All posts tagged Poetry


Published July 26, 2017 by hrhdana

I am mothering a little girl.
I want her to be
everything that she can dream
innocent and whole and free
present and at home in her body.
I want to be
the right balance of open road and safety rail.
I want my mothering to be balanced.
I know she has to hurt, fail, cry, fall
I can’t protect her from it all.
I want to.

I am mothering a hungry mind.
I want to fill her with
I want to be
the perfect mixture of
and active listener.
I want my mothering to
honor her voice
teach her to make good choices.
I know that we will fight.
It’s alright.
She will learn how to give and receive
Lessons on how to resolve things.
Sometimes I will get it wrong.
And she?
Will love me anyway.

I am mothering a feminine body.
I want her to
always feel at home in herself,
love her construction,
execute bodily autonomy,
live a life free of shame.
I want to be
an impermeable barrier
protecting her innocence.
I will be a woman first
know when to pull back and let her bloom.
I want her to be free.

I am mothering a soul, an essence.
I want her to
connect to the infinite
be love
practice self-care and empathy
embrace her innate royalty
her divine connection to the almighty we.
I want to be
a role model sharing my own journey
a listener so she talks to me.

I want so much
for us.
I pray hard
that I can be enough.

I am mothering a little girl.
She is the most important thing in my world.

She holds my hand

Published August 11, 2015 by hrhdana

We walk to the bus every morning.

Monday through Friday.

I am so lucky.

She holds my hand.






She clings to me.

When something catches her eye

a spiderweb,

a beautiful flower,

or even a

a beetle

she lets go.

Runs to explore.

Her face lights up.

3 year old exclaiming


And I look.

When she is ready to go again

she reaches for my hand.

I am lucky.

Today my right hip is wet.

It’s raining.

Her umbrella comes right up to my hip.

And even though she was holding it



She had to hold my hand


She holds my hand.

Her umbrella bumps against my hip,

It’s wet.

I don’t complain.

Grounded in the moments where

she holds my hand

as if there were no other way to

walk down the street.

She holds my hand.

And even with my wet hip.

I smile big.

She holds my hand.


I’m buying some sage on Monday

Published October 26, 2014 by hrhdana
I’m going to buy some sage on Monday
because lately
a million little things
are attacking me
and seriously
every freaking thing I do
goes wrong.
I’m going to buy some sage on Monday
and I’ve changed my Pandora playlist
to Gospel.
Because I know
minds and hearts are where our power lies
and negativity/darkness/sadness tries
to gain a foothold there.
I’m going to buy some sage on Monday
I’m going to listen to Smokey all day on Sunday.
I am going to get my mind right.
I am going to bathe myself in light.
Smoke away all the little voices
“Well who did you think you were?
“Sit down, be safe, stay small.”
And I’m going to smote myself,
my very being.
Because I am
the common denominator
I am seeing.
And maybe I am
off course
evaluating me…
system check
I’m going to buy some sage on Monday.
I am Royalty.
Destined for greatness.
Bigger than my problems.
Blessed IN my mess.
Mother of the future.
I am unbreakable.
I rebuke mediocrity.

They Wouldn’t Understand

Published November 14, 2013 by hrhdana


She sits in silence

wondering how her life became this mess.

Her constant companion is loneliness

there’s no one she can share this with.

They wouldn’t understand.

He’s her man.


She sits in silence

wondering if she does deserve this.

Happiness seems like so much bullshit.

I mean who lives it?


She sits…

They wouldn’t understand.


She sits in silence

cleaning wounds her lover inflicted

trying to remember a time before

the pain.

Wishing she could change



it doesn’t even matter.





She sits…

They wouldn’t understand.


They all say,

“leave him”

They say,

“You deserve better”


She sits…

They wouldn’t understand.


She sees their disapproval

internalizes it

Something IS wrong with her

she just doesn’t know what it is.

Something has to give

they have kids.

The kids don’t deserve this

she knows this


She sits…

They wouldn’t understand.


If just one of them would

take her hand

Hold her close,

TELL her where to go.

She’s been his puppet so long

she can’t even think on her own.

They keep telling her to go



with what money?


She sits…

bites her swollen lip…

They wouldn’t understand.

And so she stays

trapped in a nightmare

lost in misunderstanding.

First day of school

Published September 10, 2013 by hrhdana

I sit

in your midst



I am not bothered by the deluge of curses you spew.

I’m watching, listening, open to you.

First day of school.

No talk of




or studying,


“I fucked that bitch in homie’s bathroom.

Everyone was there. I ain’t care.

She a hoe now.

Everyone knows.”

I turn away


I try to guess your age.

15 maybe…

A group of girls this time…

I listen,

“I know I’ma fuck that bitch up!

Ain’t nothing change but the school year.

Suspend me!

I don’t fucking care!!”

First day of school

You are both

already failing.

I sit

in your midst



and I wish.

I wish that my love was strong enough to

reach you,

break though,

gift you several clues.

I love you…

little boy lost

little girl angry.

I love you

in all of your possibility.

Your decisions to wallow in shit

wound me.

I know that children learn what they live

that knowledge makes me hurt even more for you.

Little boy…

testosterone  infused


misguided by what you hear in music and on the news.

You equate manhood with

bedroom exploits

and violence.

I wish I could introduce you to real men.

I wish you could sit

in their midst

feast on knowledge

and their gentleness.

It would illustrate for you

how one dimensional

how shallow

how flat and full of lack

your definition of manhood is.

Little girl …


lashing out


misguided by multiple outlets undervaluing your worth.

You matter.

I wish I could teach you how much power you hold.

I wish I could show you so that you would know

how much more strength it takes

to walk away

the value in knowing you will live another day.

You matter.

I wish someone taught you that.

I wish you could hear me

believe me

feel me

because it’s true.




I love you.

I remember…

Published August 5, 2013 by hrhdana


Freestyle Memory

The challenge is to set a timer and write for 10 minutes on memory. No editing, no thinking…just writing. Here’s mine…

College girl


you were a friend to me

in the popular fraternity


you noticed me.

I remember

You picked me up after a party

so nice to me

always so funny and sweet.

I had such a good time

I didn’t want to go home

didn’t want to go back to my dorm.

I wanted to keep the party going.


we went back to your room.

I remember.

I was geeked

friends high-fiving me

you were cute and so sweet.

I remember.

laughter on the way over

story after story

laughing until my stomach hurt.

And then we were there.

You wanted me to drink something

but I wasn’t a drinker.

No idea

why my,

“no thank yous”

put you in such a bad mood.

I remember.

We smoked a little

from a bong

my first time

I felt wrong.

I just wanted to lay down.

You told me I was welcome

in your home

You said that I was safe

with you around.

You told me this was okay

you would stay out my way

drive me home later that day.

I stayed.

No choice.

I didn’t feel right.

I remember…

lying across your bed

my swirling head

felt filled with lead

and then


someone getting on the bed

arms pinned above my head

legs spread

against my will.

I remember

every single thing you took from me.

You hurt me.

And while you were brutalizing me

you whispered

how sweet

I was

told me how deep

you were.

As if I didn’t know

As if I couldn’t feel every inch

of your intrustion

in to MY soul.

I was hot



I remember.


Crying myself to sleep

locked in your bathroom

on the floor

the cold tile reminding me

I was alive.

I survived…

and although I didn’t believe it at the time

I would be alright.

I remember

16 years later

I remember it all.