Built Different I don’t wear a crown I built one from the pressure. Every no every slammed door, every night I cried in silence became another diamond in my backbone. They thought my story would end somewhere between heartbreak and survival. They didn’t know I was learning how to turn pain into power and setbacks into stepping stones. I’ve walked through storms that would’ve folded weaker spirits. Smiled through chaos, worked through doubt, rebuilt myself so many times I stopped asking for permission to rise. Yeah I’ve been broken. But broken things can be reforged. Now my scars don’t whisper shame, they scream she made it anyway. I am the comeback nobody saw coming. The quiet grind behind loud success. The woman who learned how to stand alone and still walk like she owns the room. No more shrinking to make others comfortable. No more apologising for surviving what tried to destroy me. I move with purpose. I dream without limits. I carry resilience like armour and faith like fire in my chest. Because I’m not just a survivor I’m proof that pressure creates power, that pain builds leaders, that even from rock bottom you can build an empire. Watch me rise. Watch me win. Watch me become everything they said I couldn’t be.

Thank you to everyone who submitted and voted in this round. With 14 poems entered and votes spread across eight different pieces, the poll ended in a tie which happens when participation is still ramping up and the love gets shared widely. Rather than force a winner, we’re going to pause Poem of the Week for now and shift our energy toward some bigger, more exciting things we’re building: 💰 A poetry contest with cash prizes 📊 A fun leaderboard challenge for daily engagement These formats will let more people participate, compete, and celebrate creativity in new ways. Huge respect to every poet who stepped up and shared work that courage is the foundation of this community. More details coming soon. 🖋️🔥

She Rose Anyway She was just a girl when the world first taught her pain. Small hands, loud silence, love that came with fear and lessons no child should learn. She learned early how to disappear inside herself how to smile while breaking, how to survive instead of live. The scars didn’t show at first. They rarely do. They hid in her thoughts, in the way she trusted too deeply or not at all. Drugs came quietly. like a promise of peace. For a moment, they softened the noise.. numbed the memories.. gave her somewhere to rest when nowhere felt safe. Then life changed her forever. A baby. Tiny fingers wrapped around hers, a heartbeat that depended on her breath. She was still broken, still young, still trying to heal wounds she didn’t choose. Borderline Personality Disorder gave her emotions like storms— love that burned too bright, pain that cut too deep, fear of abandonment even when she was never alone. Trauma followed her like a shadow that knew her name. Loss after loss. Setback after setback. Moments where giving up felt easier than standing up again. But listen closely this is where the story turns. Because somewhere between rock bottom and survival.. she chose growth over guilt healing over hiding, truth over shame. She learned that her past was not her prison that diagnoses were explanations not life sentences, that strength could exist right alongside softness. She did the work. The ugly work. The lonely work. The brave work. She broke cycles no one before her could. She became the mother she once needed. She became the woman she once prayed for. Now she stands not perfect not untouched. but powerful. Thriving. Self-aware. Grounded. Alive. She doesn’t just survive anymore. She builds. She leads. She inspires. She reminds others that where you start does not decide where you finish. This is not a story of damage. This is a story of resilience. Of a girl who became a woman and refused to let her trauma write the ending. And if you’re reading this and see yourself in her

Some battles do not shout, they whisper. They live in the pause before sleep, in the breath you forget to take, in the smile you practice like a language you were never taught. The mind is a crowded room where memories pace like restless ghosts, where hope sits quietly in the corner, waiting to be invited back into the light. You learn that strength is not always standing tall. Sometimes it is sitting with the pain without letting it define your name. Sometimes it is choosing tomorrow when today feels unfinished. Healing is not a straight road. It bends, it breaks, it doubles back. There are days you bloom. and days you simply survive both are victories the world rarely applauds. Speak gently to yourself. You are not weak for feeling deeply. You are human for carrying storms and still searching for the sun. And if all you did today was breathe, then know this: even that was an act of courage.

A Home for Writers Who Take the Work Seriously. If you’re here, you didn’t stumble in by accident. You came because something in you refuses to stay quiet. Because you write when the world sleeps. Because lines follow you into grocery stores and sunsets and grief and joy and long drives home. Because you believe poetry isn’t a hobby it’s a craft. This is not a scrolling group. This is a workshop. A studio. A fireside table where poets sharpen blades made of language. So welcome, come on in kick them shoes off and hang out on the couch, read a little share a little. Your home.