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Jalaila Hardy Poem
*Menacing Laugh*
He’ll never know!!
I’ll hide the cleaning buckets under the sink,
the chemicals in there too.
He won’t know when I clean the walls,
then baseboards when I’m through.
The board games in a tote,
high in the closet they stay.
The puzzles, the crafts, the kids’ toys
put away neatly before end of day.
He’ll never know!!
All the sneaky things I do.
Cleaning the fridge,
under the stove,
beneath our beds too.
The oven.
The mirrors.
The photos around.
The slew!
He’ll never know.
Haha!!
He’ll never know how I crouch and bend
and break my back
to vacuum stairs, the foyer, the bedrooms,
the rack.
He’ll never know
as I twiddle my fingers,
looking for more ways to confuse his day.
What else can I do?
The brushes.
The hair ties.
The clips and hair grease I put away.
Where I keep the cleaning rags,
the body rags,
reusable trash bags too.
I’m so sneaky!
I make sure he will never find
where most things are.
What’s it to you?!
Where is the lint roller?
He’ll never know.
Where is the extra cords?
In the garage is where they go,
will he look?
Me, you, and every other wife, know…
We are petty thieves in our homes.
Like Robin Hood, if you will.
We take from where it is
and put it only where it belongs.
It’s how we get our thrill!
He will never know!
I am the villain in our home!
Clearing clutter and messes alike.
Keeping emotional currents at bay yet in sight.
He will never know!
The range of all I do.
Haha!!
What’s it to you?!
A Wives Tale. ??
Copyright © Jalaila Hardy | Year Posted 2026
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Jalaila Hardy Poem
Like a puppet in a sense, I loosely hang here
Getting images of feelings in color. Bold, timely, revere.
A string from the thought to a brush in hand.
I trace and I move in unison per my command.
Swaying and twisting my wrists with love
Looking for a nod I’ve impressed master above.
Thankful for the gift given to me
To transmute love by design. Tuned harmony.
I don’t always understand the direction
but there’s a knowing in my strings. there’s a connection!
It’s not a game. I’m not playing. Nor am I a toy.
It’s an honor, a badge, a duty.
I’m a real boy.
-Jalaila Hardy
Copyright © Jalaila Hardy | Year Posted 2026
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Jalaila Hardy Poem
A flame,
I rose from a change maker’s spark,
shaping tomorrow with intention.
Plans to love and touch the world with heart.
In your time, you were likely taught
that a child’s fire is nothing more than heat.
“Glow small, silent,
and especially discreet.”
Yet still, you burned.
Controlled, contained, unconcerned
with the world that tried to quiet your shine.
Your ember survived.
You may think we’re different.
No. I am your kind.
A survivor that marched,
carried my own front line,
hands steady on tasks
where courage had no disguise,
while you stood guard for your own
with disciplined eyes.
Now, I serve in a different division:
support, logistics, tactical vision,
mapping the routes your child will tread,
with care watching out for trouble ahead.
Not rivals in rank,
just two soldiers bleeding true.
Your past fortifies them
as my future, for us all, breaks through.
But hear this gently:
you never need to bend a willing heart
to make it understand.
I stand beside you
by choice, not by command.
Respect grows strongest
where there’s no force.
Support runs deepest
with spoken words, no Morse.
I’ve vowed to raise this bloodline higher,
a different yet disciplined, emotional fire.
So here I stand,
not waving anything white,
but extending an open, loving, sincere invite
Not afraid to disappoint,
nor to be ambushed
under the guise of your “support.”
Please don’t stomp out their fire,
nor ask for them to cease,
calling it their job
only to cross all boundaries.
We can work this out. For us all, and more
we have the same goal let’s end this war.
- Jalaila Hardy
Copyright © Jalaila Hardy | Year Posted 2026
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Jalaila Hardy Poem
Hey Sweetie,
look up.
You don’t have to stay here
in this corner,
this nook.
It’s soo dark in here,
heavy with thoughtless words,
weighted in rot.
Trust me when I say:
these words aren’t your own, baby girl.
Because they’re not!
These faux thoughts you carry
they are not yours.
You can put them down now…
(Baaag lllady.)
They once kept you safe…
But, you look at me…
as you sit here trembling.
I need you to feel with your heart,
understand and see
that I am here.
I hold your hand.
We can do this.
You and I,
we are one,
at step one
walking together.
Not fighting.
(It was never a fight.)
Like a seasoned tightrope walker,
we together create balance:
the perfect rhythm
of left then right.
The top,
the bottom,
and all between
the parts we are ready,
but have yet to let ourselves see.
We’ve always had it,
even when they spew their own doubt.
We’ve always found that up, in, and out
“We got it!”
Route.
We’ve always been who we choose to be,
and we do this best
when present, loving,
and hugging on trees.
Why doubt what we already know?
Like a river on its way down to the O,
or a leaf free in the wind that blows
We… flow.
Not only our hair,
our height,
nor skin.
It’s India Arie’s “I Am Light.”
That soul.
That GOD within!
YOU don’t doubt YOU.
They doubt themselves.
You gather and carry these words as your own.
as I said
PUT THEM DOWN, NOW!
They’re an intended lesson,
with a RIGHTFUL home!
- Jalaila Hardy
Copyright © Jalaila Hardy | Year Posted 2026
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