I Am Enough | Poetry in Conversation with a Song ©Dawn Minott

On July 12, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry56 Comments

Before-word: This is a declaration of self-worth—unapologetically claiming space and authenticity in a world that rushes to erase difference. In a time of deliberate pushback against rights, equality, diversity, and inclusion, this piece stands as an affirmation for everyone one who’s marginalized: We are enough. Whole. Complete. We belong. And we are undeniably deserving of the rights that are inherently ours—by virtue of being human.

I am enough!
Not almost.
Not maybe.
Not if only.
Not someday.
I am already—enough!

I have enough of what I need
to be the exceptional me
Not a watered-down, shrink-to-fit version
But the bold, distinctive, unstoppable me

I am enough!
Worthy of love that doesn’t come with conditions
Worthy of acceptance that doesn’t ask me to edit myself
to fit someone else’s visions

I am enough!
Every piece of me—flaws and all—God-stitched
Created in brilliance
Imperfections sculpted into strength
I’m not here to erase or to apologize

I am enough!
I won’t fade into the background
Or try to fit into someone else’s selfie
when I was made to standout in my own spotlight—
That’s why I won’t dim my shine

And when the world tries to measure me by numbers, by titles, or by expectations
I will remind it:

I am not defined
by the weight of opinions
or the shifting tides of approval

I am not a sum of my scars
a reminder of my mistakes
or a static product of my past

I am the story still unfolding
the light that keeps shining
the melody that won’t fade

I will not apologize for the way my laughter echoes
like a song too bold to be silenced
or for the way my body, my presence
take up room
I will not wait for permission
to own my voice, to own my space, to own my destiny

I am enough!
Enough is not the bare minimum—
It is abundance
It is power
It is truth
It is waking up whole
even on the days I feel broken
It is standing tall
even when my knees tremble

So here I stand—out:
Unapologetic.
Proud.
Unshaken.
No more proving.
No more waiting.
No more asking permission.

As I stand
As I breathe
As I be
I am enough—just as I am
The effervescent, quintessential
Me

This poem is in conversation with
Lauren Daigle’s hit song—“You Say” which starts with:

“I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough. Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up …”

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva
Image credit: Facebook

Breaking Glass Ceiling ©Dawn Minott |Happy International Women’s Day [March 8]

On March 8, 2026March 8, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry31 Comments

Beforeword: The “glass ceiling”, was coined by Management consultant Marilyn Loden in 1978. It symbolizes the invisible barriers that hinder women and marginalized groups from advancing in their careers.

The thing about “glass ceiling” when smashed
is that the shards don’t vanish—
they fall
Sharp, jagged, relentless,
raining down like a warning,
like a punishment for daring to rise

Falling glass cuts deep—
Patriarchy, splintered but still clawing
Violence, turning freedom into something fragile
Laws, binding instead of breaking chains
Norms, polished smooth but when harmful they wound
Root causes slicing through progress
turning triumphs into scars
Rights into relics
Hard won gains into loss
Reproductive rights overturned—
choices stripped, voices silenced,
autonomy reduced to a battlefield
where laws are weapons,
and women’s bodies contested spaces

But how does the ceiling hold?
It’s not chains you can see,
not walls you can touch—
It’s an unspoken limit, the silent “no”
It’s underrepresentation dressed as “not the right fit”
It’s the weight of pay gaps
The care work not paid
The lock on leadership doors
The promotions that never come
no matter how qualified or how high women climb

They say, “You’ve come so far”
But they don’t mention the cracks beneath our feet
The unequal shifting ground
The backlash waiting at every turn
Every step forward risks another wound, another push back, another war to fight—again

The thing about glass—
It was never meant to be a cage
Meant for clarity, yet it distorts,
letting light in but keeping power out

The thing about ceiling—
It was never meant to hold in
Meant to shelter, yet it confines,
holding dreams beneath its weight

So, like Maya Angelou, women—we rise!
Not just breaking, but building
Not just shattering, but shaping
Hands wrapped in armor, feet steady on the dust
Helmets on, hearts fierce, forging new foundations
Until the sky stretches wide,
and the only thing above us—
is rights, equality, justice

About Women’s History Month:

In the USA, President Jimmy Carter issued the first Presidential Proclamation declaring the Week of March 8th 1980 as National Women’s History Week. March was later designated as “Women’s History Month” in 1987.

About International Women’s Day (March 8th)

IWD is a worldwide day of activism, celebrating achievements while continuing the fight for women’s rights.

IWD began in the early 1900s as a movement for women’s labor rights, better working conditions, and suffrage. But the first milestone in US was much earlier – in 1848. Indignant over women being barred from speaking at an anti-slavery convention, Americans Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott started the US first women’s rights convention in New York. Inspired by protests in New York, socialist activist Clara Zetkin proposed an annual Women’s Day in 1910, leading to the first official IWD on March 19, 1911, in several European countries. The 8 March date was chosen after Russian women demanded “bread and peace” during a war-time strike in 1917.

The United Nations recognized IWD in 1975, expanding its focus to broader gender equality issues. This year the UN theme is “Rights. Justice. Action. For ALL Women and Girls”

2026 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On Spillwords — Life Lessons! ©️Dawn Minott

On July 30, 2025July 2, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry26 Comments

Hey y’all! Guess what?!

My poem’s found a brand-new spot—

Spillwords picked it up, oh yes,

I’m feelin’ proud, I must confess.

If you’ve got a sec to spare,

Click the link and show some care.

https://spillwords.com/life-lessons/!

Drop a heart, a word, a view—

Any literary love from you will do.

Thanks much, Dee🙏🏽🙂🙏🏽

The Return—The Bronzes Speak: “Omawale” ©Dawn Minott

On July 11, 2025July 11, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry19 Comments

Benin City
1897

They came with guns and greed
Tore through shrines like storms
Pillaged palaces with no regard for what they plundered
Gods wrapped in grates
Our story shipped to museums
Our ancestors labeled “exotic”

They took the cockerel—Okukor, majestic, defiant
They took the warrior-king, still standing in bronze
They took the birds—
The symbols of vision and flight
But they could not take our sky

Now—
Now they come, not with swords
But with ceremony
They bow
They “symbolically” return what was never theirs to begin with

The bronzes have come home
Like prodigal children who were never wrong
The wooden ancestral head—sculpted memory
Let the Okukor crow at dawn
Let the warrior stand tall again—
Feel the soil of Edo again
Feel the air hum with remembrance
Let the Oba receive them
Not as trophies, but as
Truth

Truth is …
The return is not just about objects
It is about dignity
It is histories reclaimed
It is altars rebuilt from fragments that refused to forget
It is about names restored

We are not relics
We are resurrection
And this—
This is just the beginning

So let the bronzes speak:

“Omowale”—the child has come home!

Afterword: When I lived in Nigeria, I was given the name Omowale, a Yoruba word meaning “the child has come home.” This name embodies the experience of reconnecting with one’s heritage and the profound sense of belonging it brings.

Thousands of brass, bronze, and ivory sculptures and carvings were looted from Benin City—priceless pieces of history scattered across the world for decades.

See my first post “The Wall They Couldn’t See” for more.

These Benin Bronzes, described as individual plaques that each read like a page in a book, together tell the rich, complex story of Benin.

Now, after years in foreign lands, these treasures are beginning to make their way back home. Their return marks only the first steps in a growing movement for repatriation—a movement that seeks to restore stolen heritage and heal historical wounds.

2025 All Rights Reserved

The Wall They Couldn’t See ©Dawn Minott

On July 1, 2025July 16, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry14 Comments

Beforeword: Had you ever heard of the Great Wall of Benin City? Until recently, I hadn’t either. When a friend mentioned it, my curiosity was instantly piqued. Naturally, I did some research. This spoken word poem was born from that journey of learning and reflection.

The Wall They Couldn’t See

They called it a wall—
But it was more
It was science wrapped in soil
It was grit
It was story
A 19,900-mile long ingenuity of a people who carved equations into earth

The Great Wall of Benin City!

Longer than China’s wall
But never longer in textbooks—
because what conquerors don’t understand, they erase

It was the moat—a defense, a design
Dug by Edo hands that understood
symmetry
topography
strategy

The Benin Empire—
One of the oldest, most finely honed states in West Africa
Rising strong since the 11th century
First the Portuguese
Then the British
They saw a city—
Crime-free, clean
Crowned with bronze and carved ivory
A city where honesty lived in the marrow of men
Where streets ran wide like open arms
And governance?
It had a pulse,
steady and wise

Yet …
They looked with blind eyes
Called African brilliance “chaos”
Called African symmetry “primitive”
Because the math we mapped
wasn’t chalked on their boards

They came with fire in their pockets
and hunger in their eyes
Trading for men
And when the loot didn’t come fast enough
They came with cannons

1897
Benin city
A rhythm
A revelation
Burnt to the bone
Stole the art
Stole the gold
Stole the breath

Now …
The Great Wall lies hidden in the Nigerian bushes—
Not gone, but grieving
Not erased, just waiting

Waiting
For tongues to remember
For history to reclaim
For voices to rise like the harmattan red dust and sing:

We were here
We were brilliant
We still are

Because the wall?
The wall was never what they saw
It was what they couldn’t

It was legacy
It was light
It was a people

Afterword: Almost 1,000 Benin bronze artifacts—including statues of birds, a warrior‑king, a cockerel (“Okukor”), and a wooden ancestral head—originally looted during the 1897 plunder, have been symbolically returned to the Oba of Benin in Edo State, their ancestral home!

Part 2: “The Return—The Bronzes Speak: Omowale”

After Afterword: This is the story of a lost medieval city you’ve probably never heard about. Benin City, originally known as Edo, was once the capital of a pre-colonial African empire located in what is now southern Nigeria. The Benin empire was one of the oldest and most highly developed states in west Africa, dating back to the 11th century.

The Guinness Book of Records (1974 edition) described the walls of Benin City and its surrounding kingdom as the world’s largest earthworks carried out prior to the mechanical era. According to estimates by the New Scientist’s Fred Pearce, Benin City’s walls were at one point “four times longer than the Great Wall of China, and consumed a hundred times more material than the Great Pyramid of Cheops”.

Excerpted from The Guardian article: “Story of cities #5: Benin City, the mighty medieval capital now lost without trace”

2025 All Rights Reserved

Journey to Excellence ©Dawn Minott

On June 22, 2025June 28, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry20 Comments

A Spoken Word Tribute to Graduates

Before we shout “Well done!”
Before the names are called,
Let us take a moment—to honor it all:
This church.
This family.
This ground where faith and growth both rise.

You’re a house of many nations, shades, and stories—
Yet here, love is the common language.
Where Grandma’s prayers cover teenage dreams,
And uncles, aunties, elders cheer with eyes that have seen
That excellence takes many forms,
And no one journeys alone.

To the graduates:

We see you.
Caps cocked, gowns flowing,
Milestones in motion.
From crayons to calculators,
Fingerpaints to final exams—
You made it!
And your church stands to salute your stride.

Whether from kindergarten or college halls,
From homeschools or trade schools,
You’ve crossed a threshold.
And the God who started you on this path
Is not done walking beside you yet.

To the high-flyers, the focused, the driven:
Your eyes were fixed on the prize.
You mapped your way with purpose and passion.
Late nights, early mornings,
Deadlines met with devotion.
You pressed forward.
You pressed through.
And the excellence we see
Is not just in your grades—
It’s in your grit,
And the God who gave it to you.

To the ones still figuring it out:
We see you!
Excellence is not a straight road—
It zigs. It zags. It waits.
You’re allowed to pause, to wonder,
To try, to fail, to ask:
“What’s next for me?”

Let me say this:
Even uncertainty is part of the plan.
You are not lost—you are learning.
Every step, every stumble is shaping the story God is still writing in you.

