless are the possibilities

In slumber's embrace, visions unfold 

A tapestry woven, in hues bright and bold

Landscapes of wonder, where beauty does dwell

In dreams, I wander, under nature's spell,

Mountains draped in a snowy embrace 

Glistening under the sun's warm grace 

Vast blue skies, a canvas so wide 

Stretching endlessly, where dreams abide,

luring me to rest, a gentle sigh 

Whispering pines, reaching high 

tall as the sky, where dreams lie 

And a radiant sun, so warm and inviting, casting its golden glow

With each gentle stroke, the artist's vision unfolds,

But something is amiss

darkness creeps upon the canvas 

Mountains stand bare, their peaks unadorned

No blankets of white, no winter's embrace 

Only the earth, in its rugged form

Awaits the sun's warmth, a silent grace 

Neither tranquil waters nor azure heavens grace the day 

In a realm where green does not sway,

The trees have vanished, gone away

In ceaseless motion, no pause to find 

A restless heart, forever entwined 

The world spins on, a relentless quest

In the dance of time, there is no rest

Instead, it’s a tempest of despair

Gloomy shadows linger, A somber hue descends

Whispers of the night, where light and joy suspend

A jagged chasm cuts through the pale expanse 

Each and every span 

Scattered remnants of yesterday across the land

The heavens wear a cloak of gloom

Where silent wings flit through twilight's loom

Prepared to feast upon my doubts, should I lower my shield?

The radiant sun, a captive of the clouds' embrace

In the clay-hued void, where shadows loom near 

I call to the uncultivated artist-my voice filled with fear

I call out their name, a cry in the night

“This isn’t what I dreamed of,” 

I plead for them to shift the bedrock

Yet only silence echoes through the canyons' jagged interlock

as they imprint another sorrowful etch upon the unpalatable canvas.

"Devotion" 

by Elizabeth Johnston

(1st place, Valentines' Poetry Contest)

If love is a ruin, then let me live in it,

a cathedral of ghosts and candle wax,

where your name drips from the rafters

like prayers no god will answer.

I would rather haunt this love forever

than leave its halls untouched,

than pretend the walls don’t remember

the way we burned.

You were not the first, 

but you were the fire.

You were the storm that left the others

looking like candlelight.

And now I drink to you in the dark,

lips painted like a warning,

heart heavy with a love

that refuses to die.

It is both my salvation and my damnation

to feel the weight of you in my bones,

to carry the shape of your absence

as if it were stitched into my skin.

I collect scars like confessions,

proof that I have bled,

proof that I have suffered,

proof that I have paid the price

for every sin I have committed—

but tell me,

was loving you the greatest sin of all?

I have tried to write you out of my body,

but the ink only stains my hands—

a reminder that love like this

does not fade, it festers.

If I cannot forget you,

then let me make an altar of my grief,

pour wine for the ghosts,

dress myself in silk and shadow

and love you through the echoes.

Take what you will from me —

let your hunger carve its name into my ribs,

let your teeth press oaths into my skin.

If you must leave, then leave me in pieces,

something to remember you by,

something to prove that you were real.

I will wear the wounds like rubies,

string them into a necklace of old sins

and call it devotion.

I would let you tear me apart,

let your teeth sink into my flesh

if it meant you would never know hunger,

if it meant I could keep you

for just one more moment,

even if all that remained of me

was the ruin you left behind.

I will wear your absence like a corset,

laced too tight, cutting too deep,

but lovely all the same.

And I will bleed for you.

Again and again,

I will bleed for you.

"All is Fair in Love and Heartbreak" 

by Audrey Lumpkin

(2nd place, Valentines' Poetry Contest)

We laughed beneath the moon,

our longing for each other strong, our hearts in tune.

A whispered promise with a spark,

a love that glowed against the dark.

But time is cruel and fate unkind,

it hurts the heart and the mind.

What once was diamond now turned to dust,

a shattered dream, a broken trust.

You played your part, I played mine too,

we loved and we lied but we flew.

When we were done, I left for your sake,

all is fair in love and heartbreak.

So raise a toast to what we were,

to every touch and every word.

For even pain is proof we lived,

but our love still lingers and relived.

