My mother wrote poems when she was younger, mostly about love. Later she returned to poetry to express thoughts and desires that she'd squelched over time. She passed the torch to me (her daughter) when she entered treatment.
In her girlish wistful gaze, She now laments those fleeting days. Youth's whispered echos, soft and clear, Her innocence fades, replaced by fear. Regret looms like clouds from her past, Her youthful lust is all that lasts.
Their first kiss was tender and short. His face was kind in the soft glow of a single lamp in Lauren’s apartment. There wasn’t a second kiss.
Lauryn rose from the couch and stood by a window, her silhouette framed against the city lights. Joseph, nervously shuffling in the background, couldn't ignore the unspoken tension hanging in the air.
Lauryn knew the complexities that might overtake Joseph's life, especially considering the unexpected news about her pregnancy. Despite the allure of their connection, she understood the practicalities and unlikelihood of a long-term...
As they reached her doorstep, Joseph turned to face Lauryn, a gentle smile playing on his lower lip. The night had been filled with laughter, shared stories, and a surprising connection that left Lauryn eager for more.
"Well, Lauryn, I had a wonderful time tonight," Joseph said, his eyes reflecting sincerity. "I'm really glad we bumped into each other at that diner."
Lauryn smiled back. “Me too, Joseph. It was unexpected, but sometimes the best things in life are." Her eyes glanced down at her tummy where one hand rested. ...
The new life growing in me is at the mercy of how I care for myself. If I smoke, my baby smokes. Since I think she’s too young to make such decisions, I decided to stop smoking. I hope my future daughter doesn’t mind that I replaced that habit with a habit I began at age 12 while lying on my stomach watching a couple kiss on TV.