To the ones who didn’t know if they’d make it here:
Maybe motivation left along the way.
You know—life be lifeing,
But look—you’re standing.
That in itself is a win.
That is excellence.
Progress is praise-worthy.
Each chapter a testimony.
Don’t you go downplaying what God brought you through.
Ask yourself:
“What changed along the way?”
Maybe it was you.
Maybe it was your faith.
Maybe it was that still, small voice
That said, “Keep going.”

To our elders, our late bloomers, our lifelong learners:
Let the world know—
Learning does not expire.
Dreams don’t have deadlines.
And classrooms aren’t the only place where wisdom is born.

You’ve shown us what courage looks like
When age walks boldly into new beginnings.
You remind us:

You don’t stop learning because you grow old;
You grow old because you stop learning.

So keep learning.
Keep reaching.
Keep believing.

And to all:
This journey to excellence is not a solo flight—
It’s Spirit-led.
It’s prayer-powered.
It’s faith-laced.
You didn’t get here by accident.
And you won’t go forward alone.
‘Cause:
“Anyone who keeps learning stays young.”
And anyone who walks with God— stays steady.

So walk on, graduates.
With your heads high, your hearts open,
Your dreams anchored in divine direction.
And know this: excellence is not just a destination—
It’s a journey.
And yours has only just begun

Afterword: This piece was commissioned by a church. As with every commissioned work, I took time to speak with my client to understand the heart of their story. This process enables me to create pieces that authentically capture the essence of the message they wish to share, rather than me simply weaving words together creatively.

For this piece, I drew inspiration from the congregation’s multicultural and nurturing spirit. They wanted it to reflect the intersectional nature of their community, to inspire a love of lifelong learning, and, above all, to honor every graduate—from kindergarten to graduate school and everyone in between.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Image by Pexels

God Blesses the Child Who Hurts ©Dawn Minott |with audio

On June 15, 2025June 13, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry10 Comments

Part I: The Separation

From experiences encountered each passing day
She grows, just a little more
But now she knows, inside, she’s never really fully grown
For in her heart, buried deep within
A child yearns to be known, to be loved, to grow

Unanswered questions played on repeat:

Was it me?
Was I not the child he wanted?
Did I cry too loudly?
Did I make him mad?
Did I bring him laughter?
No! He must have been sad

There’s no other explanation
He’d just simply gone away

Never held her as a baby
Never fed her as a child
Never called her his little girl
Never owned her as his child

Growing up she felt abandoned
Kept it hidden, deep down inside
Didn’t want to let mom know
Didn’t want make mom sad
For he had left her behind too

Cried when she knew mom could not hear her
Built a father in her mind—
Not the one who left, but the one she needed
He lived in memories that never happened
Kept her sane, kept her dreaming

Part II: The Reuniting

Then that image, it got shattered
Reality didn’t ask permission, it just came crashing in
Tearing away what she had dreamed of
Leaving her bare
Scared again

Said he loved her, but he hit her
Said he’d always be there, but vanished again

Alone

She survived on strangers’ kindness
Curled up in corners not her own
Love felt like waiting on empty
And pain?
A predictable “friend”, well known

Part III: Attempted Reconciliation

She tried to mend the broken pieces
Three times
Being rejected o’er again
Sending letters
Making phone calls
He just didn’t want to be there
She learned—you can’t find what won’t be found

Yes—there were nights when sorrow sang her to sleep
And mornings when tears her only prayer
But even then, God held each shattered piece
And when she stopped chasing
That’s when He started healing

The child within has grown up
Now she can let him go—
Not in anger but in accepting
That sometimes silence is the answer
And the space for love to conquer

Part IV: Resolution

In that healing she found forgiving
So she didn’t break, but bloomed
So the storms that came couldn’t drown her
And the darkness her mind subdue
So she could see that someone was waiting

Not the father who couldn’t stay—but the One who couldn’t leave
Always right there by her side
In the aching, in the silence, orchestrating her becoming

Part V: The Benediction

So to those who feel abandoned
Confused, abused, used

Hear this:

God can mend the broken pieces
Find your child who lives within
He invites—
Pick yourself up, begin again
And, know this
He’s the Father who stays
He heals
He restores
And

He blesses the child who hurts

Back Home: To You & Me ©Dawn Minott

On June 8, 2025March 30, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry11 Comments

This new chapter—
with you in it—
has been more than I ever could have imagined

Our love?

It’s not just love
It’s a revelation
It’s revolution of the soul
It’s exposed me to dimensions—
deep layers
of connection
of intimacy
of support

And though physical presence feels like oxygen now…
What we’ve built?
Oh, what we’ve built—
Intentionally.
Deliberately.
The way we’ve poured
into each other’s wholeness
into each other’s healing
has made this storm feel a little less violent

The memory of your touch?
It still lingers like the smell of you in a room you just left

The way we’ve showed up?
In words,
In silence,
In spirit—
It’s the light, guiding now
Through every unclear step

The comfort we’ve shared?
It’s more than memory
It’s a trail
And we’re walking it
Now
Across this vast expanse
of impasse and ache
To find our way
Back through the silence
Back through the waiting
Back through the distance—

To find our way
back home
to you and me

2025 All Rights Reserved

Me And God Got Back Together ©Dawn Minott | with audio video

On June 7, 2025June 7, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry24 Comments

So me and God got back together.

Yeah, after all this time.
After all the running, the hiding,
the loud nights where I pretended I didn’t hear Him calling.
After all the “I’m fine, I got this” lies
I told myself—
we got back together.

It wasn’t some grand moment—
no fireworks, no choir singing, no hallelujah in the sky.
It was quiet, almost shy,
like old friends meeting after years of not knowing what to say.

I had my reasons for leaving—
you know, life be lifeing—it gets messy,
prayers feel like they hit ceilings,
and shame?
Shame builds walls so high,
you think not even God can climb them.

But there He was.
Not with anger.
Not with a list of everything I’d done wrong.
Just… waiting,
Patient, like He always knew I’d come back around.

I didn’t bring much to the table.
Just my broken pieces, my worn-out heart,
my questions that don’t have answers,
my faith,
or what was left of it,
clinging by a thread.

And you know what He said?
“Welcome home.”
Two words that melted years of distance.
Two words that drowned out the lies I had told myself:
you’re too far gone,
you’ve messed up too much,
you can’t come back.

But grace don’t work like that.
Grace don’t do math.
It don’t tally sins or measure the weight of regret.
It just opens its arms,
and says, “I’m here.”

Now, I’m learning to walk again,
this time by His side.
I stumble—
oh, do I stumble—
but His hand is always there, steadying me,
reminding me
that falling doesn’t mean failing
when I’m falling into love like this.

So me and God,
we’re figuring it out.
It’s not perfect—
I still trip, still doubt,
still ask Him why the world is so heavy sometimes.
But He doesn’t let go.

Every day feels like a second chance.
Every sunrise whispers, “You are loved.”
And maybe, just maybe,
this time I’ll believe it.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

In The Frame ©Dawn Minott |Spoken Word Poem

On June 6, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry14 Comments

I.
They called it a joke
A satire
A smear of a man in a wig
As if a Black scholar was too far-fetched to be anything but fantasy
As if knowledge had a color and his wasn’t right

II.
But Francis Williams—
he was not their fiction
He was fact
Jamaican born under the tyranny of slavery
He was freedom cracked open by a mind that would not be chained nor contained

He studied stars while they studied skin—
Tracing Halley’s comet with ink-stained fingers
His eyes aligned with the heavens
while theirs were stuck in the mire of bigotry and hate

III.
They bought the painting for the wood
Fine mahogany—the kind enslaved hands carved but couldn’t claim
Ignored the man standing proud, scrolls and instruments like armor around him
They saw furniture
They missed the future he foretold

IV.
But truth has layers
Centuries later X-rays peeled them back
High-resolution told the tale:
This wasn’t ridicule
This was intuitive wisdom
To commission a self-portrait not to mock but to mark a mind that mattered
To inscribe in intricate details—preserved in posterity—a testament that his life mattered

A Jamaican polymath defying every odd
He challenged the limitations of slave society
With equations and celestial calculations that mapped freedom across the sky, across the centuries

V.
They tried to erase him with silence
But silence? It’s brittle
And Francis? He’s breaking through
One scan, one verse, one truth at a time

So, say his name
Not as footnote, but foundation
Say his name
Like a revolution that rhymes:
Francis Williams
The genius they tried to forget
The comet they couldn’t contain
The portrait they tried to bury—
but couldn’t keep in the frame

Backstory: This poem is based on the article in The Guardian, “X-ray evidence of Black maths scholar portrait reveals snubbed genius”. Clues in a self-portrait commissioned by Francis Williams—a wealthy Jamaican polymath who was born free under the tyranny of slavery —to prove that he successfully managed to compute and witness the trajectory of Halley’s comet over Jamaica in 1759. A complex figure himself, yet his intellectual achievements are worth preserving and retelling.

2025 All Rights Reserved

The Turtle, The Moon and The Plane ©Dawn Minott |a Limerick

On June 3, 2025June 10, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry27 Comments

A turtle once entered a race

With an aeroplane—built for high pace

While the plane soared and flew

‘Twas lost in search of the moon

And the turtle won first place with praise

Afterword: The muse for this limerick is the two images in Sadje’s prompt on What Do You See # 291 June 02, 2025.

2025 All Rights Reserved

Stay Single Till Then ©Dawn Minott

On June 2, 2025June 2, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry23 Comments

Stay single
till you meet the person
who makes you smile from within
and it escapes with such intensity
it up-curls your lips from ear to ear,
makes your cheeks go numb
and your eyes light up

Stay single
till you meet the one
who proves himself worthy of you,
who prioritizes you,
amidst the busyness of life
he makes time to see you—
no lame ass excuses of
“just because…”
and “I was gonna but…”

Wait
for the one
whose touch ignites your senses,
makes your knees buckle weak
and your heart skip beats
and your stomach butterfly-flutters,
wait for the one
who moves you

Stay single
till you meet the one
who’ll do anything for you—
like walk a tight rope
50 feet above ground—
because he knew you’d not ask
if you didn’t need him to
and because he knew you knew
he’d be safe to do for you

Stay single
till you meet someone
who accepts you,
not wanting to change the you that you are
but who celebrates the essence of you,
accepting you in all your quirkinesses
and flawsomeness,
someone who loves you for you

Wait
for someone
who is proud of you,
celebrates your accomplishments
as if they’re his own—
your own personal membership
to a one-on-one cheerleading squad,
wait for the one who’s “got you”

Stay single
till you find the person
who makes you want to be
a better you,
who’s worthy to fight for
and to fight with
‘cause—face it—
love and life
will derail fantasies
of “happily ever after”,
you’ll need someone
who’s battle ready

Stay single
till your desire to be booed-up
is not from a place of brokenness,
lack
or desperation,
but from a healed place,
from a place of trust,
love
and vulnerability

Wait
for someone
whose words and actions
go hand-in-hand;
who will say what they mean
and do what they say,
wait for the one
who is intentional
about you

Stay single
till the one who is for you
finds you,
and you know
you have been found

Stay single
till then.

2020 All Rights Reserved [republished 2025]

From His Side ©Dawn Minott

On June 1, 2025August 21, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry2 Comments

The first Adam—
breathed by the breath of God,
stood tall in Eden’s garden, clothed in glory,
created from dust infused with divine destiny.
And from his side—
not his head to rule,
not his feet to be trampled,
but his side—
God pulled forth woman,
and matched her bone to his bone, flesh to his soul.
And from that union,
the human family bloomed.

But, they ate from a tree
Then came the fall—
from trust,
from dominion,
from the divine design.
Adam sinned,
and the authority over the earth slipped from his grip,
spilled like blood from pierced hands,
and chaos crept in like a thief through one act of disobedience.

Yet Heaven had a plan.
The Second Adam stepped in.
Not made from dust, but descended from glory,
wrapped in flesh to rewrite the story.
Jesus—Son of Man, Son of God—
walked where Adam fell,
stood where sin broke lives,
and carried a cross of salvation
up a hill of redemption.