"Love" 

by James Rogers

(3rd place, Valentines' Poetry Contest)

Love burns like a wound

But glimmers like the sunlight 

When it is nourished.

"Timeless Ache" 

by Vanessa Lopez

Tick, tick—
relentless flow,
each second falling,
but I’ll never go.

Still as stone,
caught in the ache,
I hold on,
waiting in place…

A clock with no hands—
its face just a glare,
watching me break,
mocking me there.

The greatest fool,
yearning for yesterdays,
time that never stays,
always a moment
before it’s too late.

Trapped in this minute,
clinging in vain—
a promise of time,
can’t let it pass by.

"When Love Finds Me"

By Cedric Howard-Lewis

When love finds me,

Let it be like a distant memory,

Of a beautiful summers day.

The sun was sitting just right,

And the water was ever so cool, but not cold.

The waters were comforting and ever so inviting.

They always were.

Yet, I was afraid to dive in.

Perhaps, it was all the pools before.

The ones that were too deep.

The ones that were too shallow.

The ones that were too cold.

The ones that were not cold enough.

Though the summer had never particularly been my favorite,

I loved the waters. 

I loved them unwaveringly, unconditionally, and without question.

However, I fear they did not love me….

I fear these waters sought some sort of jovial solace in all my naivety. 

I was once like the currents of rushing water that crashed to and fro.

Now, I remain unmoved. 

As if still water, that provides bounty and supplement,

To the lowly parasites, and mosquitos.

When love finds me, 

let it feel like the eyes of all that watched and waited, and greatly anticipated,

The fated events

That would soon unravel.

When love finds me,

Let it be all that angst and anxiety. 

Let it be “all the feels.” And complexity that was felt in that moment,

And on that day. 

Let it be the hot starchy sweat,

That trickles down my body.

Resulting from the blaze of the sun,

Inadvertently pushing my body to the waters

Redeeming and potentially cooling thrall.

When love finds me,

Let it be excitement.

Please, let it be a rush.

Let it be that feeling that has always been missing, 

Though, I couldn’t quite pin point it.

The kind of feeling you just know,

When you feel it.

And above all of this

Please, I beg.

When love finds me,

Let it be like the exchange between parent and child.

Let it be, when my fear and insecurity was too much for me to gamble my sanctity and purity. 

Please, let it be the look on my mother’s face.

Please, let it be her smile forged in elegance and grace.

Please, let it be the words that hung from the finest of lace, from the tip of her tongue.

Please, let it be the feeling I felt when she said “go on, my son. You’ll be okay.”

I submerged into the water,

And I submitted myself to it.

I let it overtake me,

And engulfed myself in it.

My eyes grew hazy,

As the tears from my eyes began racing.

I laid there, ebbing.

Face to the sky,

Just thinking.

Absolved of danger and worry,

Just existing.

Now I reminisce,

And am left hoping.

When love finds me, 

Please, I beg.

Let it be just right,

Like that perfect summers day.

"Chalk"

By Carla Lopez

Here I sit, checking the clock,

A thousand tabs open in my mind,

The weight of my name, heavy and unknown,

Let me try to draw it with a piece of chalk.

So much awaits beyond the gates,

Blurry yet so clear,

Pulling me near,

I’m scared I will disappear.  

"Suit"

By Sophie Murdock

School was never my strong suit.

It never fit quite right.

It was always too big

The blazer was always swallowing me whole

The slacks could never stay up.

I wish I were like the other kids.

They always seemed to fit right in

and their suits always fit

without hours of tutoring or studying.

I wish I had their suit.

"Grief"

By Mariah Suter

Brilliant waves of cerulean bath the creek bed

Glistening the stones in a soft dew

Maintaining fairness

Dispersing the glow

A glare that passes through the tall trees

A fallen canopy from Brother tree

It will not stop the breath

Shining is this ever-moving flow, clear as glass

The motion never halters

Intervals pass, and colorful fronds grace the surface

Adams Ale is thankful, he welcomes change

Even when the air is draft

A burning chill will strike the ground

The stream progresses

The flowing wash smooths the stones

Consuming pieces little by little

Delivering them abroad and forth through the brook

From inception to edge

 Riddled with fragments of what was

Trickling through the waters

Always present

The pieces

"Feast or Famine"

By Autumn Brooke Estes

Beneath the skin, a battle rages,

cycling through endless stages.

