The Things We Don’t Inherit
We inherited warnings before we understood the danger,
rules whispered from one woman to another.
Hold your keys between your fingers.
Watch your drink. Don’t walk home alone.
We inherited apologies for taking up space,
and the instinct to make ourselves smaller.
We inherited stories told carefully,
as though the truth might break in our mouths.
I wonder how many women before us
wanted to leave something different.
Not the fear.
Not the shame someone else put in their hands.
Maybe what we leave behind can be a door
the next woman does not have to force open.
A boundary already given a name.
A voice that makes hers easier to find.
I cannot choose everything that was left in me.
Some things become scars before we can refuse them.
But I can choose what I leave in you.
And you can choose what you leave in her.
They left us a fight.
I want us to leave each other.
— Sofia Aronovsky
I would like to think that the world is kind and fair, and that good deeds comeback around, I'm a true believer in paying it forward. And sometimes they do.
But I've lived long enough to know that's not always true.
I've watched good people bury their dreams, their family members, and their hope.
I've seen good men get cheated on and treated like dirt after they give their all.
I've seen loving women get left playing both parents and carrying the whole burden alone, while hiding behind a smile that masks their pain.
The million-dollar question has always been: Why them?
The truth is, I don't know.
What I do know is that suffering can uncover courage, faith, and strength
you never knew existed.
Bad things happen to good people.
That part is true.
But I've also seen good people do remarkable things after bad things happen to them.
I've seen them heal, reconstruct their lives, and rise.
The miracle is not that they escaped the storm but that they survived it.
Entry 47: The place where the missing years were kept. Referenced in several dreams but never located. Witnesses disagree whether it was a room, a season, or a river. Its absence remains unusually well preserved.
I traced old roads
through sleep,
past mile markers
erased by weather.
Something
had gone on living
without me.
At dawn,
the map contained
one less horizon.
Entry 81: A door appearing repeatedly in accounts of childhood, though never in the same location twice. Some reports place it in a hallway; others in a field after rain. All agree it stood open and led elsewhere.
I arrived late.
The hinges
still remembered
movement.
Beyond,
a brightness
neither welcomed
nor refused.
The threshold
outlived the house.
Sunset depends on whether one
is looking up or down, angle changes
perspective – at the horizon it is all
sort of the same anyway. Day and
night a circular contraption, the mechanics
of stars and planets. Our sun the center
of existence for us most would agree,
the hub of light and shadows, how we
mostly live in the shades, where things
meet and crisscross. Transitions our
greatest mysteries, topics morphing
often without warning. Weather, surf
and sea, glaciers on the move, the
human relationships most confounding of all!
Found a book with some rose petals
pressed between the pages...God knows
how long they have been there, a volume
of great antiquity. Someone carefully placed them
long gone – perhaps promises made; I hope they
yet carry? History badly repeats itself! Wishing
love goes on as well...set aside a fond dimension,
safe from both heaven and hell.
I took a trip on trains and buses thru memory lane.
Tried to find several things there I thought I left behind.
But upon my arrival, I only found I went there in vain.
It took time for me to realize
I fed the wrong ego and paid the cost,
there's was no reward but a price;
I should be very happy and make a toast!
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
I've stopped waiting on you, charmer
the wonderful things you whispered were false,
not even one word matched your promise;
it was another wish on a wandering star!
I've reached the limit of my patience,
how can you hide your pretence?
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
Don't try to stretch the rubber band,
it will hit you hard in the face,
it'll hurt more than David's sling did;
it's time you stopped this mad race!
It's the usual dilemma I'm caught into,
it's the enigma more harmful than a taboo!
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
It took time for me to realize
I fed the wrong ego and paid the cost,
there's was no reward but a price;
I should be very happy and make a toast!
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
I've stopped waiting on you, charmer
the wonderful things you whispered were false,
not even one word matched your promise;
it was another wish on a wandering star!
I've reached the limit of my patience,
how can you hide your pretence?
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
Don't try to stretch the rubber band,
it will hit you hard in the face,
it'll hurt more than David's sling did;
it's time you stopped this mad race!
It's the usual dilemma I'm caught into,
it's the enigma more harmful than a taboo!
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
It took time for me to realize
I fed the wrong ego and paid the cost,
there's was no reward but a price;
I should be very happy and make a toast!
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
I've stopped waiting on you, charmer
the wonderful things you whispered were false,
not even one word matched your promise;
it was another wish on a wandering star!
I've reached the limit of my patience,
how can you hide your pretence?
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
Don't try to stretch the rubber band,
it will hit you hard in the face,
it'll hurt more than David's sling did;
it's time you stopped this mad race!
It's the usual dilemma I'm caught into,
it's the enigma more harmful than a taboo!
If all worthless things
suddenly come to an end,
there's little to understand;
let them be memories!
Yes, the smallest things,
can control the outcome of,
the biggest events.
It's best we not know
When or if we shall see dread.
But if dread be the thing that I see,
May I not face the dread of losing
the thing that I care so much about.
But if it be that it must be faced,
May God give me his bounty of grace.
I also need strength to face the things
That I care less or so little about that
Will be all that is left, all that remain.
For this also. I need God's bounty of grace.
Wouldn’t it be sad to live without
A little hope to understand
What our immortal soul’s about
To recognize and represent?
And who would say “Good morning, dear
How’s the forecast on BBC?
I sense the damp in atmosphere
Draw back the curtain, let me see”
And who would answer “Yes, you’re right
It’s drizzling, but the sky gets clearer
How was your blood glucose last night?
No shooting up and down, my dear?”
What actors could’ve played that action?
The voice of yours, your smiling face
Mean more than childlike mind abstraction
We used to cherish in our faith
And what it’s like, remains obscure
But I suppose, “there are more things”
If you could come to reassure
I’ll hear from afar your rings..
I never told her I loved her;
Back then I was much too shy.
Always fearing rejection,
I let opportunities pass me by.
I thought she was too good for me,
I wouldn’t stand a chance.
And that she’d only laugh at me
If I asked her for a dance.
I bumped into her yesterday,
Her family in tow
And we got to chatting of
Those school days long ago.
She said, “I have a secret,
That no-one ever knew.
All the time we were at school,
I really fancied you.”
Higher, through this loftier
Discretion of mind
Than what does flash, sky-winging
To Earth's space confined
Places one, which bright state in
Is joy's true Heaven.
Clearer, purer. Whose source is
God. Ever risen.
Lyre-clasping, a warbler, too
Myself, of love songs.
Miss, smiling meek, attested!
Which trait there belongs!
we were
always burdened
by the
captivating chatter
discreetly hostel
last likely
a shew
proposition to
reconsider southwest
precook texarkana
thickened tangy
ambition crookedly
fluster and
recognizable flake
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 31–September 6, 2026)
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