And when He died—
Oh, when He died—
they pierced His side.

Not coincidence.
Covenant.

For just as the first woman came from Adam’s side,
so now from Christ’s wounded side,
the Church was born.
Not bricks or steeples,
but a living, breathing, blood-washed people.
Bound by the bloodline
of a Savior who surnamed us—called us
family

From His side,
we rise.
From His pain,
we proclaim.
From His sacrifice,
we unite—
not scattered seeds,
but one body,
one Spirit,
one eternal name.

So when you ask who I am,
I say:

I am from the side.
The pierced place.
The precious space.
I am born not of man’s will,
but of Heaven’s decree.

I am church

From sin set free

Afterword: This poem was inspired by a sermon my pastor preached a few weeks ago, where he drew the spiritual parallel between the creation of woman from Adam’s side and the birth of the Church from the pierced side of Christ—His bride. I had never made that connection before, and it stirred something deep within me. I sat with it, let it take root, and out of that reflection, this piece was born.

2025 All Rights Reserved

Daughter ©Dawn Minott

On May 18, 2025May 18, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry6 Comments

Beforeword: “The Chosen” retells the biblical account of a woman who bled for twelve years—likely battling what we now know as endometriosis. Doctors failed her. Society shunned her. But her faith pressed through the crowd and reached for the hem of healing. With one touch, she drew virtue from Jesus. The way this act was portrayed in “The Chosen” tugged at my heart and inspired this poem about a bold, desperate, and unshakeable kind of faith. Mark 5:25–34

Twelve years.
Twelve long, leaking, limping years.
Not of just blood,
but of being bled—
by shame, by silence,
by systems that said:
“You’re unclean.”
“You’re unworthy.”
“Stay unseen.”

She was hemorrhaging more than her body could bear—
her hope dripped slow, like her dignity,
into dusty streets that never remembered her name.

But this—this is a story
of a woman who reached
when religion said “Don’t.”
Who touched
when culture said “Stay back.”
Who dared
to believe healing was not just possible—
but personal.

She said,
“If I but touch the hem…”
Not his hand.
Not his face.
Just the fringe of grace.
She didn’t need center stage,
just the edge of mercy.

And when her fingers found the thread—
Power moved.
Time froze.
Heaven stood still.

And He said,
“Who touched me?”

Not out of rebuke,
but revelation.

She came trembling,
expecting judgment,
but found joy.
Expecting condemnation,
but got confirmation.

He didn’t call her “woman.”
Didn’t say “healed one.”
Didn’t say “formerly unclean.”

He called her—
Daughter.

And the world shifted.

Because God doesn’t rename without reason.
When He calls you something new,
it’s not just a title—
it’s a territory.
It’s the unlocking of destiny.
An announcement of assignment.
A sign that your suffering was not wasted—
it was womb.

Daughter.

That’s not just comfort—
that’s commission.
That’s “Welcome to the family.”
That’s “Your faith just opened a door.”
That’s “You have access to more.”

Because every new name in the Bible
was a passport into purpose:
Abram to Abraham—father of nations.
Jacob to Israel—wrestler turned warrior.
Simon to Peter—reed to rock.

And now:
Unknown to Daughter.
Outcast to Heir.
Bleeding to Blessed.
She didn’t just get healed—
She got elevated.

So now, when you feel unseen—
When your wounds whisper you’re not worthy—
When the crowd calls you forgettable—
Remember:
Faith rewrites stories.
And sometimes all it takes
is a reach.

For the God who knows your name
is waiting to call you something greater.
Something weightier.
Something woven in love.

Daughter.

Because your healing isn’t the end—
It’s your beginning.
Your new domain.
Your new name.

Walk in it.

Afterword: for more on this story, read it here.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Photo by Pexels

Do You!? ©️Dawn Minott

On May 16, 2025May 16, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry24 Comments

Who are you?
A mother. A father.
A CEO. A pastor.
A judge behind the bench, a teacher in the class,
A voice in the crowd or the first, not the last.

We throw it around—
“Just do you.”
Sounds cute, right?!
I’ve said it too.
Like it’s a mantra.
A mirror.
A mood.
But what if “do you”
Is misunderstood?

What if—
Your identity’s not in the job, the title, the crew?
Not in the flex, or the fame, or the things you do?
Your identity—
Is rooted in what you give your heart to.
And if you gave it to the One who made you,
Wouldn’t that shift the whole view?

See—
To “do you”
You must know you.
Not the version crafted by culture and code,
But the truth that was spoken
Before time even flowed.

Who does God say you are?
Not broken. Not lost. Not barely getting by.
You—
Are a child of the Most High.

But if you don’t see yourself in this divine design,
You might be whispering—“Fix me,”
Not boldly declaring—“Do me.”

And let’s be real—
You can’t fix yourself
When you didn’t form yourself.
You are not your own creator.
So how can you be your own savior?

Truth is,
When you know whose you are,
You’ll know who you are.
And when you know who you are,
You won’t just “do you”—
You’ll live true.
Aligned.
On purpose.
Brand new.

2025 All rights reserved

She’s Not The One ©Dawn Minott

On May 11, 2025May 7, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry10 Comments

She’s not the one to chase if you’re still running from yourself
if your soul is a question mark
if your dreams are still waiting in line for you to claim them
if you’re still figuring out relationship goals, lost
in a maze of exploration

She’s for when you’re ready—
ready to rise
ready to strive
ready to build something real
ready to love not just pass time

Now—

She’s not the one to curse you out
but don’t mistake her class for naïveté
her elegance for submission
her silence for permission
her loyalty for weakness

She speaks in measured tones
but don’t get it twisted—
she will not be subjugated
not by what masks as love
not by fear
not by the weight of someone else’s uncertainty

She’s walked through too many storms
to be swayed by a drizzle
she’s built too much of herself
to shrink into someone else’s confusion

If you’re still figuring out who you are
still tracing the outline of a future you can’t commit to?
she’s not the one
keep walking—
but don’t look for her in the shadow
of your uncertainty
your searching
your wandering

She’s not the one
to wait for maybe

She’s the one
for when you are ready

2025 All Rights Reserved
Images by Pexels

When the Contacts Go Quiet ©Dawn Minott

On May 4, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry35 Comments

It started as a digital tidying
But there in the sanctity of my contact list:
names to numbers
I hadn’t dialed
I couldn’t dial anymore
Gone.
Not lost in a move,
not ghosting in silence—
but gone.
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Gone.

Each tap of “delete contact”
felt like a tremor
in my chest.
We were the same age range
Grew into adulthood
side by side,
laughed through the recklessness
of youth,
grew wiser,
grew weary,
and now
some have simply
stopped growing.

I stared at their names
before letting go—
as if one more second
on my screen
could keep them tethered
to this life.

Death
It just lingers—
in old photos,
in stories we still tell,
in the echo
of their number
no longer in service.

And now,
my list is shorter.
My heart, heavier.
Not just for them,
but for what it means—
that I, too,
am walking the edge
of a vanishing point:
Mortality

Life is fragile.
I knew it.
But now
I feel it—
in every deleted name,
in every quiet reminder
that I am still here
and they are not.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Love ©Dawn Minott |birthMONTH, Week 5

On April 28, 2025April 29, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry24 Comments

Beforeword: We end this journey where all true journeys with God should lead—love. The kind of love that transforms. The kind of love that sees God in each other. The kind of love that doesn’t just stay hidden away in the privacy of our prayers but spills out into our words, our actions, our world. In this final week of April, as I conclude the restorative quest of birthMONTH 2025, I embrace love as choice, action, power!

Join me in making this last week a celebration of the greatest calling we have been given: to love and be loved.

The Shape of Love

Love looks like open hand to hold, console
It sounds like laughter shared with no abandon
Like forgiveness offered before words come easy

Love wears every color
speaks every language
holds every story

It is patient in the waiting
It is fierce in the protecting
It is gentle when the world is harsh

Love is not something we earn—
it is Someone
Someone we meet again and again
until we learn to live as if love is all we have
Because it is
Because He is

Love is God reaching for us
before we knew how to reach back
Love chases—
pursues the hearts that keep running
Like a bridge, it carries over troubled waters

Love is the beginning,
the journey,
the home.

The challenge: How to participate

In these last days of April, look for small ways to show love—send a word of encouragement, listen deeply to someone, forgive quickly, offer help without being asked, or spend unrushed time with someone who needs it.
Begin each day with a simple prayer: “God, show me how to love today.”

Thank you for joining this birthMONTH celebration. [Click here for the overview of this journey]

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Intimacy ©Dawn Minott |birthMONTH, Week 4

On April 21, 2025April 21, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry1 Comment

Beforeword: This week, the journey turns inward. After exploring God’s abundance, lifting up praise, and making space for restoration, we now lean into intimacy—not as a concept, but as a lived relationship.

Intimacy with God is not about perfection.

It’s not reserved for saints, monks, pastors, imam or priests. It’s available to each of us—right now, right where we are.

How does our friendships grow? It’s through time spent together, honesty, and presence, so does our closeness with God. He longs to walk with us in the details of our days, to hear our laughter, to hold our pain, to speak to us in the stillness, in the mundane.

This week is an invitation to draw closer—to speak freely, to listen deeply, and to rest in the nearness of a God who delights in you and calls you His son and His daughter—heirs!

Unending Conversations

With all there is to say to God—
the thanksgiving,
the praise,
the adoration,
the questioning…

the joy,
the sorrow,
the loss,
the longing,
the aching…

the wonderings and what-ifs,
the near-misses,
the could-have-beens—

my prayers become
unending conversations.

They unfold with eyes wide open,
or tightly closed,
while I stand still
or kneel low.

Sometimes my hands are folded,
sometimes raised—
sometimes trembling.

My prayers carry emotion
in the shape of tears—
tears of joy,
tears of grief.

They echo in my laughter,
in my sighs,
in the silences that say more than words.

Sometimes,
they are loud like declarations,
sometimes,
soft as a whisper.

And sometimes—
there are no words at all,
just groans,
just breath,
just presence.

And still,
God listens.

The challenge: How to participate

Choose a consistent time each day—morning, midday, or evening—for your “God Time.”
Come as you are: with joy, with questions, with nothing to say. Just come.
Sit in silence, or write a letter to God; take a walk and talk to Him aloud or silently; or listen to worship music.
This week, don’t strive—abide.
Let your intimacy with God be less about doing and more about being. He’s already near. Just draw close.

Thank you for joining this birthMONTH. Click here for the overview of this journey

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

The Easter Trilogy: Sunday Speaks—He Is Risen! ©Dawn Minott

On April 20, 2025April 21, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry11 Comments

Beforeword: A poetic meditation on the sacred arc of Holy Week. Each poem will capture the essence of a pivotal day—Good Friday’s deep sacrifice, Holy Saturday’s aching silence, and Resurrection Sunday’s glorious salvation. Together, they invite you into reflection, reverence, and renewed hope. May these poems stir your spirit and draw you closer to the heart of the Easter story.

Sunday Speaks

[also appears as featured poem at Spillwords]

See the cross on the hill?
Can you hear it—
the echo of nails driven deep,
the labored breath,
the whispered prayers between the pain?

Darkness gathers, pressing in,
watching, waiting, smirking.

Satan leans in close,
fingers steepled, smile slow.
“This time,” he hisses,
“This time, the light goes out for good.”
And for a silent Saturday,
it seemed like he was right.

His breath—stolen.
His body—wrapped.
The tomb—sealed.
The sky—mute.
The earth—still.
Mary weeps,
John trembles,
Peter remembers the rooster’s crow
and drowns in regret,
The disciples scatter like leaves in the wind,
Hope lies buried behind a stone.

But wait.
Listen.
There’s a rumble in the dark.
The grave shudders.
Stone grinds against stone.
The breathless King—
inhales.