The mirror speaks in fractured lies,

reflecting both the truth and guise.

It whispers of perfection’s cost, of

what is gained, and what is lost.

Each bite, a war between the need

to nourish life or starve the seed.

Hunger isn’t just for food, but

for control, a shifting mood.

Developed a habit I cannot tame,

to fill the void and stifle the flame.

In each reflection, I unfold a story

written, yet untold.

Not of the body that I see, but

of the hope that longs to be.

Somewhere deep beneath the pain,

I dream of being whole again.

So, piece by piece, I learn to heal,

nurturing of the self-appeal.

This journey long but full of grace,

my soul restored to its rightful place.

"American Dream"

by Josselyn M. Velazquez

He worked in the hot sun, hands rough and worn.

She worked in the backhouse till the night turned cold.

Together, they strived, with struggle and pain,

they dream of a college dream,

Where their child can learn

and reach for heights they’ve never known

A future built with hope, where dreams cannot be forgotten.

El Trabajaba bajo el sol ardiente, con las manos gastadas,
Ella trabajó en la casa de atrás hasta que la noche se volvia fría
Juntos, lucharon, con dolor 
Sueñan con un sueño universitario,

Donde su hijo puede aprender
Y alcanzar alturas que nunca han conocido
Un futuro construido con esperanza, donde los sueños no se pueden olvidar.

"For Queen and Country"

By Cameron Grimsley

They say, “Love is an adventure,”

Like a dime-store spy novel,

Yellowed pages on a nightstand,

Full of blood stains,

sharp steel,

gunpowder and …

sweat.

Like lipstick on collars,

I’ll wear your stains

Until it wears me down.

"Breaking Free from the Cycle"

By Kaile Richiez

Emotional abuse.

Known to victims as silent torture,

Where the only evidence resides in,

The collection of invisible scars placed within your mind,

Where manipulation is the knife,

The chosen weapon murdering your past self,

They carve out all logical parts of you,

And replace it all with doubt.

Doubt for yourself,

Doubt for the red flags you are clearly viewing,

Doubt for what you believe in,

Doubt of who you are,

And what in God’s name you are doing.

Silent movements to get yourself out of this cycle,

But of course it’s a vicious loop.

Round and round again we go,

Routines of you showing remorse and guilt,

Followed up with acts of rare kindness.

Just enough to keep me,

Just enough so I buy your false act,

Just enough so I believe you are turning over a new leaf.

Then you go back to the mind games,

The verbal abuse,

The times when you tell me how useless I am,

And how nobody else would put up with me the way you do,

Back at it again,

In this loop.

Almost as if we are dancing together,

Not the kind of gentle elegant dance,

More of a furious style.

Driven by frustration and a distant passion,

For the love we once had,

I truly hate you and your false promises,

I'm done.

I’m breaking free from your chains,

I am not a slave to your words anymore,

I have finally written my own narrative,

That only involves straight lines,

And open communication.

"The Posy System" 

by Betzaida Contreras

The rain cried often over two batches of flowers,

Some flowers blossomed because of the harsh rain,

Some flowers were crushed and held down,

preventing them from growing.

When it didn’t rain,

Some flowers withered away from the lack of harsh hydration,

while some flowers blossomed back,

Better than others.

"Blueprints of Ambition" 

by Dayton Nguyen

Late-night reading and lessons deep,

Dreams to chase and no time to sleep,

Degrees are maps,

not just the way,

Skills must grow beyond an A.

College builds but does not define,

The world is shaped by those who grind.

With what I learn and what I create,

I’ll shape my own tomorrow’s fate.

"Chase"

By Alexia Brito

Be better than us, mija,

chase your dreams.

Be your own light that beams.

Go after your future and degree.

Live a life where you will be at peace
 

Be the change you wish to see.

Be better than us, mija,

chase your dreams.

"Guided"

By Jamie Martinez

The wind subtly kisses my cheek

As the leaves below begin to speak.

The grass whispers and calls my name

As the sun above dissolves my shame.

The birds allow me to dance to their song

As the butterflies guide me away from my wrongs.

The ivy encloses and guides me in

As the vines pull tighter to protect me from within.

