myharshwordspoetry

[myharshwordspoetry]

TEARS

The tears I’m crying

are not water, not salt,

they are fragments of me,

pieces of marrow and memory,

slipping down my cheeks

like ghosts that can’t stay.

Each drop is a confession,

a surrender,

a part of the soul I swore

I’d never let break loose.

But grief is a thief,

it pries open the seams,

it wrings out the silence,

and I can feel myself thinning,

like fabric worn through,

thread by thread unraveling.

By the time the crying stops,

I will be less than whole,

a shadow with hollow eyes,

a body still standing

but emptied of its fire.

And yet,

if my soul is draining,

maybe it is only making room

for something new to take root,

for light to seep in

through the cracks

that sorrow made.

© 08/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved

[myharshwordspoetry]

[myharshwordspoetry]

[myharshwordspoetry]

THE SHADOWS

The shadows creep, they claim my name,

they twist my soul, they play their game.

No longer trailing, they reside,

they wear my skin, they live inside.

They speak through me in stolen breath,

a quiet vow, a kind of death.

Their fingers pull, my steps are theirs,

their whispers louder than my prayers.

I try to find the edge, the line,

where I am gone and they define.

But in the dark I’ve come to see,

the shadows now are all of me.

© 08/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved

[myharshwordspoetry]

[myharshwordspoetry]

Thank you @smittenbypoetry and everyone who got me to 50 reblogs!

SET IN QUIETLY

Decay set in quietly.

Not the kind you see in ruins or bones,

but the kind that happens

when you keep saying yes

while pieces of you are slipping away.

I gave my time,

my voice,

my sleep,

my strength...

to everyone who asked

and even to the ones who didn’t.

I told myself it was kindness,

that it was love,

that this is what it means to be “good.”

But the truth is,

I was trading myself off

in handfuls.

Now I stand in the mirror

and see the hollowed places,

the thin spots in my spirit,

the parts of me worn through

from too many hands taking.

I let myself decay,

not because I wanted to die,

but because I forgot

I was allowed to live for me.

Inspired by the one word prompt, decay. @picklemafia

© 08/15/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. on this platform is permitted with Repostingoper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

THE SHADOWS

The shadows creep, they claim my name,

they twist my soul, they play their game.

No longer trailing, they reside,

they wear my skin, they live inside.

They speak through me in stolen breath,

a quiet vow, a kind of death.

Their fingers pull, my steps are theirs,

their whispers louder than my prayers.

I try to find the edge, the line,

where I am gone and they define.

But in the dark I’ve come to see,

the shadows now are all of me.

© 08/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved

[myharshwordspoetry]

OVERCOME

I won’t dress it up.

I tore myself open and left pieces behind.

Good pieces. Soft pieces.

The kind you bury without a funeral

because there was no time for mourning.

I learned survival isn’t clean,

it’s filthy, rancid,

like drinking from mud just to quiet the ache.

Like licking your own wounds

because no one else would touch them.

I clawed through nights so black

I forgot light ever existed.

I spoke to walls,

to silence,

to the echo of my own blood rushing

in my ears,

just to remind myself

I wasn’t already gone.

I broke my own reflection,

couldn’t stand its weakness staring back.

So I built a different face,

one carved out of grit and fury,

uglier,

but unkillable.

Overcome isn’t a hymn.

It’s not wings or halos.

It’s bone dust under your nails,

skin stitched together with whatever scraps

of madness you could find.

I am not whole.

I am not holy.

But I am here.

And that’s enough.

Inspired by one word prompt, overcome.

© 08/23/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved. @picklemafia

[myharshwordspoetry]

SET IN QUIETLY

Decay set in quietly.

Not the kind you see in ruins or bones,

but the kind that happens

when you keep saying yes

while pieces of you are slipping away.

I gave my time,

my voice,

my sleep,

my strength...

to everyone who asked

and even to the ones who didn’t.

I told myself it was kindness,

that it was love,

that this is what it means to be “good.”

But the truth is,

I was trading myself off

in handfuls.

Now I stand in the mirror

and see the hollowed places,

the thin spots in my spirit,

the parts of me worn through

from too many hands taking.

I let myself decay,

not because I wanted to die,

but because I forgot

I was allowed to live for me.

Inspired by the one word prompt, decay. @picklemafia

© 08/15/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. on this platform is permitted with Repostingoper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

[myharshwordspoetry]

THEY WALKED IN

Clover walked in

with Keegan at her side,

her laughter spilling into the sterile air

like it didn’t care about IV drips

or hospital machines ticking time.

First time I saw him

he had that look in his eyes,

half curious, half not sure

what he was walking into.

We told him the stories.

The ones where she lived with me,

where I fought like hell to keep her from

falling off the edge she thought

she could dance on.

I told him she was scared of me once.

She laughed,

said she was never scared of her mom or her dad

just me.

I told her I wasn’t trying to be scary,

just trying to hold her together

when she wanted to run wild.

They brought me candy

Swedish Fish,

cupcakes,

a Gatorade cold enough to feel like a gift from another world,

and cinnamon balls from Taco Bell

like they knew comfort

came in sugar and grease sometimes.

I looked at her,

and the years collapsed

this kid who once tested me,

who once ran hard against my rules,

now walking back into my life

with love in her hands,

with a man she wanted me to meet,

with a promise to return.

It’s strange how love works

how someone you didn’t birth

can still feel like a part of your bones.

How the fight, the laughter, the stubborn nights

don’t fade,

they just grow roots.

Clover,

you are my kid in every way that matters.