And just like that—
Death loses its sting.
The heartbeat of eternity
kicks open the door of death.

And the stone—
the stone rolls back like a defeated tide.
The grave gasps,
Satan stumbles,
Heaven’s angels sing, “He is not here. He is risen.”

Do you hear it now?
The sound of victory echoing through time?
The whisper of mercy rewriting history?
The roar of love that death could never hold?

Let the mourning turn to dancing.
Let the silence break into song.
Let the world know—
Sunday speaks.
And the grave has no reply.

For parts 1&2 in the trilogy, click through: Friday, The Longest Night, Saturday Was Silent

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Featured on Spillwords: Sunday Speaks©Dawn Minott

On April 20, 2025April 23, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry4 Comments

My poem, “Sunday Speaks” which focuses on Jesus’ resurrection was showcased in a dedicated featured post by Dagmara and the team over at Spillwords. I’m truly grateful.

Please drop by Spillwords and give my work some love!

Thanks!! 🙏🏽🙂🙏🏽

2025 All Rights Reserved

The Easter Trilogy: Saturday Was Silent ©Dawn Minott

On April 19, 2025April 19, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry13 Comments

Saturday Was Silent

Saturday was silent—
not a holy hush,
but a penetrating, deep silence.
A silence that reached the portals of heaven,
A silence that echoed in the hearts of men,
A silence that rang through the corridors of time, touching the cosmos so that:
The sun dimmed its fire.
The heavenly hosts hushed,
as if afraid to speak out of turn.
The song of creation
paused,
mid-note.
The universe—watching still—
whispered among itself,
“Was this the plan?
Is this the end of mercy’s reign?”

The disciples dazed—
dreams unraveling.
They had seen Him—
walk on water,
raise the dead,
breathe peace into storms—
and now?
He was the one entombed, sealed behind a stone?

Without the shepherd
the sheep scattered like dust in the wind,
hope gutted,
hearts hollow.
Peter still tasting his own betrayal,
John clutching pain where once beat a thunderous love,
Mary—
aching,
no more place to collect her tears.

The unfallen worlds leaned in,
uncertain now.
How could the Author
be erased from His own page?
What was Saturday supposed to be?
A pause?
A reset?
They had seen the war rage, a third of heaven deposed, but
Never the Word silenced.
Never the Light buried.

Heaven wept.
Counted every rotation
of an earth trying to orbit
without its center.

And beneath—
hell threw its victory party.
Satan smiled,
a grin too wide, too wicked.
Death bowed, received its applause.
The grave stood tall.
They whispered through cracks the cross made in creation:
“This is it.
Let the curtain fall.
Saturday is silent, forever!”

What they did not know—
was that silence
isn’t always surrender.
Sometimes,
God holds His breath
before He speaks the loudest word.

But,
On that Saturday—
the world didn’t know that.
On that Saturday,
it just hurt.
They just wept.
They just waited, afraid.

Saturday was silent.
And no one knew
if it would ever end.

For the 1st in the trilogy, click through: Friday, The Longest Night

2025 All Rights Reserved

The Easter Trilogy: Friday, The Longest Night ©Dawn Minott

On April 18, 2025April 18, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry6 Comments

Friday, The Longest Night

The Via Dolorosa—a path of pain
Through narrow streets, beneath the jeering crowd
He bore the weapon of His demise
Each step a testament to enduring love
The cross, His burden
Our salvation, His aim

This was the hour
The great reckoning
The weight of a world’s sin pressed into His wounds, wrung from His lips a cry that shook eternity:
“Father! My Father! Why have You forsaken me?!

The Innocent condemned
The Creator crushed
The King dethroned
The sky wept
The sun turned its face as if the heavens themselves could not bear to look
The unfallen worlds held their breath—
watching, waiting, as Love was lifted high

Above, the hosts of heaven stirred—
Hands on hilts
Wings poised for flight
Their hearts burned to intervene,
to descend with righteous fury,
to rescue their Lord from mortal anguish
Yet the Father’s silent command restrained
For the cup must be drained,
the sacrifice must be completed

And below,
The serpent coiled at the foot of the cross
Hissing triumph, spitting scorn:
“Look at Him now! Powerless. Forsaken.
Is this your mighty God?”

Pierced hands stretched wide
between judgment and mercy

A gasp.
A groan.
A final breath, torn from a broken body expelled three words of finality—
“It. Is. Finished.”
Words that rolled from time’s beginning
They shuddered the earth,
It quaked
They gripped the temple veil,
It tore
But still, He chose to hang there—
Extended
Silent
Still
Life slipping away

And then—nothing.

The air grew thick with mourning
The heavens dimmed
The earth held its grief
Angels turned their faces,
unsure, uncertain,
for the first time afraid

No voice from heaven.
No chariots of fire.
Just silence.
Just darkness.
Just death.

The body wrapped.
The stone sealed.
The tomb cold.
He laid.

Could this be it?
Was this the end?

And all of creation asked the question that no one dared answer—

Would it all end with Friday?

2025 All Rights Reserved

Blood Moon ©Dawn Minott

On April 16, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry8 Comments

Red moon cloaked in night

white sliver atop its curve

stars whisper in black

Afterword: This haiku is in response to Sadje’s picture prompt on What Do You See # 284 April 14, 2025.

2025 All Rights Reserved

Happy Birthday to Me! Dear Younger Me ©Dawn Minott

On April 14, 2025July 2, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry43 Comments

Beforeword: Today, I reached back for my younger self.

Standing at the threshold of change, on the edge of something new, there are things I need her to remember.

She’s walked this road before and this time, I needed to reassure her—we’ll be okay—so I wrote her this reminder in poetry:

Hey little one—
You’re only two, wide-eyed, standing at the door of the world,
Taking it all in, piece by piece,
Not knowing yet the weight of the questions
That will settle on your shoulders—
Where do I belong?
Who am I?
And whose am I?

Somedays, you’ll feel lost,
Caught between here and there,
Between this and that,
Betwixt and between—
Displaced in your emotions
Like a traveler with no map,
Like a song missing a beat.

But listen—
You will find yourself.
You will find your way.
You will find your voice.
You will find your strength.

Fast forward—
You’re on your way to university now.
And girl, this is where the spark ignites.
The fire in your belly will burn for justice,
For voices unheard, for lives unseen.
You’ll stand tall, speaking truth,
Championing the fight against violence,
Lifting up those who thought they had no wings.

It won’t be easy.
The challenges will be mountainous,
But you, my love, we were built to climb.
And when they call the top achievers at graduation—
Guess who’s standing tall?
Yeah, that’s you.
Top of your class.
Unstoppable.
Unbreakable.

You, my dear, you are a seeker,
A wanderer with purpose.
The world is calling, and you will answer.
Your dreams will take you across oceans,
Through cities humming with stories
And villages whispering wisdom.
And everywhere you go, you will leave footprints
Not just on soil,
But on hearts.

But before you go too far,
Listen up. I don’t want you to ever forget.
There are lessons I learned that you need to carry in your heart’s pocket:

One: Never, ever take your relationship with God for granted. He’s your anchor in the storm, your light when the night feels endless. Pray first. Move after.
Two: Trust your instincts. Take risks. Fall down, get up, laugh, repeat. Be gentle with yourself—you are stronger than you know. And baby girl, you’ve got bounce-back-ability.
Three: Forget fitting in—you were made to stand out. The tallest girl in the room, rocking four-inch heels like a queen. Own it, flaws and all.
Four: Live by what sets your soul on fire. Not by status quo, not by what they say you should be. Write. Speak. Empower. Be the force only you can be. Let no one put a price tag on your worth.
Five: Choose your tribe wisely. You won’t be the girl with a lot of friends. But the ones you have. They’ll be ride or die. Hold on to them. They’ll catch you when you fall, celebrate you when you rise.

And just as she was about to leave I wanted to be sure she heard me on this — so I pulled her into a tight hug and in her ears I whispered deep:

Life will challenge you.
Some days will feel like a storm,
But sunshine will always break through.
You will smile more than you cry,
You will gain more than you lose,
You will love,
And oh—
You will be loved.

Go,
Live loud, live bold,
With fire, with love, be brave.
And when you look back,
You’ll see—
Through it all,
You were always gonna be, okay.

With love,
Your Older Me

2025 All Rights Reserved

Restoration ©Dawn Minott |birthMONTH, Week 3

On April 13, 2025May 9, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry11 Comments

Beforeword: Welcome to week 3 of my birthMONTH journey — a sacred pause, a time to reflect, to renew, and to realign heart. This week is restoration. You don’t have to travel to a tropical island to be renewed (though it doesn’t hurt!). God invites us to experience deep healing and soul-refreshing restoration wherever we are.

Restoration means allowing God to meet us in our broken, tired, or weary places—and trusting that He is making all things new.

Restore Me Again

Restore me again,
O Breath of Life—
where I’ve been running on empty,
where days seem like one long night,
where the spark has dimmed,
and joy feels like distant memory too far to reach.

Yeah … meet me there.

In the middle of the mess.
In the depths of my spirit.
In the quiet that screams louder than noise.
Meet me in the hush where healing takes place.

Restore me—
not to who I used to be,
but to the me You dreamed when You first said, “Let there be.”

Pour peace into places I didn’t even know were bleeding.
Shower mercy into the cracks I’ve tried to hide.
Let Your love rebuild what I thought was lost—
not back to before,
but forward into what is to be.

Take the broken pieces,
the bruised hopes,
the delayed dreams—
and breathe new meaning into them.

Make beauty rise
where ashes lay.
Make purpose bloom
where doubt once sway.

Restore me again.
And again.
And again—
until I shine with the glow of Your purpose,
until I walk in the unconditionality of Your love,
until my rest becomes Your testimony in me.

Restore me again,
O Breath of Life.

The challenge: How to participate

This week, take intentional time each day to create space for restoration. That might mean

sitting quietly with God for 10 minutes,
journaling about a place where you need healing,
walking in nature,
or even taking a restorative nap without guilt.

Restoration is an act of surrender. It invites God to do the work of healing while we rest in a “soul vacation” in Him—right where we are—giving Him access to our tired hearts.

Who’s ready to make space for wholeness this week?

Thank you for joining this birthMONTH celebration. Click here for the overview of this journey!

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Praise ©Dawn Minott |birthMONTH, Week 2

On April 7, 2025April 7, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry15 Comments

Beforeword: Praise is more than celebration—it’s surrender, trust, and presence. When we choose to praise, even in difficulty, we shift our hearts toward God’s faithfulness.

Praise reverberates from grateful heart
A song that rises when words fall short
It’s more than melody, more than a rhyme—
It’s choosing joy in the uncertain time

It’s the quiet thanks in the busyness of the day
The whispered hallelujah when cloudy is the way
It’s lifting our eyes when we’d rather look down
And finding our voice when sorrows abound

Praise is a posture, humble and true
It’s a way of saying, “God, I trust You”
It’s dancing on the ashes, singing through the pain
Believing that sunshine still follows rain

I will praise in the breaking
Praise in the bloom
Praise in the silence
Praise in the gloom
Where answers are absent, or there is fear
This I know—God is still worthy
year after year

The challenge: How to participate

Be intentional about living in a state of gratitude—being in awe and appreciation no matter what’s happening.

Let’s fill the week with gratitude that flows into praise.

Who’s joining me in lifting up joy—on purpose?

Thank you for joining this birthMONTH celebration. Click here for the overview of this journey!

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Abundance ©Dawn Minott |birthMONTH, Week 1

On April 1, 2025April 30, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry24 Comments

Beforeword: True abundance isn’t measured by what we have but by how we see. Abundance in gratitude is a shift from a mindset of lack, opening our eyes to the richness of God’s provision all around us.

Abundance is the morning light, spilling through my window,
a whispered promise in the quiet
like mercy, it comes again.

Abundance is the breath I breathe,
easy, unworried, full and free,
pulse of grace—
the gift unearned yet freely given to me.