The moon shines light on all my grace

As the dark night gently caresses my face.

The sky then lifts me above its clouds of foam

As the stars gently hold my hand and guide me home.

"Stranger in my Mind"

By Vanessa Lopez

There is a constant strain of a single violin cord,
It rings, begging for an answer at the door.
My hand rests on the knob,
Someday, I’ll open the other side,
And greet a stranger hiding in my mind.

But I sit instead,
Choosing to zone off into the distance.
There’s a constant ring in my head.

A call for my name,
A shrill voice muttering in shame,
So, I shut the blinds.
So, my eyes won’t reach any light.

When it builds,
The call awaiting an answer,
I muffle the sound,
With distractions out and about.

If I let myself inside,
Could I understand my mind?
Avoid attempting to disguise,
A pointless ruse to people’s eyes.

"The Reflection"

By Ivan Ramirez

The mirror mocks my growing frame.

Eating, although, is what makes pain fade away.

The mind has no clue about what it wants, much less needs.

Whispers flood my thoughts, asking why, why, why

Why take another bite, another slurp, another slice?

The frame I see seems to grow and grow,

While the hopes for a better body come to die slow.

"Remembering Why"

By Kylie Gray

I was talking to my roommate the other day.

And I asked her, Why does it even matter?

Is education a never-ending ladder?

That we work and thrive towards, never reaching the end.

Why do I strive for perfection,

When all I need is completion?

Why do I stress and study,

For a stupid degree?

Why do I try SO much harder,

Not to get a whole lot farther?

Then I remember why.

She’s seven-years-old with eyes so blue

Who wants to make her dreams come true.

They are the people that raised me to make the world a better place

Who I want to bring a smile to their face.

They are the students with dreams to fly

Who need someone just to try.

So, I put a smile on my face,

And soldier on

Because the best has yet to come.

"Father Time"

By Cedric Howard-Lewis

Dear Father Time,

Thank you for these days of mine. 

Thank you for my endless youth,

And thank you for my blessed prime.

Dearest Father Time,

You are most kind.

These days of mine are quite sublime. 

I frolic freely, fearlessly through these days of mine.

While my purity was intact, my being estranged, to the concept of “crime.”

My juvenile days were juvenile times.

They were juvenile days filled with juvenile cries. 

Those times turned to be transient in the grand scheme of what was “mine.”

As time stumbled upon unbeknownst pubescent tithes, that would be owed to every one, a price unbeknownst to I. 

I struggled to know myself during these most trying of times,

And I found myself yearning for days earlier than those of that time.

Oh Father Time,

I fear these praises shall turn into whines.

I watch the clock

I watch it tick by

I watched my being wind out of time.

I watched my youth be slighted and whored.

Indebted to time clocks, lecture halls, and people I had once adored.

My twenties roared in and I’d foxtrot in sin.

I’d tango with devils, and shimmy my way through the consequence. 

These are called “the golden days.”

These golden days that are here today have affinity to simpler juvenile times.

I cry now just like then, though these tears are not kin.

These tears hold weight that could sink boats deep into the ocean floor.

A distance beyond 6 feet, but 6 feet deep is where I meet

Many of those I have loved before, and will love forevermore. 

Oh Father Time,

Hear my insurmountable rhyme.

They say these are my best years

The years of youth and blithering prime. 

Though I look to years that are more refined, to years where the only cries

Are the cries of the children I’ve brought forth and loved in great stride.

But if I stumble upon these years,

If my olden days do appear

If my crinkle shows wrinkles

If lapsed time confirms all my fears

And if tears still make it’s way from my face to god’s ears.

Father Time, it is my voice you’ll continue to hear.

Oh Father,

Hear my insurmountable rhyme.

Please, rewind the clock,

Give me back

What was never mine. 

"The Topic"

By Riley Asbill

One can consider

it gambling,

a win isn’t guaranteed,

a future isn’t promised,

put down thousands,

go in debt,

in the end you still

leave educated,

the difference is the topic.

