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Cali Treadway Poem
I found you in a dumpster,
a trembling scrap of midnight,
all teeth, fear, and olive eyes that still feared shining.
The world had abandoned us both.
I was breaking,
certain there was nothing left worth staying for.
then you looked at me,
and two forgotten souls recognized each other.
you wore anger like armor,
a feral king crowned in sharpness.
yet with me, you softened,
curling into the hollow places of my heart.
your quiet purr became the first hymn
that convinced me to keep living.
I did not rescue you;
I simply found myself in you.
you loved me while I unraveled,
and I loved you while you learned to trust.
feline, my midnight guardian
proof that broken things can save each other.
Copyright © Cali Treadway | Year Posted 2026
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Cali Treadway Poem
a mother births,
but she is a mother long before the labor
a promise to care for,
to love and to hold,
for better or for worse.
a mother protects.
a mother heals.
built-in powers granted by the gods.
a mother is a promise,
signed, sealed, and forged at conception.
The haunting question is..
how do you betray the one you love?
whom you wombed,
you promised to be here
yet I am motherless,
without love or comfort.
you promised me life,
yet granted me every way to die.
you promised me warmth,
but gave me a heart so cold.
our tie is astray,
our souls linked, yet welded with ice.
how I long for the promise you kept.
how I long to be your little girl again.
promise makers are forgivers too.
I will keep my vow to honor you.
I will forgive your deranged words,
only if you can uphold your bargain:
to be my giver.
to be my mother.
Copyright © Cali Treadway | Year Posted 2026
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Cali Treadway Poem
the brain in my alluring skull cradles the blueprint of my own demise
my mind is a hallway with self-opening doors
echoes in cafeteria lunchrooms,
conversations spilling over each other,
some louder, some sharper,
all of them knowing me too well.
“why shouldn’t I trust them?” you ask..
they love me?
then why can’t I feel it?
why does affection ricochet off my bones
as if I’m made of something unholdable
love slips through me like water through a cracked vessel
I hold nothing, even when I’m full
the slow unraveling of my frontal cortex lengthens,
a frayed rope I keep pretending is strong.
nobody else sees the shadows on the wall
the ones that whisper in silhouettes
and grin when I stare too long.
their silhouettes stitch themselves into my peripherals
quiet seamstress of dread
I know this.
god, how I wish they could.
I wish my paranoia
my constant state of fear,
my absence of soft, warm empathy
could be explained without people flinching.
my thoughts overlap like radio stations fighting for the same frequencies
loneliness aches like a bruise
but it’s safer,
safer for them, not for me.
my heart can’t outspeak my mind,
and my mind can’t outspeak the things I want
the things I’m terrified to want.
I tell myself I will not break.
but will I?
some days my sanity hangs by a single trembling thread
And the scissors on my wall have names
Cafeteria Conversation #2 says yes
says I’m already splintering.
but #7 insists I’m brilliant,
audibly amazing,
something mythic.
am I the greatest human alive?
a deity in decay?
some days, I believe it.
yet the hollowness greets me anyway
I am a mosaic of selves, each one half born, half broken
a cake sliced into six perfect pieces
for one shaking person
at a table with six empty chairs.
only me. And maybe only me forever.
take the silencer pill, they say
trade color for quiet,
feel unalive but manageable
or stay bright, chaotic, laughing,
and suffer for every spark that dares to rise inside this skull of mine
they say clarity is mercy, but madness has its own lullabies
06/26/2026
Clarity Through Static
Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Cali Treadway | Year Posted 2026
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