The lines were drawn in quiet ink, A map of “yes” and “stay,” I feared the bridge would surely sink If I turned the other way. I held my breath to keep the peace, A ghost within the room, Fearing that my own release Would seal a friendship’s doom.
I thought the cost of being me Was more than they would pay, That if I spoke, they’d turn and flee And leave me in the gray. But then the weight began to gall, The “jokes” that left a sting, The way they made me feel so small While I gave everything.
So I stood up, a sudden flame, And watched the masks descend, I finally spoke my truth, my name, And waited for the end. They met my strength with cold disdain, With anger and with slight, They saw my joy as their own pain And walked into the night.
And in the silence left behind, The truth began to bloom: The friends I was so scared to find Were never in that room. For if a boundary breaks a bond, The bond was but a thread; Of people who are truly fond, There’s nothing left to dread.
If standing up meant losing them, I lost a heavy chain, A false and hollow stratagem That only offered pain. The ones who leave when you grow tall Were never yours to keep; It’s better that the shadows fall So you can finally leap.
The silent prisons of our own mind, Worry for the deeds we left behind, The chances lost, the paths we feared to roam, Our potential dormant, never brought home. This anchor heavy, second-guessing’s sting, Drags down the soul that was meant to sing.
To truly live, regret must be outrun, A risk embraced beneath the morning sun. The unknown holds the promise of our growth, A fertile ground for a pledged oath.
Take the chance at greatness, a choice for all, Be willing to reach, to answer the call. See what reserves within your spirit lie, Of strength and grace beneath the open sky. Commit to the dream, take the fearless flight, Forward with conviction, leaving behind the night.
Hesitation is the foe of every deed, By fearing failure, planting doubt’s cold seed. You’ll never know the heights you could attain, The monuments you’d build through sun and rain. The touch of courage, how it might inspire, A beacon lit by your own brave fire.
Embrace the call: Take the chance once more, See what you can do without a shore. Take the challenge, soar upon the breeze, Let past regrets dissolve with newfound ease. Don’t look behind; the future lies ahead, Just keep the onward path and be well-led.
Belief and grit define the way we go, The goals you set, the success you will know. Though failure whispers—part of learning’s art— Do not let that dark shadow break your heart. The glorious chance of victory is near, For this bright hope, dispel all doubt and fear.
Stop postponing the life you wish to lead, Write the unheard book, plant the needed seed. Learn the unlearned dance, let rhythm take hold, Sing out your heart, a story to unfold. Let nothing hold you back—no fear, no scorn, The time for your own greatness is this morn.
The jarring, insistent shriek, An alarm clock’s metallic cry, Assaults the fragile morning’s peace, A painful echo in the sky Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound Instantly swallowed by the deep, Heavy silence all around, I try to meld back into sleep.
A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat, From sleep’s warm, velvet, soft embrace, It snatches me, with sudden heat, And leaves my heart against my face. My eyes fly open, dark and blank, Staring up at the ceiling’s shade, My body, safe within the bank Of blankets, a fortress I have made.
But now the cold kiss starts to creep, A sharp, unwelcome morning chill, That pricks the skin I cannot keep Beneath the covers, lying still. With weariness, I fight the day, The first act: pull the fabric high, To hide, to make the light away, And plunge into a private sky.
No. It can’t possibly be now, Time is a thief that steals the night, I want to vanish, somehow, From all the expectations of the light. Just lie here, a statue, breathing low, Letting my mind drift, free and wide, Back to the quiet dreams I know, A ghost the sheets completely hide.
This is my refuge, warm and deep, A sanctuary I’ll not leave, While outside, light and noises sleep. I am a vessel that will receive A torrent of chaotic thought, The doubt, the list, the sudden spark, In this brief silence, dearly bought, Before the world steps from the dark.
But then, the quiet starts to fade, A deep, weary settling down: Alas, the rising must be made. Each day, a loop, a weary crown. I run a race that has no end, Against the clock, against demands, A weight that bends, and still must bend. I shove the covers with both hands.
