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Violet Grace Poem
2026-06-02 Breathless Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I was fine up untill this moment
It hadn't really sunk in yet
That my new home wasn't the one that held my childhood memories
That my new school wasn't the one that remembered my half-done projects
That my new friends wouldn't be the ones who shared old adventures and knew all my references.
That the new weather wouldn't be the one with cool autumns and red falling leaves
or freezing winters with weekend trips to snow-covered hills
That my family wouldn't be just a word away for a hug
And that the air I was breathing wasn't the air from home
And suddenly, it was too hard for me to get a breath.
Copyright © Violet Grace | Year Posted 2026
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Violet Grace Poem
There are butterflies and beetles in my gut,
for my stomach was occupied by hungry caterpillars.
Their pinchers prod me when I'm making the wrong decision.
Their wings flutter around to warn me of the dangers that might come.
I have spiders in my brain
stringing along my mistakes
making a web of my life,
they are my personal dream catchers.
Crickets live in my throat,
rubbing their legs together to make the sound of my voice
as it fills the silence.
Stars make up my eyes,
and water, my veins.
Ants are my bones,
holding me up.
And vines, my hair,
reaching down to the ground,
wanting to bury itself back into the dirt.
Dragonflies race back and forth through my nerves,
their wings tickling my skin,
bringing life to my arms and legs.
Mushrooms grow in my lungs,
moving with my breath.
I release their spores when I sigh,
as they slowly creep into my throat, crowding out my voice.
My hair grows persistent,
it is down to my knees now.
I've tried to cut it, but it only grows back faster
more stubborn each time.
The spiders in my brain are growing hungry and weary.
They have no more dreams to catch in their webs,
for I have run out of dreams to give.
The ants are growing tired,
and so are the dragonflies.
They have slowed down, making my movements jerky.
I have lost my appetite
for the caterpillars have crystallized in their cocoons
The stars grow bored
looking out into the night,
wondering when they can return to it.
I don't have many crickets left,
Most have gone.
My voice is now soft and easily drowned out,
barely loud enough to fill the quiet.
My hair has reached the ground now,
the vines tugging my head down.
The spiders have all moved out through my ears,
leaving empty webs behind in my brain.
The caterpillars, now butterflies, join the others
along with the beetles,
and burst free through my chest,
The ants have given up holding me
and leave me too.
Dragonflies break through my skin
as the water drains from my veins.
I become the silence that my voice used to fill
as the last cricket leaves,
and the mushrooms fully envelop my throat.
The stars leave my eyes
and join their friends in the sky.
And my hair drags me with it,
back into the ground,
as my heart of nature stops beating.
Copyright © Violet Grace | Year Posted 2026
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Violet Grace Poem
The wind is a gentle thing
It rustles your hair
Sways the grass
Carries the leaves
Strokes the fire
Flys your kite
Knots your hair
Pushes the rain
Breaks the trees
Hits the house
Kills the fire
Bends the earth
Pushes the water
The wind is a gentle yet powerful thing
Copyright © Violet Grace | Year Posted 2026
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Violet Grace Poem
She sat with the willow tree's bark against her back.
It wasn't necessarily comfortable with the bark digging into her shoulders
and the roots bumping out of the ground,
making the spot she's sitting on uneven,
and with the grass tickling the bottom of her legs.
But she felt oddly peaceful,
like she fit into place here,
in this moment.
With the birds calling out to each other,
settling in their nests deep in the branches of this big tree.
With the gentle wind,
brushing the hair out of her face,
making sure she isn't too warm,
bringing the scent of nature.
Making her wonder why she hasn't spent much time outside breathing it in.
It tells her the stories of salty ocean air,
cold Arctic winds,
and all the places it's been,
lulling her to sleep,
dreaming of distant memories
that aren't hers.
She's fallen asleep under the willow tree again,
and when she wakes up,
she finds the wildflowers growing around her with their vibrant colors that somehow fit in with the greens and browns of the ground,
and the leaves of the tree floating down onto her with their sunset colors.
She couldn't feel the wind anymore.
And as uncomfortable as the bark was,
she missed it,
and the way it seemed to bring her back from her memory,
She missed the way the grass reached for her.
The way the tree seemed to breathe with her.
The way the birds tried to sing with her.
As much as she felt she fit there,
She doesn't want to forever be sitting underneath the willow tree
dreaming of the stories the wind told her.
Copyright © Violet Grace | Year Posted 2026
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