Abundance is the laughter shared,
the hand outstretched, the love that stays,
the meal made warm, the prayer made whole,
the kindness woven through my days.

It isn’t wealth, it isn’t store—
not counted coins nor things possessed,
but how my heart receives
in simple joys, in peace, in rest.

Here I stand with open hands,
not grasping tight but ebb and flow,
for what God gives is always full—
enough to take, enough to sow.

The challenge: How to participate

Share a moment of abundance in the comments.

Thank you for joining this birthMONTH. Click here for the overview of this journey

Let’s begin this celebration with open hearts, recognizing the abundance already present in our lives.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

birthMONTH Celebration—Overview ©Dawn Minott

On April 1, 2025April 28, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry33 Comments

April is my birthMONTH!

And this year, I’m celebrating in a special way—by stepping back from the hustle and bustle of life. Instead of just marking another year, I want to embrace this month as a sacred pause, a time to reflect, renew, and realign my heart.

And I want to invite you to join me in this journey.

I will be guided by five words—one for each week—that form an acrostic:

Abundance – Shifting focus from scarcity to sufficiency.
Praise – Living in gratitude.
Restoration – Being open to healing and renewal.
Intimacy – Deepening connections.
Love – Living in and through love.

Each week, I will share a poem inspired by the theme and a challenge to help us embody it in our daily lives.

Click links below for:
Week 1 Poem: “Abundance”
Week 2 Poem: “Praise”
Week 3 Poem: “Restoration”
Week 4 Poem: “Intimacy”
Week 5 Poem: “Love”

So, will you celebrate with me?

Whether you follow along quietly or engage in the conversation, I hope this journey will be meaningful for you as well.

Let’s make April a month of spiritual renewal together.

Thank you for journeying along!

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

We Are Golden ©Dawn Minott | closing Women’s History Month 2025

On March 29, 2025March 31, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry23 Comments

We are whole—
Strong. Unshaken.
Shaped by history’s hands, fired in the kiln of time.
But when the weight of patriarchy pressed too hard—
Cracks appeared.

What does the world do with women it tries to break?
It tries to—

Dismiss them.
Silence them.
Bury them.

They say once something fractures,
it can never be the same again.
That the scars will always tell a story
of loss, of defeat,
of what can never be reclaimed.

But they are wrong.

Because struggle is not the end.
The fight is part of the becoming.

Kintsugi—golden repair—
Not to erase the cracks,
Not to hide our place in HIS-story,
but to illuminate our legacy—
our resistance, our resilience, our power.
To honor our voices.
To make them art.

So let us treat our pain that way.
Let every crack of injustice,
every fracture of oppression,
every attempt to silence us
be transformed—not hidden, but held.

What if…
our wounds weren’t wounds at all,
but spaces waiting to be filled with something precious?

What if…
our struggle wasn’t our ruin,
but our revolution?

What if we take this pain,
these centuries of resistance,
this history soaked in defiance,
and forge something new?

What if like seeds, we grow
Piercing through, defying the -isms of oppression

What if we melt down discrimination into gold,
pour it into the cracks,
and let it bind us together—
not in spite of our struggle, but because of it?

We do not bow.
We do not break.
We rise.

We are not just survivors.
We are warriors.
We are visionaries.
We are unstoppable.

Let the world see us.
Let the world know—

We are golden.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Images by Etsy

Imperfectly Perfect ©Dawn Minott

On March 23, 2025April 18, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry31 Comments

Mirror, mirror on the wall
not for vanity at all
but for reflection’s call
Now the whispers grow louder,
not from the world,
but from within.

It was never just about beauty.
Not the tilt of your chin,
or the grace in your walk—
but the fire in your voice
when you finally stopped asking for permission.

You look back
not with regret,
but with awe
at how far you’ve come.
Bearing the stories of survival,
You thrive
Not confined
to the borders drawn by others.

They can stare.
Let them.
Their curiosity can’t contain you.
Their silence can’t stop you.

You are light,
and shadow,
and the spectrum in between.
You are allowed to take up space.
To be loud.
To be seen.
To simply be—
the imperfectly perfect you.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Image Facebook/unknown source

Undecided ©Dawn Minott |a Shadorma

On March 22, 2025March 23, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry13 Comments

Undecided,

purple, white—unsure,

so they asked

Nature’s mom.

She whispered, “Be both, boldly,

dare to blend as one.”

*Orchid mom’s delight: these variegated beauties making my heart and home smile*

#Shadorma is a Spanish poetic form consisting of six lines (a sextain) with a syllabic pattern of 3-5-3-3-7-5. It has no set rhyme scheme and often conveys deep emotions or vivid imagery in a brief, structured way.

2025 All Rights Reserved

God Stopped! Shabbat Shalom ©Dawn Minott

On March 22, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry10 Comments

In the beginning,
before the rush, the grind, the deadlines,
before the calendars filled themselves like storm clouds,
before work became a badge of worth,
God stopped.

He shaped the world with words,
spoke light into being,
breathed life into dust,
separated waters,
stretched out the heavens—
and then, He did something radical.
God rested.

Not because He was tired.
Not because He ran out of ideas.
Not because He needed a break before the next big thing.
But because stopping was part of the design.

God stopped working.
Not to be more productive later.
Not to maximize efficiency.
Not to hustle harder tomorrow.
But to see, to savor, to call it good.

And yet, here we are—
worn thin like paper pressed too hard,
calling exhaustion ambition,
calling busyness purpose,
calling depletion devotion.

But what if stopping was sacred?
What if rest wasn’t a luxury, but a law written into our bones?
What if we weren’t made for the race,
but for the rhythm—
work and then cease,
create and then breathe,
to remember that we are not the sum of what we produce?

God stopped working.
And maybe, just maybe,
we should too.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Poetry: Evidence of Life | World Poetry Day 2025 ©Dawn Minott

On March 21, 2025June 10, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry22 Comments

Flames rise
Words ignite
Smoke unwinds
Carrying dreams

Flicker, soft, yet bold
Stories etched
Life burns bright
Traces linger

Ashes whisper
From fire’s end
Poetry—
Proof remaining in its wake

Afterword: This poem was inspired by this quote from Leonard Cohen:

2025 All Rights Reserved
Created by Canva

Nowruz—Spring’s Arrival ©Dawn Minott

On March 20, 2025March 21, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry16 Comments

Beforeword: Nowruz is far more than just the start of a new year—it is an ancient celebration of life, rebirth, and the triumph of light over darkness. With roots extending back over 3,000 years, Nowruz heralds the arrival of spring and is celebrated on the day of the vernal equinox, usually March 20 or 21. Today, it unites diverse cultures across Iran, Central Asia, the Caucasus, the Balkans, and beyond, offering a rich tapestry of customs, traditions, and shared values.

Nowruz arrives like a quiet dawn
Where renewal meets the familiar
Haft-Sin blooms with meaning
a ritual of hope and memory

Upon the table’s gleaming surface
A gathering of symbols—seven
A quiet conversation between past and future

Sabzeh, threads of green sprouting from soil
A promise of life unfolding
Of growth stitched into the fabric of spring

Samanu, thick and sweet
A labor of patience
The taste of fertility
Rich with the warmth of nurture

Senjed, dried fruit cradling affection
It’s scent a whisper of love’s endurance
Softness preserved through seasons

Serkeh, sharp and aged
Bitterness transformed into wisdom
The patience of time distilled

Seeb, red skin gleaming
Health’s crisp offering
Beauty held in the curve of light

Seer, garlic’s pungent strength
A guardian of well-being
Boldness etched into its roots

Somāq, crushed berries of crimson
The tang of sunrise
Spice woven into the essence of life

Seven signs, gathered with care
Each a fragment of completeness
A balance sought in tradition’s embrace

*The Haft Sin table, or the table of seven things that start with the letter “s” is a central part of Nowruz and a family tradition.*

2025 All Rights Reserved

Stay Surprise-able ©Dawn Minott

On March 16, 2025March 23, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry30 Comments

Stay surprise-able

Let joy sneak up on you
Like the first breath of spring after a long winter
Like an old song you forgot you loved

Let wonder catch you off guard
Like a child chasing fireflies
Like laughter spilling out at the wrong moment

Loosen your grip on what must be
Let the unplanned
The unexpected
The beautifully uncertain
Reshape what you thought you knew

Not everything needs an explanation
Not every step needs a map
Some of life’s best moments
arrive unannounced,
wrapped in the ordinary,
waiting to be noticed

Let life interrupt your plans
Turn left when you expected right
Not every answer is yours to hold
Some things are best discovered
in the space between knowing and not knowing

So open your hands
Open your heart
And,
Stay surprise-able

*Facebook reminded me of this post I made on that platform in 2019!!!* *Different platform, different dates, but the sentiments of the message remains the same — stay surprise-able!*

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

The King On The Edge ©Dawn Minott |with audio visual

On March 15, 2025March 16, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry16 Comments

Heaven is not still.
Not now.
Not when the hourglass is down to its last grains of sand.

The throne room pulses,
electric with anticipation,
the atmosphere thick with expectancy.
The angels shift in place,
their coronation songs echo in celestial halls.
They know their next cry will not be soft,
but a trumpet blast so fierce
it will shake graves open,
call sleeping saints from their slumber,
and send the living skyward
their burdens abandoned in the wind.

And there—on the edge of His throne—
Jesus leans forward.
One foot planted in the courts of heaven,
the other pressing against the rim of the earth.
His gaze is locked on a world unraveling,
His hands grip the armrests,
His voice a whisper beneath His breath:
“Father, is it time?”

Heaven holds its breath.

Guardian angels stand at attention,
hearts pounding with urgency
Rehearsing the stories they will soon tell—
of unseen battles,
of near-death moments turned miracles,
of the countless times they blocked, protected, shielded, intervened, and whispered:
“Hold on just a little while longer.”

Below—chaos is raging.

The earth is squirming in agony—
its bones fractured by quakes,
its lungs scorched by fire,
its veins flooded by tsunamis and storms.
Cities are crumbling, nations are falling,
war drums thundering, famine spreading,
and the air is thickening with the stench of genocide, infanticide, suicide.

Men’s hearts failing them for fear—
fear of the unknown, fear of the inevitable,
fear that the darkness is winning.
Lawlessness rises like smoke,
murder stains the streets, red
Despair grips the souls of the broken.

And hell?
Hell is unhinged.

Demons are moving amidst the earth without restraint,
their assault — reckless
their attacks — relentless
because they know
their time is just about… up.

And heaven?
Heaven is about to move.

A white horse stands ready.
Its rider breathes in the last moments of waiting.
He’s about to exchange His ministering gown for Kingly robes, clothed in righteousness,
His eyes ablaze with justice,
His name inscribed for all to see:
King of Kings! Lord of Lords!

No manger this time.
No wooden cross.
No crown of thorns pressed into his brow.

This time, He rides in power!
This time, He comes in glory!

The sky is about to shatter like glass,
The heavens will soon roll back like a scroll,
and the sound of His name
will shake the foundations of the earth.

Every knee will bow—
willingly or by force.
Every tongue will confess—
in joy or in terror.

And in that moment,
when heaven and earth collide,
eternity will kiss mortality,
sorrow will be swallowed up in defeat,
the grave will lose its victory
and the King will gather His own—
Thundering the words they have longed to hear:
“It is finished! Welcome home!”

Hold fast.
The King is on the edge.
The command—“Go! Go get My children!”
That time is almost… now.

https://youtube.com/clip/Ugkx_sg6tWn78Ukd2W7nkMxwDG28NBBr1eA7?si=21lPJZBw6pEKcfZm

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Becoming ©Dawn Minott |Women’s History Month

On March 9, 2025May 9, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry14 Comments

To the woman that you were—
I see you.
Standing in storms that tried to break you,
yet you bent like the willow,
never snapping, never folding.
You held your ground,
turned pain into power,
turned silence into voice,
turned fear into fuel.
I admire your resilience,
your unshaken resolve,
your quiet strength when the world tried to tell you to hush.