The only prize, the only true Reprieve, is time, unscheduled, pure: To take a day, a week or two, With only my children, to be sure. No emails, bosses, or cruel stress, Just me and my kids, simple, slow, Wrapped in the light of quietness. That is the only finish line I know.
The tapestry of life has threads of gloom, Where toxic darkness drains the spirit’s bloom. Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly, Environments that stifle, habits that deny Our health, or institutions built on lies— The silent poisons that before us rise.
As harmful are the ties that bring us pain, Some people in life who are toxic, they remain Emotional vampires, constant critics cold, Passive aggressors, stories to be told Of manipulation, thriving on the storm, Suffocating potential, leaving us worn.
Beyond the things and people we may face, Some activities are toxic in this space. The compulsions offering distraction’s grace, But long-term regret we cannot erase: The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll, The cycles that entrap and take their toll.
So why do we still use these things we know? Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow? And why do we still talk to these people too? Is it guilt, obligation, hope that’s often through? Why on the altar of connection’s name, Do we sacrifice our peace to feed their flame?
If the outcome’s negative, why do we stay? Why do we still do these activities every day? The self-sabotage, the deeply set-in need, Why do we torment ourselves by doing the same things repeatedly indeed? A closed, agonizing loop of self-inflicted harm, Where inertia holds us in its harmful arm.
But the moment of reckoning demands its due, A crystallizing truth, unflinching, strong, and new: Enough! I am done! a line across the sand, The absolute refusal, a sovereign command. To the source of the poison, the message is clear, Take your toxicity and your self-righteous attitude and leave me here.
Leave me be, so I can move on and find my peace, Grant me the space for wounds to heal and cease. Leave me be and stop pretending you ever cared, The charade of concern, its hollow core laid bare. Leave me be and let me live my life as it should be, Unburdened by your shadow, finally free.
My future is my own, not for your design, Leave me be and stop pretending that you ever cared is the final sign. Severing the chains of a love that was a lie, Walking into freedom beneath a clear, blue sky.
The words, sharp and unwarranted, slice through the fragile shell I built. Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense, carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces.
My carefully constructed dreams, ambitious plans, vital goals— all crumble before this onslaught, a lifetime of building reduced to dust. My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor.
Why do these ephemeral sounds, mere vibrations in the air, hurt so? Why grant them such devastating power, to tear the fabric of our being, to leave us utterly immobilized?
With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise. Muscles protest, heavy with despair. I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces from the unforgiving floor, cradling the remnants, a silent cry.
I try, with feverish intensity, to mend— reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples. But none of them hold. The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental. A heart shattered by words cannot be fixed by physical objects
Again, the haunting question returns: Why do I give words this power? Why allow such deep, lingering pain?
Yet, the act of kneeling has shifted something. I stand up, not whole, but resilient. I place my broken, but still beating, heart back into my chest, and with a final act of defiance, I dust myself off.
The reality remains: Words possess the power to tear us down, to reduce us to rubble, weapons that wound the soul.
But words are not solely destruction. They possess the capacity to restore. A single, well-placed phrase— of kindness, encouragement, or understanding— can be the foundation upon which we rebuild.
Love, in its purest expression, is the ultimate healing force, articulated through sincere, positive words, what ultimately saves us all.
Words can tear you down. Words can also lift you up.
Choose your words with the highest intention. Strive always to lift a spirit, to reinforce worth, to acknowledge a presence.
Never fail to be kind. Kindness is the shield against the world’s harsh words, the balm for its inflicted injuries.
Remember this immutable truth: Words are a powerful, double-edged sword. They can drag someone into the deepest pit of despair, or elevate them to heights of strength and hope.
Use this profound tool with meticulous care. Wield your words to heal, to encourage, and to restore.
