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Margaret Doty Poem
I was born on Dec 7th; a day which lives in infamy.
A Sagittarius; a Zodiac sign of positivity, optimism, and a love for adventure
I laugh at their “sign” in hardy derision
I am 5 feet 5 inches; I weigh 135 pounds; I don’t know how to whistle.
I come from a place of darkness and trauma,
Where shadows dance with whispers of despair,
And every step a struggle against the weight of past sorrows.
I carry the scars within, for they are the map of my journey,
Each one a testament to my strength and perseverance,
In the corners of my mind, echoes linger, memories etched in the walls of my soul,
And though the road ahead may be daunting, I walk it with courage,
From the depths of the abyss,
I rise, a phoenix born from the ashes of pain,
With wings outstretched, embracing the light of resilience.
I find solace in the beauty that surrounds me.
In the laughter of my children,
The embrace of loved ones,
The simple moments of grace that illuminate the darkness.
For I am not defined by the darkness that once consumed me,
But by the light that shines through the cracks in my armor,
A beacon of possibility, illuminating the path to healing and redemption.
So let the world bear witness to my truth,
For I am a survivor, embracing my scars as badges of honor,
And though my past may be filled with darkness and trauma,
I refuse to let it dim the radiance of my future.
Copyright © Margaret Doty | Year Posted 2026
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Margaret Doty Poem
Tired from a long day of travel, she descends into the evening sleep.
Seeing upcoming rest from the soft, smooth ripples of the ocean.
Waving as she dives into the waters of color, only to emerge anew.
The quiet path becomes covered with darkness.
A sea of calmness only colors of the deep can see.
Small trickles appear in a quiet night; the only bright light a small friend.
She rises anew to say good morning; her refreshed light appears
Colors of the ocean are seen; brightness becomes all
The waves of the ocean are stretching for her alarm was sounding.
Copyright © Margaret Doty | Year Posted 2026
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Margaret Doty Poem
Under the shade of the overgrowing canopy, I felt protected. As I walked along the road with my family, the trees were my umbrella, giving me refuge from the outside world. The sounds of peace and tranquil chirps calmed my soul; in this cocoon, I was safe from harm.
The overpowering stress was lifted, and I felt free. The worries disappeared beneath the shelter of the leaves. The road stretched ahead of us, but I was no longer thinking about where it led. I was simply walking, breathing, and being present in the moment.
The leaves whispered softly above me, their shadows dancing across the path, as if nature itself was telling me, you can rest here a while. The wind carried away the dark thoughts, and with every breath, my heart grew lighter.
For once I did not have to hurry. I did not have to fix or solve or carry the weight of tomorrow. I could simply walk. I could hear my family beside me, the birds above me, and the quiet beating of my own heart. Beneath that endless canopy, I had found something I had almost forgotten: peace.
Not the kind of peace that comes when the world finally becomes quiet, but the kind that comes when you become quiet within it. And in that moment, I was not running from anything. I was free to breathe, to think, to feel, to be. And beneath the trees, I remembered how it felt to simply be happy.
Copyright © Margaret Doty | Year Posted 2026
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Margaret Doty Poem
For if we are to dream,
then flatteries of hope are cheap,
and withered as the gloom of despair.
Yet despair can be beautiful and calm,
a quiet place where nothing is promised,
where dreams cannot break
because they have already faded.
Hope asks us to believe,
to reach for what may never come.
Despair asks nothing.
And still,
somewhere beneath the silence,
we dream.
Perhaps that is why we bother,
because even knowing hope may wither,
we cannot help but reach for it.
Copyright © Margaret Doty | Year Posted 2026
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Margaret Doty Poem
Never ending bright blue skies,
Large, grassy green fields,
Small brown hills and tall, full autumn trees.
Favorite people and large, soft-colored blankets,
Clear bright skies with sporadic white clouds to shape,
Colorful desserts and red Kool-Aid galore.
Multicolored rainbows after a soft, cleansing rain,
Pink-and-white polka-dotted umbrellas,
Soft yellow bedsheets to sleep beneath.
No grays, no sadness, no tears...
Just a happy, colorful heaven.
Copyright © Margaret Doty | Year Posted 2026
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Margaret Doty Poem
I thought I was creating a character.
A name
A history
A voice
A body that could walk onto a stage and become someone else.
But somewhere between the lines, the pauses, the silence, and the moments when Matilda Peg looked back at me. And I realized she was asking questions I had spent years avoiding.
How did you survive that?
I don't know.
How did you keep going when you didn't know where you were going?
I don't know.
Why didn't you leave sooner?
I don't know.
Why didn't you stand up for yourself?
I don't know.
And then another question: why did you make such a big deal about it? (That one hurt.)
Because sometimes the things that hurt us don't look big from the outside.
Sometimes we convince ourselves that it wasn't that bad.
That someone else had it worse.
That we should have been stronger.
That we should have spoken sooner.
That we should have walked away.
But Matilda doesn't let me hide behind those answers.
She stands there, waiting, asking.
Why did you stay?
Because I was surviving.
Why didn't you fight?
Because sometimes surviving doesn't look like fighting.
Sometimes it looks like becoming quiet.
Sometimes it looks like making excuses.
Sometimes it looks like pretending everything is fine because pretending is easier than admitting that it isn't.
So, when did you become strong?
Maybe I didn't.
Maybe I became strong slowly.
A little every time I got back up.
A little every time I tried again.
A little every time I stepped onto a stage and allowed myself to be seen.
Maybe that is what acting has given me.
Not an escape from myself, but a way back to myself.
I create characters, and somehow, they create me.
I give Matilda Peg a voice, and she gives me questions.
Questions I don't always want to answer.
Questions about the little girl I was.
The woman I became. The things I accepted.
The moments I wish I had been braver.
The moments I realize I was braver than I ever gave myself credit for.
Maybe I am not finding out who I am by becoming Matilda Peg.
Maybe I am finding out who I am; because Matilda Peg keeps asking me who I have always been.
And maybe someday I won't need her to ask anymore.
Maybe I will already know.
I am the girl who survived.
I am the voice that was once quiet.
I am the person who gets to decide what happens in the next scene.
And when I step onto the stage now, Matilda Peg isn't someone else.
She is a mirror.
And for the first time, I am not afraid of what I see
Copyright © Margaret Doty | Year Posted 2026
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