To the woman you are—
Your journey is not complete.
But oh, how far you’ve come!
You walk now with wisdom earned in fire,
scars that no longer bleed but blaze—
reminders that you lived, that you learned,
that you are still here.
You hold space for growth and grace,
shed doubt like autumn leaves,
rooted deep in lessons you once feared.
You are the bridge between who you were
and the promise of who you will be.

To the woman you’re becoming—
You are a whisper of dreams realized,
a vision not yet fully seen,
but I know you’re there, waiting.
A phoenix rising, a story still unfolding,
a force stepping boldly into her becoming.
You carry all that was,
but you are free to be.
No chains, no fear, no limits—
only the boundless sky ahead.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Planetary Parade ©Dawn Minott |a #Shadorma

On March 7, 2025March 7, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry7 Comments

Beforeword: Whenever multiple planets become visible to the naked eye, it is often referred to as a planetary alignment. On the other hand, a planetary parade describes the breathtaking phenomenon where planets appear to form a “straight line,” as if marching in unison across the night sky. This cosmic event is usually of 4, 5 or 6 planets but 7 is quite rare. On 28 February 2025, 7 planets perfectly aligned, displaying the grandeur and harmony of the universe, a fleeting spectacle that connects us to the vastness beyond our world.

This shadorma captures the essence of this rare cosmic dance across the February 28th night sky.

Planetary Parade

Mercury

Plus Mars, Jupiter,

Uranus

Neptune joined

Rare—seven planets aligned

Venus, Saturn too

#Shadorma is a six-line (sextain) poetic form with a syllabic pattern of 3-5-3-3-7-5.

2025 All Rights Reserved

Zero Sum Game in Love or Life ©️Dawn Minott | for Women’s History Month

On March 2, 2025May 21, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Prose7 Comments

The zero-sum game in love is always lose-lose, never win-win. 100% or nothing.

Love measured in fractions isn’t love at all because —

Love demands presence, not pretense; commitment, not calculation.

When one must lose for the other to win, both hearts bear the cost.

True love, like true success, multiplies rather than divides, expands rather than contracts.

The moment love becomes a competition, it ceases to be love and becomes a transaction—one where everyone walks away empty-handed/hearted.

The same is true in life—the zero-sum game in life is always lose-lose, never win-win. 100% or nothing.

Progress in life, built on someone else’s loss is not progress at all because—

True advancement uplifts rather than undermines.

When one person’s success comes at the expense of another’s dignity, opportunity, or well-being, it is not progress—it is exploitation disguised as achievement.

This is the fallacy that fuels resistance to gender equality: the mistaken belief that when women gain, men must lose.

But gender equality is not a competition—it’s a collective advancement.

A world where women thrive is a world where everyone benefits.

Stronger economies, healthier families, more just societies—these are not prizes won at someone’s expense but shared victories that uplift us all.

True equality doesn’t divide; it multiplies.

The only real win is one we build together.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Images by Pexels

I Can Only Imagine ©Dawn Minott

On March 1, 2025March 1, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry14 Comments

Beforeword: This piece was commissioned by a bride who was renewing her wedding vows and wanted a piece to cover her walk down the aisle. It was to start with visualizing her love relationship with God, then the love relationship between her and her husband and culminate in imagining what it would be like to have a face-to-face encounter with God.

When a piece is commissioned I usually consult with the client to get the backstory to create a piece that is personal and reflective of the context the client wishes to convey. In this case the client gave me a song as muse. On the day, the piece was narrated to that song: “I Can Only Imagine”.

Although You have proven Yourself to be true

And there is nothing else You will ever have to do to show Your love, to prove Your faithfulness

To reassure me that You are love, you are faithful, that You hold nothing from my past against me—in You I’m forgiven, renewed

What manner of love is this?

A love that loves me, restores me, completes me

Now I stand at the beginning of a path to walk

To walk in whole-completeness

In His perfect love

Fear casted out perfectly

Perfect love remains resolutely

And me—I remain in Him

Whole—a state of being

I could only imagine

And you, who are you?

Who is this man that I will walk to?

I see in you the embodiment of Christ

His on-earth love to me personified

A glimpse, a manifestation of His in-glory love for me

But I will not mistake His place for you

In my life, He comes first

For it is He who first loved me

Before you, He engraved me in the palm of His hands

Before you, He emptied Himself of everything

He gave Himself for me, for you

I walk in His love to recommit my life to you

Can you imagine?

I imagine you, my arrival awaiting

Like the church, His bride, expecting His returning

I imagine you, me, wondering what we may feel, anticipating

Will our feet allow us to dance?

Or our voices allow us to speak?

Standing still or prostrate falling?

Dumbfounded or shouts of hallelujahs exclaiming?

What will our eyes see?

What will our thoughts be?

You and me, His majesty beholding

Nothing will compare

Check the reference, if you don’t believe me:

1st book to the Corinthians, in the 2nd chapter and the 9th verse you’ll read—

No eyes have seen, no ears have heard, nor has it even entered within any heart to conceive

In the splendor of His grace

We’ll stand together, husband and wife

To behold Him face to face

I can only imagine

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Images by Pexels

📣 ANNOUNCEMENT 📣 Spillwords Newsletter Feature ©Dawn Minott

On February 27, 2025February 27, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry33 Comments

Don’t you just love when joy appears,

When good news comes out of nowhere!?

Dagmara sent a note my way— my words will shine on Spillwords’ display!

February’s Newsletter quote, it’s from my poem, “I Am Enough!”

Ain’t that grand?! Ain’t that good stuff?!

Thanks, Dagmara, for this display,

A gift of delight to start the day!

2025 All Rights Reserved

Midweek Boost: Embrace the Shifts ©Dawn Minott

On February 26, 2025March 2, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Quotes6 Comments

“In the present, learn to listen and seek, ready to embrace the shifts that life brings your way. “

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Overcome: Love Lives Loud ©Dawn Minott |a Dectina Refrain

On February 9, 2025February 9, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry21 Comments

What’s Super Bowl gotta do with love?!

Today, millions will watch as two teams battle for supremacy on US football’s biggest stage—the Super Bowl. It’s a contest of strategy, resilience, and sheer willpower, where overcoming the opponent is the ultimate goal. But beyond the field, another battle rages—the fight to overcome the noise, pollution, war, hypocrisy, and fear that permeate our world.

Love cannot simply exist passively in the atmosphere

I was struck by fellow blogger Yassy’s poem that challenged the well known adage “love is in the air” by, in essence asking: or is it?! She does so by painting a stark, unfiltered picture of current reality. A reality where the air seems to be permeating with everything but love. It’s a poignant reminder that love cannot simply exist passively in the atmosphere; it must be cultivated, lived, and made tangible.

I was also struck by a verse from the Bible which happened to be something I read today as well. In a world so aptly described in Yassy’s poem, the Bible offers this antidote: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21). And other religious texts contain similar message about overcoming evil with good.

Love must rise louder than the chaos

Just as teams fight to outplay their opponents, we are called to outlive, outshine, and outlove the darkness around us. Love must rise louder than the chaos, transforming not just hearts but the very air we breathe.

If love is in the heart, then it must also be in our voices, actions, and presence—overcoming hate, fear, and injustice. Love is not silent. It does not retreat. It sings, shouts, and clears the air.

This reflection inspired my poem, using the #Dectina Refrain form:

Love Lives Loud

Heart
Beating
Love resounds
Drowning out hate
Piercing the darkness
Cutting through hopelessness
Rising beyond warplanes and lies
Spreading joy, light, displacing fear
Truth cleansing air, shifting atmosphere
Heart beating, love resounds, drowning out hate

Heart beating, love resounds, drowning out hate
Truth cleansing air, shifting atmosphere
Spreading joy, light, displacing fear
Rising beyond warplanes and lies
Cutting through hopelessness
Piercing the darkness
Drowning out hate
Love resounds
Beating
Heart

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Images by Pexels

In Her Memory, We Live ©Dawn Minott

On February 2, 2025February 3, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry28 Comments

Before-word:
On the morning of 1st February my phone rang. My heart knew instinctively it was no ordinary call—but I was not prepared for this: “Betty passed.”

Elizabeth “Betty” Talbert, Country Representative for the United Nations Population Fund, Caribbean Subregional Office.
May her soul rest in eternal peace.

In processing life’s highs and its lows, I often turn to words. This time was no exception—not just to mark the passing of a life, but to offer a reminder to those of us left behind.

Serving as international civil servants is no small feat. It takes its toll on our bodies, our families, our lives—and yet, amid it all, there is life.

This is not just a tribute to a life lost, but a call to live fully in each moment, to honor the gift of time, and to remember that even in death, we are reminded to cherish living and life.

In Her Memory, We Live

Life is fragile—
A delicate thread stretched too thin,
woven with moments that slip through our fingers
like grains of sand
too swift to grasp.
The pulse, the breath,
so sure in its rhythm one second,
then faltering the next.

Death—in its physical form—
a stillness that steals the breath,
leaving nothing but the echo of a once beating heart.
It doesn’t ask permission—
it simply arrives,
uninvited,
claiming the space we once occupied
and leaving us with nothing but memory to carry the weight of what was.

But there is a death—
one that creeps in unnoticed,
the slow fading of light,
the quiet erosion of self—
the death of the spirit
when the spark of divinity is dimmed,
and the soul wanders
in a vast, empty place
where prayers fall silent
and even faith grows tired.

Then there is a death—
a withering of joy,
a loss of hope,
a weight of sorrow that bends the spirit
and the heart beats only because it must.
You stand in the ruins of yourself,
facing a reflection you no longer recognize,
and wonder when you became a ghost
in your own life
living in emotional death.

The end of connection,
the severing of bonds
that once held you close.
A love that once bloomed
now wilts under the weight of words unspoken,
of wounds too deep to heal.
When the silence between you
grows louder than anything you ever shared,
and the phrase “you’re dead to me”
lays the foundation for relational death.
It’s a slow farewell
to everything you once built.

Death, in all its forms,
takes what it pleases,
but it also leaves
the quiet aftermath
where nothing is ever truly the same.

Still, in the ashes of loss,
there is the possibility of rebirth.
For even in the deepest shadows,
there is the promise of light,
the faintest glow on the horizon,
the hope that tomorrow,
we rise again.

For the truest death is not the one that steals breath,
but the one that robs life of living,
the one that leaves us standing still,
afraid to move toward the light that still calls us home.
It is the death of hope,
the quiet surrender of our dreams,
the moment we forget to reach beyond the shadows that loom
o’er the only true life—
the courage to keep moving,
toward what is yet to come.

“When death finds you, may it find you alive.” (an African proverb)

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

If These Walls Could Talk ©Dawn Minott

On January 28, 2025January 31, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry23 Comments

If these walls could talk,
Their voices would crack like the floorboards beneath your feet,
Worn down by years of footsteps
that carried love and loss in equal measure

They’d tell of love,
The kind that lingers in the scent of Sunday dinners,
The faint echo of a lullaby,
The creak of a rocking chair swaying long after the baby’s grown

They’d hum with the rhythm of life—
Pulsating with the heart-drum of a family piecing themselves together,
one imperfect day at a time

They’d whisper of quarrels,
loud as thunder at the time,
but now softened like rain,
falling gently, nourishing the roots of forgiveness
Voices raised, slamming doors,
but always opening again
with hands reaching, arms wide, inviting—
“Come back, sit down, let’s talk”

Broken-down boards,
their edges splintered but still holding steady

Leaking ceilings,
stubbornly letting light drip through the cracks

Rusted shingles,
their jagged edges like scars,
each one a story of resilience

Stripping paint,
layers peeling back to reveal
every shade of life lived inside—
a kaleidoscope of memory

And yet—
Inside regales of a beauty that still blooms
Faded wallpaper like the backdrop of dreams
Grandma’s patchwork quilt draped over the couch
Stitched together from cloths of generations past
Created by hands that believed in warmth, in home, in staying

If these walls could talk,
they’d tell you this:
Even in decay,
there is grace
Even in ruins,
there is history
And even when the frame sags under its weight,
a house holds its beauty in the love it has sheltered

So listen—
To the silence that speaks volumes
Listen to the cracks that echo strength
listen to the walls that have always stood,
not for themselves
but for the stories they protect
If only these walls could talk

You may also like: “If These Lips Could Talk”

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Image by Pexels

Martin Luther King Day ©️Dawn Minott

On January 20, 2025January 31, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Prose2 Comments

Like Martin Luther King: “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear”.