"A Tribute of Immense Gratitude"

By Alice

With steady encouragement and relentless light,
guiding me toward an obscure path in this life.
Inside my darkest days, when words were few,
you noticed my strength; no one ever knew.
Taught me about poetry’s sacred graces,
of beauty found inside all life’s places.
You made me rise—when I felt small,
emboldened my voice to stand tall.
Your impact is more than seen
it is felt through my words,
each space found between…
In every stanza you’ve planted seeds.
Inspiration grows from your kind deeds.
For what you transformed, I honor you so:
I have learned to stay, write, live, and grow!

🐇
 

"More"

By Joyslin Guzman

It is more than listening for hours.

It is more than stressful nights.

It is more than writing.

It is more than grades.

It is about connections.

It is about success.

It is about new adventures.

That is college.

"There is Beauty in Vulnerability"

By Griffin Scoggins

Please make your selection, illuminated across the vending machine that most were familiar with. As I stood there with trembling hands, quarters from the glovebox in my car shining from the window light, sorrow began to consume me.

No matter what others told me, I always had a lingering feeling that I did not belong. A year had passed since I moved to Georgia, and I honestly yearned to go back to the familiarity of it all. However, this mindset was not something that I needed to attach myself to. Regardless of the extracurriculars that I had irrationally thrown myself into being involved with, it began to creep its way back into my life, enveloping its fingertips around the vital parts of me disguised as a warm embrace.

Through the days when I felt the loneliest, it would whisper in my ears like a chant from a choir that was built without vital instruction. A whirlwind of emotions began to consume my mind, my body being thrown across the pavement metaphorically, organs failing. I felt comforted by the deprivation of the one thing that was crucial for our survival. It wanted control, and it had so tactfully managed to manipulate me into believing that the concept of control held higher priority than a vital puzzle piece that made us function. I felt isolated- I felt alone.

Stay with me, echoed through my ears, my body limp on the floor. I was confused, lost, and ultimately conflicted. How did I end up here? The distractions that had served as a manuscript for myself to follow were quickly put to a halt. Countless hours of sleep missed, deficiencies of anything under the sun, and the inability to say no caught up with me and broke down the walls that I had intricately built for myself to hide behind. The control had shattered. The walls no longer. People began to gather around me, staring at me as if I were an ancient relic that was just discovered for the first time in human history. Why did they care? I was supposed to be put together, conforming to the image that it so desperately craved. So why, just why were they concerned?

Before I could attempt to piece together any semblance of thought, I felt an unfamiliar hand cusping my waist, hoisting me up from the tiled floor. With tear-filled eyes, I mustered up the courage to meet her gaze. What was wrong with me? Why was this simple gesture warranting such an appalling reaction?  Thump. Thump. Thu-

"Stay with me," the voice repeated. I could not bring myself to respond. My body felt trapped. Something was wrong inside of me: my organs wrapping themselves around one another, what felt like hands clawing at my throat, and the stares that never seemed to go away. Some may feel trapped when physically stuck somewhere, but that had never been the case for me. Trapped being the words stuck in my throat when called on: the never-ending fear of judgment from my fellow peers, attempting to restrain the tears that so desperately craved to spill out. Your version of trapped may be one where it is physical, hands tied and the walls are slowly closing in on you. This version of trapped, I fear, is far worse, and it relished in every second that it had control.

"What..?" was all that escaped my throat. The world around me felt fractured, blurred edges closing in as if I had fallen into a murky well. My arms refused to move. I yearned to stand up, but I was unable to. Something was holding me towards the ground as if the gravitational force had suddenly been amplified. The room was spinning, like a whirlpool of vertigo was pulling everything in on itself. The hands that had previously clawed at my throat somehow effortlessly shifted their way to my legs. It mirrored some sort of outwardly force-divine or not- ripping through the tiled floor of this school and gnawing at the seams of my anatomy.

Get up, walk it off Griffin. You have to remain collected. The voice slithered its way into my thoughts, smooth yet biting. A paradox of sorts. "You are fine. They do not care about you. You are just wasting their time."

I wanted to believe it. The voice was right, I needed to get up. It was always right. The sideways glances from the people in the cafeteria, the murmured whispers- they all felt like accusations. As if I was being convicted for simply existing. I tried to focus, to reconstruct the walls that had fallen. 

"Griffin, can you hear me? Stay with me," her voice echoed for the third time, breaking through the haze, a stark contrast to the smooth, mocking whispers infiltrating my mind.

