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Gregory Locke Poem
100 Words About You
By Gregory L.
They gave me one hundred words to tell the world of you,
I knew before I started that a hundred wouldn’t do.
I wasted three on “I love you”—too common for something this rare,
Spent ten describing your beauty, then wished I had them to spare.
I burned through twenty on your smile, still never caught its light,
Spent fifteen on the peace you bring that lets my soul sleep at night.
Twelve tried explaining why your touch can feel just like home,
Yet without you, every word felt alone.
I spent ninety-nine describing everything that makes you shine,
Then saved the final word to thank God you are—
Mine.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
I've forgiven people who never apologized.
Forgiven lies.
Forgiven betrayals.
Forgiven promises that died before they ever reached the ground.
But every time I try to forgive myself,
the prosecution asks for another witness.
Another exhibit.
Another piece of evidence.
Another version of me
I no longer recognize,
yet still somehow stand accused of being.
This sentence should have ended years ago,
But I keep extending my own appeal.
Every time Mercy signs the paperwork,
Regret files another motion.
God dismissed the charges,
But I kept the courthouse open.
I say I trust His judgment,
yet question every case He closed.
Keep searching through dismissed complaints,
for charges He no longer keeps.
I preach redemption to the broken.
Tell them Mercy still remains.
Tell them God can heal a life,
buried beneath decades of stains.
Yet somehow, when the mirror speaks,
the message changes when it's mine.
I offer grace to everyone else,
then place myself outside the line.
For years, I called it accountability.
I thought that sounded strong and wise.
Never noticed self-condemnation
had simply changed its name in disguise.
I wasn't carrying a burden.
I was questioning Heaven's decree.
Acting like the Judge was mistaken
when the accused happened to be me.
The prison door stood open years ago.
I was the one who stayed inside.
Holding conversations with my Guilt
while Mercy waited just outside.
A memory may be a witness,
But it doesn't make the law.
The Judge had spoken long before
I finally accepted what He saw.
God dismissed the charges.
I was the one who would not surrender.
The verdict was already rendered.
I was the last one to remember.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
I told them I was fine on Tuesday night.
I lied so smooth it barely felt like lying—
just breath shaped wrong, just practiced, and polished white,
A smile stitched tight enough to stop the crying.
They believed me. Hell, I would have too.
I’ve gotten good at looking like I’m whole.
Built rooms inside myself nobody knew,
then dug beneath them when I needed somewhere lower to go.
Rock bottom has a basement. I found mine.
No windows. Just the pipes and me still breathing.
I’d called “I’m fine” a thousand-dollar lifeline,
while every lie downstairs kept adding interest to the grieving.
I prayed until my prayers felt unemployed.
Asked God for something darkness couldn’t counterfeit.
But silence has a way of making noise
when you’re alone with everything you never dealt with.
I climbed those basement stairs with one bad thought
and enough rope to argue with the ceiling.
Then every reason I believed I’d lost
Came crashing through the cracks I’d sealed beneath my feelings.
The cruelest part? I never disappeared.
I went to work. Came home. Returned each call.
They saw me every day and never feared
that who they loved was barely there at all.
Some graves are dug while you are still alive—
No dirt, no headstone, no flowers where you’ve been.
Your body keeps convincing them you’re doing just fine
while something underneath you caves from within.
Rock bottom has a basement, and I’ve found mine—
I just live one floor above it, making “broken” look “fine.”
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
Before him, my hands belonged to me—
ten fingers with no reason to be careful,
good for gripping steering wheels, counting money,
and reaching for whatever I wanted next.
Then a nurse folded eight pounds into my arms.
His whole hand closed around one finger,
too small to circle even half of it,
and somehow that unfinished little fist
held more of me than mine ever could.
I remember watching his little chest rise,
a heart-shaped birthmark moving with every breath,
counting each one without knowing I was counting,
afraid even air might mishandle him.
Those hands changed after that.
They learned alarm clocks before sunrise,
time clocks, grocery bags, medicine bottles,
how to stretch one paycheck past Friday,
how to check a fever without waking him.
They learned shoelaces. Bicycle seats.
And even how long to hold on before letting go.
Years later, those tiny fingers
filled the gloves of a United States Marine,
and I stood looking up at the same boy
I once was terrified of dropping.
Funny—
The first day I held my son,
I thought I was carrying him.
I didn't know
he was carrying me into manhood.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
I've seen roses bloom in springtime,
And watched the morning paint fields with dew.
I've heard a thousand love song promises
that were written pure and true.
I've watched sunsets set the heavens,
Dressed in every shade and hue,
But all of God's repeated wonders
Still can't duplicate you.
You make an ordinary Tuesday.
Feel like something worth getting through.
You can turn a simple moment.
Into an hour, I wish I could renew.
You've got a way of making simple things
Feel important when you do.
And that's the part no dream gets perfect—
Except when it's duplicating you.
If tomorrow took you from me,
What exactly would I do?
Find another laugh?
Another smile?
Maybe I could.
But not another you?
I've spent a while thinking about it,
Trying to see the whole thing through.
