Dec 07, 2024 1 min read

poetry self care

Steam rises, a quiet warmth held between my hands, as the world rushes past the glass. Here, the morning breathes softly, a pause, a pocket of stillness stitched into the fabric of motion. This is my quiet rebellion— savoring slow while the world outside keeps spinning. I am grateful for this— the hum of creation distant, the weight of feathers anchoring me, the taste of calm sipped slowly.

tasting calm

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedSteam rises,
a quiet warmth
held
between my hands,
as the world rushes
past the glass.

Here, the morning
breathes softly, a
pause,
a pocket of stillness
stitched into the
fabric of motion.

This
is my quiet
rebellion—
savoring
slow
while the world outside
keeps
spinning.

I am grateful for this—
the hum
of creation distant,
the weight
of feathers anchoring me,
the taste
of calm
sipped
slowly.