His words are oh so relevant in these times:

“I’m concerned about a better World. I’m concerned about justice; I’m concerned about brotherhood and sisterhood; I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about that, he can never advocate violence. For through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence. Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that”.

Taken from MLK Jnr., “Where Do We Go From Here” speech.

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Christmas—Out of the Ordinary ©Dawn Minott

On December 24, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry5 Comments

It was an ordinary night
the kind where stars whisper and the earth gently exhales
A stable, no different than any other
smelled of hay, sweat, and animals—
not a palace, not a temple, just a room for the overlooked

An ordinary girl barely more than a whisper
young, tired
her heart swelling with both fear and faith
An ordinary man
steady, unsure
trying to make sense of a divine plan that didn’t seem to make sense at all

Shepherds
ordinary men with dirt under their nails
watching their flocks
used to the dark and the humdrum of silence
never expecting the heavens to tear open with jubilation

And yet—
in the ordinary
extraordinary light broke through
A star, brighter than reason
daring to blaze where no star had blazed before
An angel joined by a heavenly host declaring the birth of
the extraordinary

Wise men
called from distant lands
following whispers of destiny written in the skies
Gold, frankincense, myrrh—
gifts fit for a King, cradled in a manger

The extraordinary gift of salvation
wrapped in the fragile skin of a newborn
the hope of eternity
cradled by hands still learning their strength

And now,
we stand on the edge of the same choice—
to stay in the ordinary
the safe, the unnoticed, the blend-in-and-fit-in life
Or to step into the extraordinary
the blaze-your-trail-walk-on-water-rise-above-the-noise kind of calling

Extraordinary is our design!
How then can we fit in and stand out at the same time
Step into the gift of being set apart
Dare to dream beyond the dust
to reach for the stars
to bring heaven closer to earth

Christmas
reminds us that
the One who shattered the ordinary
called us to the
extraordinary

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Images by Pexels

On December 23, 2024December 23, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry19 Comments

Don’t die before you’re dead.
Don’t let the grind of days steal the breath from your spirit
Or the weight of worry cement your feet in place
When death finds you
Let it find you alive
Let it find you with fire in your eyes
With laughter tangled in your lungs
And songs swelling in notes to the skies

Live.
Live with joy like it’s a rebellion
A refusal to let the darkness win
Smile wide enough to crack the walls of your fears
Let your curiosity roam untamed
Chasing the edges of the horizon
Like a child who believes the ocean is endless

Be audacious.
Speak louder than the silence that tries to hold you
Dare to dream when the world says, “Be small”
Dance, even when the music is only in your head
Run toward the things that scare you
Because courage is not the absence of fear—
It’s choosing to live fully in spite of it

Speak out.
Don’t bear the agony of an untold story, not told
Your voice dying within you, unheard
Don’t sit still, pregnant with potential
Never to give birth to your purpose
Speak the truth etched on your soul
Let your words carve pathways for others
Let your gifts see the light of day
A buried dream is a tragedy the world can never mourn

When the clock ticks
Don’t just count the hours—
Make them count
When the seasons shift—
Don’t mourn the leaves that fall,
Celebrate the seeds you’ve sown

So when death comes knocking
Let it find you alive
Not half-lived or worn down by regret
But shining with the audacity of a life fully embraced
And the joy of knowing you left no moment unlived
Don’t die before you’re dead

Afterword: The inspiration for this poem stems from: the proverb, “When death finds you, may it find you alive,” and Maya Angelou’s powerful words, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” These are part of my life motto and together they form the foundation of my “Why I Write” declaration, driving me to live fully and to ensure my voice is heard.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On December 22, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry6 Comments

Love one another with brotherly affection (Romans 12:10)
Bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2).
Encourage one another and build one another up (1 Thessalonians 5:11)
Live in harmony with one another (Romans 12:16)
Forgiving one another as God in Christ forgave you (Ephesians 4:32)

Outdo one another in showing honor (Romans 12:10)
Be at peace with one another (Mark 9:50)
Through love, serve one another (Galatians 5:13)
Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ (Ephesians 5:21)
Let us stir up one another to love and good works (Hebrews 10:24)

Bear with one another in love (Ephesians 4:2)
Confess your sins to one another, pray for one another (James 5:16).
Do not grumble against one another (James 5:9)
Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you (Romans 15:7)
Love one another, just as I have loved you (John 13:34)

Clothe yourselves in humility toward one another (1 Peter 5:5)
Teaching and admonishing one another in wisdom (Colossians 3:16)
Do not speak evil against one another (James 4:11)
But exhort one another daily, while it’s called today (Hebrews 3:13)
And above all—
Let us love one another, for love is from God (1 John 4:7)

Afterword:

One of the greatest blessings of holidays like Christmas is how they bring us together, reminding us of the power of community and connection. But what if we extended this spirit of togetherness throughout the year? Would our homes, communities, and world be filled with more love? Would we see peace on earth and goodwill truly extended to all people?

The Bible is rich with “one another” statements—guiding principles that call us to live in harmony, serve with humility, and love unconditionally. These statements remind us that we are not meant to navigate life alone; they can only be fulfilled with… one another.

This cento weaves together these timeless “one another” verses. Though written over two thousand years ago, their message remains strikingly relevant today, offering a blueprint for unity, love, and hope in our lives and our world.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On December 15, 2024April 16, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry17 Comments

“Purpose drops in our laps
as if the heavens threw it by accident”
like a star slipping out of orbit
like a word spoken out of turn
yet somehow exactly what was meant to be said

It falls—
heavy as a stone in still water
light as a feather floating on the wind
carrying weight and ease
in equal measure

We don’t always know what to do with it—
this gift disguised as a burden
this question wrapped in the skin of an answer
Do we cradle it like glass,
fragile and precious?
Or do we let it burn our palms,
carving its truth into our skin?

The heavens may play coy
but there are no accidents here
Purpose lands exactly where it is supposed to—
in trembling hands
in restless hearts
in the laps of those
who thought they were sitting still
but were actually waiting all along

It whispers:
“Carry me, even if you stumble.
Shape me, even if you break.
Live me, and I will make you whole.”

Purpose drops in our laps
as if the heavens threw it by accident

Afterword: A speech by Deshauna Barber delivered at an alumni event at the University Maryland global campus was the muse for this piece, inspired from this line: “purpose drops in our laps as if the heavens threw it by accident.”

You may also like: “For Purpose, On Purpose”

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Images by Pexels

On December 12, 2024December 12, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry16 Comments

Friends—

Net worth

Tallied in

Memories made

Not diamonds or gold

Bonds built through joy, through strife

Stories exchanged through the years

Laughter that echoes through tears

Time invested, no wealth could replace

Friends—net worth tallied in memories made

Friends—net worth tallied in memories made

Time invested, no wealth could replace

Laughter that echoes through tears

Stories exchanged through the years

Bonds built through joy, through strife

Not diamonds or gold

Memories made

Tallied in

Net worth—

Friends

Afterword:

In my home country, Jamaica, this entire poem is captured in this proverb—“Good friends better than pocket money”.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Images by Pexels

On December 10, 2024December 12, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry4 Comments

I loved you long before I met you
the sound of your laughter
like the wind whispering through trees

Love is the rain we chase in summer
the sound of bicycles rolling
on cobbled streets
a rhythm steady, like breathing

You are my confession
my memories pressed
in the pages of time

We are the poem that never ends
the spark to light the night

There is no yesterday without you
no tomorrow without us

Afterword: Prolific autor and poet Nikki Giovanni passed away today (December 10, 2024). She’s been a voice of change in the black power and black art movements. This tribute poem is based on her New York Times best seller “Bicycles: Love Poems”. It’s not quite a cento (I needed more time to write that) but it borrows from her work mainly on love—my favorite muse! Though she’s gone, love rolls on.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On December 10, 2024December 9, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry19 Comments

Women’s Bodies, Contested Spaces

In a world we all know too well
Women’s bodies bear violence—scarred
A contested space, a battleground
Where autonomy is a forlorn wish
Where choice, stripped away and silenced, becomes
A ghost of it’s once true self
Where home is where the harm is
How can love unfurl its wings?
How can dreams find light when darkness lingers
Where safety should sing?

For one in three women—intimacy’s touch turns violent
Every 10 minutes—for one woman—intimacy’s touch turns turbulent
As love’s promise becomes the cold hand of death
With no right to say no, no right to say yes—
When to bear life or when to hold it close
Their own bodies betrayed by laws and customs, imposed
Written by hands that will never know
The weight of their words, death sentence proposed

Rape—A Weapon of War

In conflicts that rage beyond borders
Male invasion, rape—a weapon of war—a tool, a tactic
Conquering women’s flesh like spoils
While in the hollow halls of the United Nations
Resolutions inked by men with pens, spill
Like blood, staining sheets
Emptying hearts of life’s own source
Yet, still, governments choose steel and flame
Investing in war machines, no peace to gain
Conflicts on women’s bodies play out, the ultimate price paid

Uprooted!

Uprooted! from their soil
Women and girls drift like leaves falling from withering trees
Their homes lost to gunfire, to flood, to flame
Their world, quaking, shifting beneath their feet
Displaced by war, exiled by climate’s rage
They wander borderless, unanchored
Carrying memories of lands once called home
Searching for safety in a world, fractured
No longer their own

New Dawn, Reborn

But now, imagine a dawn
Reborn

A world rebuilt from root to sky
Where hands that hold are only gentle
Where bodies, once haunted, are fully free
Imagine a world where choice is sacred
Where every woman’s voice rings clear
Her body is her sovereign land
A place of power, of life, of joy

Imagine girls, unafraid to play
With futures bright as the skies above
And women, unbroken, now as rooted as trees
No longer the spoils of collateral damage
No longer bent beneath a burdened silence
No longer survivors, but whole
Free to choose, to create—
They thrive

A World Beyond Fear

A world beyond fear, a world that is just
Where equality stands as tall as the sequoia
And equity flows as long as the river of the Nile
Here, love needs no pen to promise, no ink to spill
Every woman, every girl
In freedom walks, unbounded—
Potential fulfilled, a force unchained in change

Afterword: This poem commemorates the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence (November 25–December 10). In it I reflect on the injustices faced by women and girls globally, from violence in their homes to the denial of autonomy. It envisions a future of safety, equality, and justice, calling for action to uphold their rights and dignity. This is my life’s work!!

2024 All Rights Reserved
Created with Canva

On December 7, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry9 Comments

Where did the year go?

January blinked—now frost,

December’s chill reigns

Afterword:

Is it just me or does the year feel like January … December?

Yet, this is all the energy I have left for the year!

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva 
Image credit unknown

On November 29, 2024November 29, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry23 Comments

Hope

Restored

Free at last

The die is cast

Time of tears fades

Love triumphed o’er hate

Justice walks sacred ground

From mountaintops, valleys vast

We held the dream, we bore the cost

Through trials steep, the shadows have passed

Hope restored, free at last, the die is cast

Written for W3 Poetry Prompt. Sarah Whiley, Poet of the Week, challenges us to write a poem inspired by the theme—free using the Dectina Refrain form. When I think of FREE-dom, one speech comes to mind: MLK’s “I Have a Dream”. This iconic speech was delivered on August 28, 1963, during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.

