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The alarm sounds on her phone, pulling her out of a dream she’d been trying to hold onto. She reaches for it automatically, still half asleep, and the message waiting there makes her smile before she’s even fully aware of herself. She taps the screen with her thumb. The words glow bright in the dim
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We are living through a moment when being anything other than white feels unsafe again. The country is slipping back toward an old fear, an old myth, an old way of sorting people that has always done more harm than good. This hits close because my entire existence challenges the idea of race. My mother’s
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It happened yesterday, and I’m still sitting with it—the sting of knowing I hurt someone I care about. A friend. She’s a gifted writer. Her words are rich and raw, threaded with emotion and insight. But she doesn’t really see it. She often talks down about her own work, doubts herself, minimizes her brilliance. And
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There’s something about sleep lately that feels more like survival than rest. My body sleeps, but my mind remains in a battlefield—stuck in the endless cycle of nightmares, adrenaline, and anxiety. And when I wake up, there’s no peace waiting for me—just another kind of war. Anxiety has become a shadow I carry, a weight
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The ink was heavy when first it bled, A silent mark, a prayer unsaid. But now it pulls upon my skin- Each line a name I hold within. No letters carved, no dates to trace, Just echoes of laughter time can’t erase. Your cross grew too heavy, I’ll carry it from here, Through all of
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Even as the senses fall silent—no stars, no wind, no song—love endures, unshaken. This is a poem for the quiet moments, where touch and memory speak louder than sound, and where the heart sees what the eyes no longer can.
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Ink & Shadows: The Words of Osiris j Reapor 