They claim the name of “friend,” a title bright, Yet stand as distant as the stars’ cold light. Their voices, once a vibrant, clear refrain, Now reach the ear as faint, distorted pain, Lost, perhaps, in some far, forgotten bar. They speak of history, of shared delight, A woven tapestry of days gone by, But in this stark and unforgiving now, Only their deep, loud silence makes a vow— A painful echo, truer than their word.
A Hollow Bond
What lingers is a hollow, empty shell, A bond without true grace or truth to tell. A fleeting shadow, swift to disappear, Leaving no trace upon the heart held dear. How dare they wear that loyal title still, When constant absence proves against their will A bond untrue, a pretense built on air? Friendship’s true essence is betrayed by care And presence that they utterly withhold, A story of detachment, stark and cold.
Unkept Promises and Letting Go This fragile friendship rose on broken ground, Of promises unkept, no solace found.
Aspirations whispered, never meant to bloom, Commitments scattered to an early tomb. A frail construction, easily swept wide By life’s small currents, or convenient tide. The time has come for separation’s plea, A painful truth that sets the spirit free. So cherish those whose actions speak of grace, Whose faithful presence keeps its steady pace. And with resolve, and self-respect’s strong hand, Let go of those who fail to understand The burden shared, the joy, the vital art,
The Three Lenses: The Influence of Literacy Coaches and Observations
When Literacy Coaches observe teachers, most of the time they use set rubrics to determine what the teacher needs to work on and what they are doing well. “Our analysis of the coaches’ discussion about their ratings on the rubrics led us to identify three lenses- or ways of looking- that influences their observations: the pedagogy lens, the responsiveness lens, and the relevancy lens,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). What do these lenses mean and how do they affect our teaching and our ability to coach?
Each time the Literacy Coach watches a lesson and observes how a teacher teaches; they think about how they would have taught that lesson. “Adrian conceptualized a mechanism called a pedagogical lens to help understand how the same teaching might be viewed and interpreted differently by different people (A. Rogers, 2002),” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). In other words, an English teacher may observe a teacher teaching a lesson on Shakespeare. The observer might have already taught a lesson like this and comes to the observation with their own ideas on how this subject should be taught.
The observer is analyzing the lesson by seeing how they would have taught it.
Another lens observers use is called the Responsiveness Lens. “When the coaches in our study discussed rationales for their ratings, they often referred to what we call the responsiveness of teaching as a factor in their analysis,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). This means how well the teacher is responding to students. If the subject is too difficult, can the teacher adjust her lesson while teaching to help those students?
One coach summed up the responsiveness lens nicely, ‘What you’re really looking for is, is she meeting the needs of those kids?” Sometimes the teacher must adjust the lesson to help students. What are the students getting from this lesson? Is the teacher matching what she is reaching to how her students are responding?
When I started teaching Social Studies, I didn’t realize that some of the terms in the book that were known to most students, were not known to my particular group of students. I had to stop the lesson and go over some vocabulary that I thought was common knowledge.
Finally, the last lens is called the relevancy lens. Are the students learning from what is being taught? “Their reflections on their retains also dealt with whether they thought students could profit form the teaching; this could only happen if what the teacher was teaching matched what students could use to learn,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). The observer questions when teachers are teaching something that is “not meaningful or useful for students, and notes missed opportunities for learning,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007).
Literacy specialist must collaborate with others in their schools. “To be successful, literacy specialist must be able to work collaboratively and cooperatively with teachers, administrators, families and community agencies,” Bean and Goatley (2021). For example, just as I assumed when I started teaching Social Studies that my students should have already known certain vocabulary, Literacy Specialists come equipped with experiences from previous jobs and life experiences. They must also understand the different lens that they observe with and understand how to use those lenses to help teachers and others to becomes the best they can be.
References
Bean, R. M., Goatley, V.J. (2021). The Literacy Specialist. Leadership and coaching for the classroom, school, and community. 4th ed (374 pgs) Guildford Press.
Rodgers, A., & Rodgers, E. M. (2007). The Effective Literacy Coach: Using Inquiry to Support Teaching and Learning. Teachers College, Columbia University.
