Dear me -8 and no one believes you, No one will ever appreciate the effort you put into every act of kindness, Not until you’ve given up on love and respect, not until your life is a mess. You will tell the truth for days…

Dear Jill from the Past, I am proud of the accomplishments you made in your 20s. You helped a lot of people with your writing and never asked a thing. But, if you could change anything from your 20s and early 30s, I wish you…

My dear younger self, This is your future – no, Don’t walk off, there’s things I want you to know. I remember you well, So new to the abyss We’ll return there, but You can get through this Happiness is not Confined to the past…

To Deanna, the Young Mom, Chin up my dear, it’s tough I know If anyone knows that it’s me. To have a child who is always sick Another with a disAbility. Take the journey day by day Learn all you can know It is perfectly…

poem 11 Dear little girl in a broken world that is fighting to dim your starlight, don’t let them hurt you or steal your joy just love them and show them what Christ’s like. -h.e.m.

Sweet girl your reality was never what it was meant to be. So instead you dwelt in fantasy. And created a life as you hoped it could be. I’m grateful to you my Strawberry Girl, you helped me survive a brutal world.

“Dear 9 year old me” Stay in your room Let them sort it out You are not responsible It is not your fault She is sick in her mind A devil on the loose Do not open the door There is nothing you can do…

2019 – 11th Hour In response to the Prompt ©️ H.J ~ Dear Self ~ You sit by the window, Blue; Unsure of what is to come for you. For now, You’ve been a martyr. Each took their piece, That’s true, But we still fall…

Coffee in the pot You laying at my side Your hair all messy and wild The hush of the morning muting the early sounds Sunlight creeping in through the fog of the Midwest dawn Too warm for sweaters, yet much too cold for bare feet…

between the blinds a moonbeam highlights my coffee cup steam rising in a hush the screen door is locked from the inside wet concrete sidewalk begging for a heart with some letters the young fir tree your book on my shelf an empty rowboat banging…