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  • Poem, Poems, Writing

    You Taught me to be a Writer; a Poem for my Mother

    You taught me to be a writer

    Since this is Women’s History Month, and mothers can play such a huge role in their daughters’ lives, I wanted to share a poem I wrote dedicated to my mother. She has always been a positive female influence and someone I look up to a lot.


    you gasped as you looked at me for the first time.

    9 pounds, 12 ounces.

    you were just happy i was here.

    you told dad to drive so carefully,

    you were terrified i would wake

    to a loose pebble on the road.

    you named me Grace, cause why not?

    it’s a sweet name, and i was sweet.

    you rocked me to bed each night,

    eyes never leaving mine

    you filled shelves with children’s books

    and let me flip back and forth through them

    pointing to images along the way

    and gargling in glee.

    you got me a easel and teared up

    when i painted a blob and it called it you.

    you let me use all of our tape rolls

    to put together pieces of paper

    with incoherent sentences written on them

    and call it a story.

    you watched movies with me

    and then watched as i went to my bedroom

    to think about them for hours

    and came back with a new movie, created by me.

    at night, you let “i have a headache”

    be my excuse to crawl into bed with you

    and snuggle into your arms as if i was still

    9 pounds, 12 ounces.

    you brushed my hair as tenderly as you could

    even though i still hated it,

    and rubbed sunscreen onto my face

    while i was trying to get on the swing.

    you bought me birthday hats and

    and watched with amusement

    as i used them to throw my stuffed dogs parties

    (and later weddings).

    you smiled when i came home and told you about my elementary school

    reading awards and smiled, even more, when i showed you

    my a+ essays.

    you laughed when i showed you the “oscar-worthy”

    movies me and my friend, and then me and my cousins,

    had created using the power of my ipad’s editing software.

    you cried almost every mother’s day

    when i handed you a letter, or poem, or collage

    and told me never to buy you something

    if i can write you something instead.

    you sat me down next to you one day

    and showed me a website you had found

    for a school called asfa

    and then you celebrated when i became as excited

    about it as you.

    you squealed when i got accepted,

    and you told me i would write amazing things

    even if i didn’t believe you yet.

    and now you hug me and buy me junk food

    every time i tear up and tell you i’m overwhelmed

    you fold my laundry

    every time you can see i’m too stressed.

    you tell me to relax and watch netflix with you

    even when i tell you i have no time

    because you tell me i need a break.

    you ask to read everything i write,

    you give me books from your library to read,

    you told me when i told you

    that maybe i should just be an accountant or something

    no. you’re too talented to punch numbers.

    you need to keep writing.

    and then you squealed again when i got my first publication,

    and again when i won my first writing award,

    you enveloped me in your arms

    with pride i could feel radiating off of you

    and held me, although i may be half a head taller now

    as if i was still

    9 pounds, 12 ounces.

  • Articles, Poem, Poems



    Hearts beating,
    Faster and faster each time.
    Sweaty hands,
    Bodies shaking,
    Can’t feel anything.
    But the safety of your hug,
    My heart skips a beat.
    As your eyes glisten
    Into mine
    Made for each other,
    but not forever.
    That’s love.


    Like poetry? Do you write your own? Submit a piece to be published on Girlspring at

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  • Poem

    To What Extent Does Plumeria Bloom

    To What Extent Does Plumeria Bloom

    How am I to comprehend such beauty?

    Whether that be upon the

    absence of a petalless plumeria

    or a twigless oak.

    Comprehension of beauty is beautiful

    without footprints of rouge beyond

    birches. May

    it be an effervescence of

    elegance, in a kind of

    heart brought up boundless

    of tarnished wire.

    A manner by which

    undoubted purity,

    relinquished wrath,

    and unsought pride,

    and rightful accolades

    never know

    the idea of rareness.


  • Poem

    The Air We Breathe

    The Air We Breathe

    A tear trickles down her face, brushing past

    her flushed cheeks.

    The drop vanishes into the threads of a linen skirt,

    as her eyelids fall like soft blankets to hide such

    glassy, swollen eyes.

    Each breath skipping a beat in time

    bringing sorrow into

    The air we breathe

    Chills sweep through every inch

    of her body,

    and the tales of winter set in a delicate soul.

    Her heart has frozen overtime

    but shatters in an instant.

    For each breath she takes leaves a scar to remind her

    of the time love betrayed her

    Bringing sorrow into

    The air we breathe

    Confusion buries her blessings as she wonders about the

    meaning of love.

    She longs for nothing more than to know how she lost

    such a precious gift.

    She screams into the night for forgiveness,

    only to find herself

    Bringing sorrow into

    The air we breathe

    One block over

    a mother is regretting the mistake she

    never meant to make.

    She holds an old photo in her hands of a girl

    with a delicate soul.

    She whispers into the night begging for forgiveness,

    only to find herself

    Bringing sorrow into

    The air we breathe


  • Portfolio


    All the leaves hitting the ground
    Yet no one hears a sound
    They’re all slowly dying
    But everyone thinks of them as flying
    Why does everyone look around with gleaming eyes
    When it’s a never-ending cycle of disguise after disguise

  • Articles, Poem, Poems, Writing

    Equality – a poem


    by Samone Davis

    Equality is the thing that’s in the world for mothers, fathers, boys, and girls. Blacks and whites, we were all separated from state to state we were segregated.

    I see every kid being whipped with wire, they’re being hurt and burned just like fire.

    Women and men, both are sensitive and feel. But women show it, and men conceal.
    For black lives to matter, we must stop the black on black blood splatter.

    So take one look at our past, because
    this will be the last.

    People should be who they want to be, not hiding in a closet unfree.
    Society needs to take a good look inside, we need to support LGBT pride.

    We all want to stop racism.
    We sent black and white men to die in war together, before we could be educated together.

    How come I see every day
    People who always find a reason to discriminate
    Why can’t I have the same opportunities,
    why can’t I be great

    Because mankind has taken the food from my
    plate and left me full of hate
    Let there be no gazing eyes, for equality shall rise

  • Poem

    Hang Gliding: A Poem

    Hang Gliding: A Poem

    Icy splashes meet your toes with every bounding leap.

    A satisfying stretch arrives with every springing step.

    The dewy grass swiftly becomes

    An unending, jagged coast

    Where the gentle sky boldly collides

    With rolling, marbled waves.

    Fleeting nerves give way

    To sweet, unbridled glee.

    For what you’ve always longed for

    Was to reach the heavens and fly.

    To be tickled by the seaspray and dance,

    twirling in the breeze.

    For what you’ve always longed for

    Was the thrill of being alive.