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© 2023 by Morgan Rae Hoog​ 

poems for you 

do not choose the life that is 

less than the one you could have lived 

had you allowed yourself to foam

at the mouth with passion, 

to flow over with desire for your

soul's purest purpose. 

living a life and knowing it is 

less than. lukewarm. 

will never give you a life that is 

full. full. full. 


just saturated with beauty. 


and so today, 

(even if it is just for today)

give yourself permission to be 

that thing you feel in your gut 

that you have never allowed to 

come out and up. 


even if it just for today, 

allow yourself to be 

f r e e.

-coming home 


if you could all experience 

a sisterhood so sweet. 

one where agave nectar drips from your lips 

as you exclaim 'i love you' 

without speaking a word. 

not the type of love you lay down with at night 

but the kind that answers your prayers 

before you whisper them into the night sky. 

the kind that never asks you to prove yourself

but instead takes your hand

and makes you see that just by 

showing up 

you're enough. 

the kind that always (always) has 

hot tea ready. 

the kind that writes affirmations 

and poems on the walls of your soul 

until you're saturated. 

dripping with 


- connection's exhale 


to be wanted 

just as you are 

is the purest thing. 

it will send you soaring. 


to want someone else. 

just as they come. 

that is how you change the world. 

-love is a revolution song 


i whisper 

'i love you'

but what i mean is 

'please. don't leave me.'


every morning i hold my own hand 

and i whisper an affirmation. 

you are not your past. you are nott your pastt. 

and i try to do less damage. 

try to breathe more and swallow my hurt less. 

try to turn into a river. spend less time plugged. 


spend less time trying to be someone somebody could love, more time actually... 


it takes a mountain of courage

but this re-building, 

it is the only path to loving yourself 

inside your flesh again. 


and then there are the less glamerous days. on these days the sun is your enemy and your face is not your face at all. your face is your father's depression. and these days you do not comb your hair. your heart a tangled nest, too. (except there are no doves here.)

your lover asks what is wrong. you say nothing...everything. 

you believe both. you get angry because you know you cannot be both fire and water but somehow, you are. burning and drowning at the same time. 

your lover asks how long you've been feeling this way. you say a week...forever. 

you are unsure of either. 

on these days you cry and your face floods. you're still breathing through, the rain cannot drown the ocean. and so you continue to exist this way. both the capsized ship and the life raft.

both whole and broken, we are, these days. 


remember this: 

when you're broken, defeated, hurt, betrayed, or abandoned. 

when your darkness will not let you find your light. 

your existence is not contingent upon the oppressors of your soul. 

these wars did not -will not- rob you of your strength.

you, my dear, 

are a living, breathing example of 


of what it looks like to walk through the depths of hell and still 

choose to rise. 


the moment i met him i felt 


his love gave me 

permission to be 


do not make this same mistake 

i will one day tell my daughter 

the only permission you need to shine 

in this world 

if your own.


your wreckage doesn't mean 

that you're beyond repair. 

you are simply falling. 

in love. 

the kind that re-builds. 

the kind that catches you. mid air. 

before you hit the ground. 

the kind that swims upstream. 

that works against the urge to crumble

as the world begs you to crack. 

the kind of love 

that begins 

and ends 

with you. 


you wouldn't believe 

the war it took to strip myself 

of the habit of folding into myself 

over and over 




over. and. over. 


reducing myself to 

indivisible fractions

before i would ever 

claim one once of desire. 


i dare you 

to spend as much time being 


as you do rehearsing conversations 

that will never leave

the landscape of your lips 

- true conviction lives in your throat 


use you damn voice


it doesn't matter how beautiful she is 

make sure she knows she is valued first 

that you hear her heart 

that you feel her soul 

that her laugh is constellations exploding 

only after she knows should you bore her 

with tales of the geography of her skin 

the way the curves of her breasts leave you 


that her spine leaves honey dripping 

from your lips 

it doesnt matter how beautiful she is. 

i promise she longs to be more than a 


to your pleasure. 


i'm sorry. 

i am so so 

sorry. for this ending. 

which is to say

i am sorry that what 

you need 

will never be what 

i want. 


there is something 

in the sunshine. 

and it eats me 

the way a word does 

when it builds a home on the tip of your tongue 

but never makes itself known in your throat. 

it's hard to capture

i can't turn my letters into words. 

but when i kiss him 

in the sunshine

(oh god when i kiss him) 

i can taste how i want the poem to feel. 

have you ever experienced that? 

someone whose very being 

becomes a portal to the world 

you want to live in? 


all this living hurts. 

so i find the smallest part of myself 

and crawl in there. 

force myself to endure claustrophobia 

and dig trenches between the gaps of my ribs. 

it's safe here 

i tell myself 

you will be safe here


god. oh god.

oh my GODthefuckingpainofthis. 

this. the perpetuity of living 

inside a cage. 

of being trapped inside 

a body that doesn't agree with its



in our own way 

(and inevitably) 

we all: 




it is oksy to remove your heart 

from the walls of your body 

in order to heal. 

(and you wil heal) 

the most beautiful creations in the world 

take time. 

you are the most beautiful thing. 

take all the time you need. 


be a little bolder 

than you're capeable of owning 


i welcome myself into a new day by 

shaking off my dreams 

and asking my mind to show me my pollution; 

the contaminating thoughts that say 

i cant. i'm not good enough. what if i fail. 

i listen patiently to each thought of self-doubt 

and then line them up one by one. 

as i softly take each thought by the hand 

i guide it back into the dirt below my feet 

and create little seeds of self-love instead. 

not today 

i whisper to doubt 

there is no room for weeds in my garden 

- what you water will grow 


i am learning to never surrender 

when it comes to matters of 

my heart. 

refusing to hide

the ugly bits, 

the pieces of me that reek calamity;

the utter chaos. 

please hear me when i tell you this

i shout to my heart when my body 

starts to forget. 

do not water down your mind 

to appease the people 

just dipping their toes into your endless 


the ones who are not seeking to understand 

but instead trying to change your tide. 

magic happens when people are confronted with the whole of you. 

the calm and the storm. 

they learn to love you 

in all your


so they can have the privilege 

of loving you in all your 



i may never know 

but i will always try to see. 


in every breath. 

in every breath. 

i will carry you to freedom.