And yesterday,

you reminded me that the ones who see you

in the worst of your storms

can still bring you sunshine

on a hospital afternoon.

© 08/06/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

PINKY PROMISE IN RUINS

I swore on a pinky,

like a child clinging to the last magic thread,

and then my hands failed me.

I fell asleep when you needed my voice,

dropped the phone like a confession

I was too tired to finish.

You heard it as betrayal.

I felt it as collapse.

I wasn’t trying to disappear

my body betrayed me before my words could reach you,

before the code,

before the bank,

before hope’s thin rope frayed in our palms.

I hear your anger like steel on steel,

your sentences cutting in quick bursts,

and still...

I want to press my forehead to yours

and tell you it’s not all nothing.

I am sorry

in the marrow-deep way that stains a soul,

sorry in the way

that makes you wish you could start a day over

and tear the promise from your mouth

before it could ever be broken.

I wasn’t enough for you today,

and God knows it kills me to admit it.

You think it’s about money,

but for me

it’s about the way your silence sounds

like you’ve already walked out.

So take my failure,

take my open hands,

take the trembling in my chest

and the fact that I still want to love you

even after you’ve told me to fuck off.

I’m not asking you to forget.

Just to remember

that the pinky promise was real

even if I couldn’t keep it alive.

© 08/06/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

I FALL, BUT I DONT STAY DOWN

I hit the floor again.

Five times in four days.

No warning.

No grace.

Just gravity dragging me down

like it’s got something to prove.

This body,

this goddamn battlefield,

betrays me

on the way to the next room,

like walking is too much to ask

from bones

that used to run.

They say “observation,”

like I’m a specimen

under glass,

as if enough beeping machines

can chart the depth

of this hell.

My blood pressure’s tanking.

My balance? Gone.

I don’t piss right.

I barely eat.

And now this virus,

norovirus,

rips through me

like a thief

taking what little strength

I had left.

I haven’t left the house in two weeks.

Not a damn soul crossed my door.

But sickness finds cracks

the way shadows find light,

sneaky,

silent,

sure.

It could’ve come in a box,

on hands that meant well,

on breath that forgot

how fragile I am.

And now I’m the one paying for it

in pain and porcelain.

This body is tired.

This body is war.

And I’m done apologizing

for how loud it screams.

But hear me,

I’m still here.

Not because I’m fearless.

Not because I’m strong.

But because every time I fall,

something in me

still gets up.

Still says not yet.

Still says fuck this.

And if I fall again,

let it be forward.

Let it be into the storm

or whatever waits on the other side.

Because I’m not done.

You hear me?

I’m not done.

© 08/07/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

© 08/03/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

SHE WRITES WHAT HURTS

She doesn’t write for comfort

She writes because something inside

is too loud to bury

and too wild to name

She doesn’t chase beauty

She claws at the truth

even when it hisses back

even when it spits blood in her face

because she’s been lied to by prettier things

and this time, she wants real

Her poems don’t ask to be liked

They don’t flirt

don’t wear makeup

don’t make themselves small to fit inside expectations

They show up with scraped knees

mud on their teeth

rage in their chest

and say:

here I am anyway

She doesn’t need you to understand

but God help you if you feel it

because once it hits you

you’ll never unread her

She’s not some broken girl crying on a page

She’s a survival story written in nerve endings

A cracked-open sky that didn’t close again

She writes what hurts

She writes what she never got to say

to the man who left

to the mother who couldn’t hold her

to the girl inside still waiting to be picked

She writes for the nights that didn���t end

for the silence that wasn’t peace

for the hands that touched her without love

and the hands she pushed away out of fear

they might actually stay

Her lines are littered with ghosts

ex-lovers

dead dogs

days she couldn’t get out of bed

and still

there’s fire

Because she doesn't just write pain

She writes through it

She writes past it

until something holy cracks open

and the light pours in raw and ugly

and exactly enough

Some people say it's too much

Too heavy

Too dark

But they keep reading

Keep whispering

God, I felt that

because deep down

they’re starving for something

that doesn't lie

She doesn’t write to save anyone

but somehow

she does

Not with hope tied in bows

but with the truth

that someone else made it through

without pretending it was easy

or clean

or pretty

And when she writes

you see it

The scars

The ash

The trembling hand that never stopped

The soul that stayed

Not quiet

Not polite

but still

alive

© 08/03/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.

[myharshwordspoetry]

STILL MINE IN SILENCE

I never stopped loving you, not once, not then

Not through the silence, not through the end

Even when pain dug deep in my chest

And anger begged me to love you less

You shattered me with what you chose

But still I clung to the rose

Of every laugh and every kiss

Of all the things I still miss

I swallowed pride, I bit my tongue

I let your name slip off my lungs

And even when I cursed the sky

It held your shape in every cry

So here I stand with nothing new

But the same old love, still aching true

© 08/03/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved. @picklemafia

[myharshwordspoetry]

ALREADY ARE...

Beauty’s not the prize they chase

when love is rooted deep in grace...

It’s not the shade of lips or skin

but who you are when nights begin.

You’ve walked through fire... and still you stand,

With open soul and steady hand.

That kind of strength... that quiet glow,

Is something shallow hearts don’t know.

You don’t need mirrors... to define

The worth you carry in your spine.

You’re built from truth... not hollow praise,

You light the dark in different ways.

So when the doubt begins to speak...

Let my voice rise when yours feels weak.

You are enough... no mask, no show...

And I’ll remind you... till you know.

© 08/03/2025 By Jodi Harsh, My Harsh Words™. Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.