Between Bruises & Blooms
A poetry archive for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
Welcome to the library. Here you’ll find poetry and reflections rooted in motherhood, grief, love, survival, healing, darkness, nature, and the ordinary moments that refuse to stay ordinary.
Latest Writing
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The Hour That Found Me
She went looking for somewhere to put her grief and found the moon, the forest, an abandoned house, and eventually herself.
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Candle at 3 A.M.
At three in the morning, a candle, black coffee, and forgotten women’s names turn the witching hour into a cathedral.
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What Lives Between Midnight and Dawn
The witching hour belongs less to monsters than to women who learned to carry their own light through every shadow.
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Reading Myself
The questions changed from who will love me to what part of myself I buried, and suddenly the cards became kinder.
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The Hermit Writes at 3 A.M.
At three in the morning, every poem becomes another lantern on the long road back to herself.
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Midnight Keeps My Name
Midnight has witnessed the ink, cold coffee, motherhood, ghosts, and every unfinished version of her that found a voice after dark.
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July Fifteenth
July fifteenth asks one heart to celebrate a son’s birthday while quietly remembering the pregnancy and grief stitched into the same date.
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The Shape of Staying
A love accepted in a smaller shape just to keep one particular person close leaves worth and regret deliberately unresolved.
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To the Woman Who Leaves Footprints in My Comments
A familiar commenter keeps returning to the same haunted houses and poems, becoming a quiet companion at the edge of the lantern light.
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2:00 A.M. Motherhood
At two in the morning, cold coffee, laundry, and a judgmental cat hold up the same house motherhood keeps running through the dark.
Stay in the Garden
New poems, new rooms, and whatever blooms next—delivered without making you hunt through the archive for it.
Between Bruises & Blooms 