Mdm Kristie Cleo

Daddy…
I wish you knew how many words
sit trembling on my tongue,
how many worries hide behind
the small, tired smile I show you.

It’s not that I don’t care—
I care so deeply it hurts.
But life pulls me in every direction,
and I’m scared my voice
won’t come out right,
won’t sound like love,
won’t give you the comfort
I desperately want to give.

When you’re in pain,
I want to ask, to help, to hold…
yet fear ties my throat in knots.
I stay silent,
not because I’m absent—
but because I don’t know
how to be strong enough
for both of us.

Please forgive my quiet, Daddy.
Every moment I’m away,
my heart is beside you.
Every time I don’t speak,
I’m speaking inside—
praying for your healing,
wishing I could do more,
hoping you still feel
my love beneath the weight
of everything I cannot say.

I’m your daughter,
always,
even in silence.
And I miss you
more than my words
have ever dared to show.

“When I Loved Too much"

I think I was always too much,
too much in love,
too much in hope,
too much in giving —
even when you never asked me to.

Every night I whispered your name in prayer,
as if love alone could make you stay,
but even the wind seemed to know —
my prayers never reached your heart.

You never said you wanted to see me,
never asked how I’ve been,
yet I kept waiting,
as if waiting itself could mean something.

Then that day came,
and I heard her name — Anagrl.
And just like that,
my whole world fell silent.

I smiled, but I cracked inside.
I laughed, but it hurt to breathe.
Maybe I’m just that ugly lady
who loved too deeply,
for a man who never even saw her.

Now I’m learning to be quiet,
to let go slowly —
because unreturned love
is the softest kind of pain:
it doesn’t bleed,
but it hurts every single day.

🥀 The Burden of Bloom
In verdant soil, a tender bud, A rose-child, curled in leafy plight. She felt the sun, the gentle flood Of rain, yet shrank from growing bright. "Why stretch my stem? Why lift my head?" she sighed, "When all I am is just a weight?" For in her tiny, leafy mind, she cried, "My bloom will only seal their fate."

She heard the gardener's weary phrase, "Another thorn," or "Mind the prick!" And twisted it in fearful ways, A barbed and bitter, constant tick Within her core. "My beauty's brief," she thought, "My petals shed, a messy scene. A fragile joy, too dearly bought, Then fading, leaving what has been: A task to clean, a space to fill, A constant tending, year by year." Her very presence, standing still, Felt like a burden, stark and clear.

She saw the others, proud and tall, Their vibrant hues, a bold display. "They're strong," she mused, "they give their all, But I'd just wither and decay. My scent, a fleeting, heavy cloud, My thorns, a constant, sharp demand. Better to stay beneath the shroud Of modesty, within this land Of shadow, where I won't intrude, Nor ask for sun, nor ask for grace. In this soft, muted solitude, I'll find my quiet, burdened place."

The roots still drank, the leaves still breathed, A silent promise, deep within. But the rose-child's heart, so interweaved With fear, refused its joy to win. She feared the day her petals unfurled, A grand reveal, then swift decline, Leaving her mark upon the world As simply just a faded sign Of effort, spent on something frail, A passing beauty, quickly done. She'd rather hide, and gently fail, Than bloom, then burden, everyone.
~krisT

🌹 The Self-Denying Haze
She doesn't see the offering there, A garden of soft, expectant light; The open palms, extended fair, The honest gaze, both warm and bright. She only feels the crushing load they'd bear, A future debt she must repay, Lost in a self-denying haze, a fog of fear, That clouds the truth of every day.

She craves the touch, the tethered soul, A deep, vital anchor in the storm, But steps back from the gentle, welcoming hand, To keep her own cold comfort warm. Believing she's a sinking hole, a tireless pull, A vortex with a ceaseless need, Too heavy for any shore to stand, A lonely and destructive deed.

And so she locks her fragile heart away, Behind a bolted, rusting door, Convinced that unloved is the lighter role, The kindest penance she can pour. She sees her distance as a shield, a silent grace, The final, selfless act she can display.

~krisT

monday is coming😅