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Jordanne Williams Poem
I don’t remember my childhood?Not really, anyway.?Just flashes,?Like static on a screen?Or dreams you lose by midday.
I remember the shift?The hush before the baby came.?Suddenly, I was older,?Not by age,?But by what they asked me to claim.
I remember doing my own hair,?Tiny hands fumbling with combs and clips,?No one to say, “Let me help you,”?Only quiet expectations?And sealed lips.
I remember making my own lunch,?Crumbs of independence?Scattered across plastic bags,?While other kids had notes and napkins,?I had duty tucked in my backpack.
I wish I stayed little longer.?I wish growing up wasn’t a race.?Wish I’d been one of the children,?Not a mirror of their face.
I wish I wasn't the in-between?Too small to carry so much weight,?Yet too big to need comforting.?I wish I had more time?To just play.
Maybe then I’d remember it.?Maybe then,?I’d call it mine.
Copyright © Jordanne Williams | Year Posted 2026
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Jordanne Williams Poem
I didn’t choose the role,?but it settled on me early.?Before I knew what I was doing,?I was already responsible?for more than myself.
I learned to carry things?that weren’t mine?small things at first:?a bottle, a backpack,?a sibling’s tears.?Then bigger things:?disappointment,?expectations,?the silence between questions?no one wanted to ask.
They said I was “mature,”?as if that were praise.?But all I wanted?was to be little?a little longer.
No one saw me?as someone who could fall apart.
someone who could break?Only as the one?who holds it together?for everyone else.
I was the first to know better,?the one who had to lead,?even when I didn’t know the way.?I became a blueprint?and a warning.
Sometimes I wonder?what I would have been?if I had been allowed to just be.
Not the example.?Not the helper.?Not the second parent?with the same last name.
Still, I love deeply.?I protect quietly.?I show up—always.
Even if no one remembers?who taught them how.
Copyright © Jordanne Williams | Year Posted 2026
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Jordanne Williams Poem
Explaining my anxiety is like trying to write an essay on a book you’ve never read
You skim through the pages and pick out the important parts
You write and re-write hoping you sound like you know what you’re talking about.
But in reality you don’t.
You’re a mess, trapped in a loop of opposing sensations and emotions.
If I had to explain my anxiety I’d tell you that
The beginning of this story starts with an overwhelming worry.
The constant feeling of something wrong eats away at my insides, strong.
It makes me feel sick.
If I could explain my anxiety I’d say
I didn’t ask to have it or to end up with too much stress
To suffer with life’s issues and end up in a mess
I didn’t ask to feel lonely,
Or to live in fear everyday,
I didn’t ask to suffer in silence,
Or to always live in doubt.
If I could explain my anxiety to you
I’d say that
Living with anxiety
Is like being followed by a voice
It knows all your insecurities
And uses them against you
It gets to the point when it’s the loudest
Voice in the room
The only one you can hear
And trying to explain that to someone who has no idea what you’re talking about makes you sound crazy.
Explaining my anxiety is like trying to talk on the phone when you have no reception
You keep repeating yourself but the message never gets through.
Crying out for help but no one can hear you.
Trust me If I could explain my anxiety I would.
Copyright © Jordanne Williams | Year Posted 2026
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