This poem is in tribute to FREEdom—that it’s not just a dream but the reality for every person, everywhere.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On November 17, 2024June 30, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry27 Comments

Beforeword: A colleague with whom my friend co-chaired an internship program for students for over 25 years suddenly passed away. Now, standing before her students, their sad eyes looking back at her, she finds herself comforting them, holding back her own tears because, as she told me, she needed to be the adult in the room. Unable to be there to console her in person, I wrote and read this poem for her, hoping it offers some comfort from afar.

Read along and listen to: “Even The Adult In The Room Cries”:

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On November 16, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry40 Comments

Strength, my mother’s gift

Quiet grace in all she does

Her love, firm and true

The Skeptic’s Kaddish:
W3 Prompt #133:
1. Form: Write either 1) a haiku, 2) a tanka, or 3) a senryu;
2. Must include: the word “strength”

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On November 15, 2024February 1, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry16 Comments

Autumn breathes crisp air

Whispers of new beginnings

Leaves dance in the breeze

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On November 12, 2024November 15, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry27 Comments

To live in regret
is to live within the length of a leash
that connects to the past—
a chain that binds dreams
holds joy hostage
and tightens with every memory replayed

How long will you stay caged in
the could-have-been
the should-have-done
the moments you let slip
through your hands?

How long will you wear the past like a collar
like a weight that pulls you back
like a shackle that stifles breath
makes you small
makes you stay?

The past is nothing but a paper tiger—
it has no growl, it has no bite
If you but move t’ward the light
feel the warmth on your skin
each step a defiance
each breath a reclaiming

Regret may whisper
but you are louder, still
You are
the breaking of chains
the choosing of joy
the walking away
You are bound only to the future—
where you run free
where you rise
where you live life,
Unleashed

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On November 12, 2024November 12, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry34 Comments

As autumn deepens—
night stretches its long fingers
pulling darkness over daylight
ushering in longer, colder spells
inviting leaves’ hidden hues
once veiled to blaze forth
in defiant, spectacular display they
reveal splendors previously cloaked by summer’s green grasp
a kaleidoscopic spectrum of colors
unmasked
as if they had swallowed sunsets
waiting for their moment
to exhale
fire

Afterword: I’m a big fan of David Attenborough. This poem is influenced by one of his recent posts and associated photograph.

More details/photos here: https://bit.ly/3VZdEHb

2024 All Rights Reserved

On November 9, 2024July 7, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry18 Comments

Help me, Most High, to live each day, so I can truly, humbly say:

I loved You with my whole heart
And followed the path You set apart 
I chased my dreams with fearless stride
Rising each time I stumbled or cried 
I won some battles, lost a few
Never settled for less than what was true

I was kind to all I met
Gave my best, without regret 
I was loved, and I loved well
Laughed in joy, in gratitude dwelled 
May my joys outlast my sorrows
And my triumphs light tomorrows

If I closed my eyes, then woke to find
Life had slipped, like sand, through time

I pray I’d lived a life rich and deep
No regrets, my soul in peace will sleep

2024 All Rights Reserved

On November 2, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry21 Comments

If I climb the highest heights of hope
If I reach for stars in skies unknown
There you are, a love steady and true
Even there, I am not alone

If I sink to depths I cannot bear
If I’m lost in valleys, bruised and weak
Still your love is deeper still—
Even there, your comfort heals

If I drift beyond the furthest shore
Where waters stretch and wild winds blow
Your hand will guide, Your voice will call—
Even there, I’ll find my way

If shadows fall, and darkness swells
If fear tries hard to block my view
Still, the dark is bright as day—
For even there, I’m held by you

So where, my God, could I ever flee
From a Love that’s fierce, unbound, and near?
In every place, in every breath—
Even there, you conquer all fear

Afterword: Psalms 139:10 was my muse for this poem!

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On October 26, 2024October 26, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry20 Comments

I don’t know the end,
the path ahead, unclear,
but I will trust You, God,
for You are always near.
In the silence, or the storm,
when shadows seem to press,
I’ll walk in faith, not by sight,
and trust You—nevertheless.

When doubt whispers lies,
and fear clouds my view,
I’ll cling to all You’ve promised,
for I know Your word is true.
When the world around me shifts,
and I’m tempted to digress,
I’ll anchor in Your love, oh God,
and hold firm—nevertheless.

For You are the beginning,
the faithful, guiding light,
Though now I see through glass, darkly
I know You’ll make it all, right.
In victories and trials,
in joy and deep distress,
I’ll lift my eyes to heaven,
and praise You—nevertheless.

So even in the tarrying,
when answers seem delayed,
I’ll rest within Your timing—
I’ll no longer be afraid.
I surrender all my striving,
and leave behind the guess,
I’ll follow where You lead me,
Lord, trusting—nevertheless.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On October 19, 2024November 3, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry23 Comments

In the quiet park, I sit and breathe
A goose glides by, casting its shadow beneath
The river flows with high tide’s rise
Reflecting the blue of endless skies

A wedding unfolds near the evergreen trees
Laughter and vows carried by the breeze
Sun rays dance on faces aglow
Warming the scene with a golden show

Parents and babes, love tenderly shown
In their own worlds where dreams have grown
I watch it all in quiet delight
The park turns tranquil as day turns to night

2024 All Rights Reserved
Images by me

On October 17, 2024September 28, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry12 Comments

Hope is joy—

the kind passed down like heirlooms,
a quilt of belonging,
a patchwork of sacrifice
stitched with hands that remember

Hope is laughter—

the sound of breaking cycles,
the release of generational restraints
off children who grow strong
under the instructions
of those who came before

Hope is political—

a movement, a pulse
the fight for more than survival
it’s claiming the right to thrive,
for equality in power
where power means change

Hope is social—

woven through our communities
a collective will to lift each other
to build bridges across time
and dismantle the walls
of what was once thought impossible

Hope is me, you—

vessels of dreams untold
a reflection of ancestors’ prayers
carrying their strength in our bones
we are the bridge, the builder,
the keeper of this flame
that lights the way
for those yet to come

Hope is the affirmative action of generational wealth—

more than money,
it’s memory, it’s possibility,
it’s dreaming in color, releasing
hands that will build futures
far beyond the limits of the past

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On October 12, 2024January 3, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry26 Comments

Forgive, even when your heart’s been broken
Think before each word is spoken

Regard not the ugly people say
End not your day in trifling dismay

Be the first to say: “I’m sorry”
You won’t live your days in worry

Don’t forget to say: “I love you”
And prove always this is true

Then when kiss of death falls on your lips
And all of life before you slips

When you glance back on the last moments of time
Over the valleys you walked and the mountains you climbed

Your heart will find rest, forever satisfied
Embracing the moment past-with-present-and-future collide

Then when life’s final breath you doth exhale
Your soul shall go peacefully to the forever-after vale

All rights reserved 
Photo credit: Facebook

On October 10, 2024September 27, 2025 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry22 Comments

Embrace the shift

I stand in the now, steady and still

As the winds of change whisper their will

I’m learning to listen, to seek and to find

The shifts in life’s rhythm, the dance of the mind

Move to the shift

The present is fleeting, never the same

Each moment a move in life’s shifting game

To stay is to falter, to miss what’s ahead—

I must move with the current, not cling to dead-end

Intentional in the shift

Intentional eyes, wide open and aware

Ready to follow the shift in the atmosphere

For life is a river that won’t wait for me—

I’ll flow with its waters, where I’m meant to be

Linked to For Purpose on Purpose

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On October 9, 2024January 3, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry21 Comments

Not going somewhere to happen, not chasing the next …
For purpose, on purpose, in the now to invest
Not bound by tomorrow, nor haunted by past
But rooted in moments that matter and last

Each breath is a choice, stepping into your own
The journey unfolds, though the path stays unknown
No waiting for destiny to knock at your door
Live in the fullness of now, nothing more

The future will come, but today is your stage
To live without worry, unchained by the age
For purpose, on purpose, each second a gift
Stand in the present, poised for the shift

So here in this moment, rise and shine
Live with purpose, embrace the Divine
Tomorrow’s not promised, there’s no guarantee
This moment is all to be all you must be

Linked to The Shift

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On October 6, 2024October 10, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry7 Comments

Ever Present

In stillness and surrender, I find my way
Where numbness wraps me, there God will stay
In moments weak, when shadows fall
His presence lifts, embracing all

Perfection is Not My Aim

Not a chase for perfect, not a polished being
But in my flaws, my truth is seen
To manage imperfection, to embrace it all
Owning my flawsome, without a flaw

Transformation is Selfish and Hard

The path to change is hard and steep
To let old selves die, to lose and weep
For the woman I’m becoming, I will strive
In selfish toil, I keep alive

The Author

God holds the pen, He writes this tale of mine
He scripts and re-scripts, line upon line
With bravery bold, my truth I will carry
A vision, though delayed, know it will not tarry

The Vision Is Sure

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On September 22, 2024May 27, 2026 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry30 Comments

Aura

Ethereal glow

It whispers, mystique

Release inhibitions, let me

Soar

Afterword: Written for W3 prompt. Thanks to David for hosting and Sarah Whiley for the direction: the word is soar, the form is Elfje.

An ‘Elfje’ counts as five sentences in only 11 words. This is how you do it:

Line 1: One word. This word symbolizes a colour or feature. The word symbolizes the atmosphere.

Line 2: Two words. These are something or someone with this colour or feature.

Line 3: Three words. Giving more information about the person or the object. You describe where the person or the object is, who the person or what the object is, or what the person or object is doing. This sentence usually starts with the word ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘it.’

Line 4: Four words. Here you are writing something about yourself in relation to the person or the object. This sentence is your conclusion.

Line 5: One word. This word is called the ‘Bomb.’ It is the essence of the poem.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On September 21, 2024September 21, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry11 Comments

Afterword: My Pastor was assigned to a new role. I recited this poem at his send-forth event.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On September 19, 2024September 19, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry22 Comments

Black,

She moves

Calmly, in

Her beauty, bold

No shadows she flows

In quiet strength she grows

Wrapped in mystery, untold

Essence spills, her truth unfolds

A heart deep, a soul’s revelation

Black, she moves calmly, in her beauty, bold

A Dectina Refrain is a poetic form written with your syllables going: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10. The 10th line is comprised of the first four lines all together as one stand alone line which may/may not be in quotation marks.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

On September 14, 2024September 14, 2024 By Dawn MinottIn Poetry15 Comments

Wait.

Time stills,

Shadows fade,

Hope takes its place.

Between then and now

Patience learns when and how

Each breath a quiet promise made

In the silence where dreams are laid

While promises tarry, faith steadfast

Wait—time stills, shadows fade, hope takes its place.

A Dectina Refrain is a poetic form written with your syllables going: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10. Your 10th line is comprised of your first four lines all together as one stand alone line which may/may not be in quotation marks.

2024 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Share this:

About Women’s History Month:

About International Women’s Day (March 8th)

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

The Wall They Couldn’t See

Share this:

A Spoken Word Tribute to Graduates

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

He called her—Daughter.

Daughter.

Daughter.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

The Shape of Love

The challenge: How to participate

Share this:

Intimacy with God is not about perfection.

Unending Conversations

The challenge: How to participate

Share this:

Sunday Speaks

Share this:

Please drop by Spillwords and give my work some love!

Share this:

Saturday Was Silent

Share this:

Friday, The Longest Night

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Restore Me Again

The challenge: How to participate

Share this:

The challenge: How to participate

Share this:

The challenge: How to participate

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Planetary Parade

Share this:

Love measured in fractions isn’t love at all because —

Progress in life, built on someone else’s loss is not progress at all because—

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

What’s Super Bowl gotta do with love?!

Love cannot simply exist passively in the atmosphere

Love must rise louder than the chaos

Love Lives Loud

Share this:

In Her Memory, We Live

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Afterword:

Share this:

Share this:

He called her—
Daughter.