Stay with me, the voice jeered, and a cruel laugh followed from it. Stay? For what? For them to pity you? For them to judge you when you fail again? You have made a mess, clean it up.

The ground beneath me began to tilt. I blinked rapidly, attempting to push away the confusion, but the voice tightened its grip. Griffin, they are pretending to care. You are a burden, a distraction- I mean look at their faces, you are ruining everything. Stay collected; pick this mess up.

As I slowly picked myself up from the floor, the people around me looked down on me with faces etched with concern...or annoyance. It was hard to tell. My head was still reeling from whatever had happened just moments before, and it was not helping. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe I-

"Griffin!" her voice sounded distant, strained, and urgent. "Call an ambulance! She is losing color."

No. No ambulance. No help. My chest tightened at the thought, panic bubbling within my veins. I tried to lift my arm and stand, but the voice hissed again. You better not even think about getting up. Lie there. You are safer here- nobody can see you fall apart if you stay still.

I wanted to scream. To tell the voice to stop. Yet all I could do was cry. The tears that had so desperately yearned to escape had begun to burst from the seams that were poorly crafted and sewn with a warped image in mind.

And then the sounds of sirens flooded my ears, cutting through the static. A jarring, wailing noise that further split my head into two. People were moving, voices overlapping- I could not separate reality from the upheaval that exhausted the void within.

Oh no. You better not go with them. They cannot see you like this. The image that you have intricately constructed will come to ruin; you will come to ruin. You will be nothing.

But the warm hand on my shoulder steadied me, an anchor against the storm residing in my mind. "You are going to be okay. It is okay," the same teacher, a silhouette of tranquility, repeated. This voice was not mocking, nor did it exude any guise of pity. It was firm. It was almost…pleasant?

I clung to the new, unfamiliar sense that began to penetrate my thoughts and gently sew the loose threads that had previously burst. Maybe it was because this was such a vulnerable state or even a moment of weakness, but for the first time, I allowed myself to believe her. Even just a little. Despite it screaming louder, fighting for control, I could not deny that when hope was out of reach, curiosity prevailed.

My body was lifted and hoisted onto something cold and metallic. The world blurred again, and for a moment, I could have sworn I saw the voice's shadow retreating, its claws leaving faint marks on my mind.

The last thing I heard was the teacher's voice, calm but insistent. "We are taking you to the hospital, Griffin. You are not alone."

I was too exhausted to push back against the words she had proclaimed. All I wanted at the moment was to close my eyes and rest. As I let my body sink into the weight of the gurney, morphing into the soft cushion, a realization struck. It was the first time in a long while that I had allowed someone else to take control. The tension that had gripped me, the panic that had twisted my insides into knots, was starting to unravel—thread by thread. With it came a fragile hope that coursed through my bloodstream, quiet but unmistakable.

Months later, I was standing once again in front of the vending machine, my hands still trembling but with a strange sense of something shifting inside of me. It felt as though the hands that once tore at my insides were now gently stitching the pieces back together, carefully closing the gaps with a tenderness I had not known I needed- a warmth where it had formerly remained cold.

See, change was something that it was not a fan of and never will be. Change—the one thing it feared, the one thing it had resisted with every ounce of its power—was no longer the enemy. I had always been told that change is an inevitable part of life, a necessity for growth, even if it means shedding parts of yourself to create space for something new. It was only now, standing here again, that I truly understood.

Change is not easy. It is messy and uncomfortable, and at times, it feels like losing pieces of who you are. Above all that, it is also the foundation for moving forward, for learning, for building resilience.

The weight of the past lingered, heavy and stubborn, like a shadow that refused to let go. But what was stopping me from starting today? Every step I had taken, however small, had brought me closer to something new. Every breath, every quiet moment of surrender, had been a stitch in the fabric of who I was becoming. It was not perfection that I sought, but progress. The first step, then the next, and the next. All of them counted.

        Please make your selection, illuminated across the vending machine once again.

Fueled by this new realization, I inhaled deeply, allowing the invigorating air to fill my lungs and wash over me like a tide. With trembling fingers, I reached out and made my selection, determined to unchain myself from its grasp and fulfill the transformative mold that change entails—the missing puzzle piece of my journey.