Wondering if my heart was faithful,
Or just somehow attached to you.
But every answer led me back.
To what I already knew.
I've finally come to understand it,
After all the roads I've wandered through.
Life might offer similarities—
But only my dreams can duplicate you.
God can make another woman—
But only my dreams can duplicate you.
Nobody else could say I love you
And change my whole day's view.
Nobody else could say those three words
And turn my gray skies blue.
Most folks leave a memory.
Some may leave a bruise.
But you brighten up my whole damn world—
That's why only my dreams can duplicate you.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
I don't need you to agree with every word I say,
Only understand the road that brought me there.
Two people can look at the same storm
And remember a different rain.
Facts get disputed.
Memories get edited.
Intentions get translated through old wounds and fresh scars.
I understand that.
What I don't understand
Is how a man can tell you he feels unheard,
And somehow end up defending the feeling itself.
That's when the conversation changes.
That's when love stops sounding like understanding
And starts sounding like cross-examination.
Suddenly, every sentence needs evidence.
Every emotion needs a witness.
Every hurt requires documentation.
And before either person notices,
We've built a courtroom
In the middle of a relationship.
The only problem is—
The witness stand is empty.
Because feelings were never meant to testify.
They were meant to be heard.
I'm not asking you to surrender.
I'm not asking you to admit defeat.
I'm asking for something far more difficult.
A place where two imperfect people
Can set their weapons down long enough to listen.
Because common ground ain't found
When one person wins.
It's found the moment two people remember
They were never supposed to be enemies in the first place.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
They ask about my first love.
I tell them she ruined me.
Before I knew what romance required,
She was already teaching me
That love looked more like sacrifice
Than butterflies.
She worked when she was tired.
Smiled when she was worried.
Went without
So I wouldn't notice we were without.
Looking back...
Every woman I ever loved
Had to compete with a standard
She never knew she created.
She taught me
That love never needed applause.
I watched her give away
The better portion of herself,
Then somehow convince everyone else
She still had plenty left.
I've spent years searching
For another heart like hers.
Never found one.
Then I remembered...
I wasn't supposed to.
She was my mother.
No wonder no one else ever stood a chance.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
You call me difficult—I won't pretend,
I call it knowing what I'm truly worth.
I dug myself out time and time again,
No more fake smiles for a shallow earth.
You praise the man who bites his tongue,
Who trims his truth to earn applause.
I've seen too many men come undone,
Just to satisfy somebody else's cause.
They say my words cut far too deep,
But silence lets the poison live.
A painful wound ignored won't stay asleep,
No matter how much grace you give.
I've buried masks I used to wear—
A brother, a friend, a love on cue.
Each death exposed a truth laid bare:
Some departures are really long overdue.
I left the classroom, but kept my mind,
Life taught me lessons books can't hold.
Pain carved knowledge in me, raw and refined,
And scars spoke truths no book has ever told.
Now I don't bargain for my peace,
Or lease my soul to feel empowered.
The man I built through war and grief
Ain't yours to bend, shape, or devour.
So keep your praise that comes with ties,
Keep seats where truth must be counterfeit.
I'd rather sit with honest eyes,
than play a role that doesn't fit.
This is the face my trials designed,
This is the voice my failures grew.
Damn, if love demands I leave behind
The man I became to make it through.
The world can keep demanding less—
I finally became someone I won't betray.
Take me exactly as I stand...
Or watch me proudly walk away.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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Gregory Locke Poem
They paid for pieces they could never truly keep,
While I kept selling names that weren't my own.
I learned to smile through promises way too cheap,
Then contemplate the silence walking home alone.
Every night's an auction dressed in borrowed grace,
Where loneliness and money shake their hands.
Some women looked hungry, staring at my face,
Some only came to purchase their demands.
They swore desire was written in my eyes,
I knew the difference hunger learned to wear.
A practiced smile can imitate surprise,
When hope's been evicted from elsewhere.
Perfume and diamonds filled expensive rooms,
Lonely hearts hidden underneath designer names.
Some wore wedding rings beneath expensive perfume,
Yet all of them arrived playing different games.
They praised my confidence, my shoulders, and my grin,
Like somehow I was built without a bruise.
But every role I slipped so neatly in
Was one more piece of me I'd slowly lose.
They judged the shoes that walked this winding road,
But never asked what journey brought me here.
It's easy to weigh someone else's load,
When you've never carried your survival wrapped in tears.
The mirror knows the giglo in me leaves by dawn.
But the bills stay longer than the shame can.
The freak they imagined soon was gone,
Leaving only what remained beneath the tan.
Funny how the preacher's wife cursed my name,
Then passed me later, acting twice as kind.
Turns out daylight and midnight just ain't the same,
When shame puts on a different state of mind.
I wasn't selling pleasure—just another day,
Trying to keep tomorrow from the cold.
Some folks inherit chances, and some just pray.
Some learn that their dignity can still be sold.
So if you ask me what this work has done,
It taught me every price ain't paid with cash.
I made my living wearing borrowed faces...
Until my own became just another mask.
Copyright © GREGORY LOCKE | Year Posted 2026
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