Breathe Between the Breaks

Breathe Between the Breaks"Poems for When Life Splits Open


I.

Breathe Between the Breaks
When the days blur like watercolor dreams left out in the rain
And all the clocks tick but none of them tell truth—
Pause.
Not to collapse,
But to catch
What’s left of yourself in the stillness.
Breathe.
Between the break-up and the breakthrough,
Between the slam of a door and the softness of memory,
There is a gasp.
And that gasp—
That in-between,
That half-sob, half-laugh sound
Is where you are reborn.



II.

Split Open

Life doesn’t always ask permission before it breaks you.
It doesn’t say,
“Hey, you good?”
Before it smashes your plans like fine china against the wall.
It just
Tears through.
Like truth through silence,
Like light through blinds,
Like grief through smiles at a funeral.

Sometimes life splits you open
Not to destroy you—
But to expose the roots.
To show what’s been buried:
The lost songs,
The stolen dreams,
The voice you tucked under politeness
And left there for years.

The split is an invitation—
To return
To the ache
You never admitted.
To the strength
You never claimed.



III.

The Breath Between

It’s not in the loud moments that you find yourself.
Not always.
Sometimes it’s in the in-between.
In the breath between
The job loss
And the first “you got this.”
In the moment between
Being left
And learning to stay
With yourself.

You breathe between the breaks
Like a gospel singer holds a note—
With purpose.
With pain.
With praise
That you’re still here,
Still humming
Even if the song has changed.



IV.

Beneath the Rubble

There’s beauty in the broken.
But don’t let Instagram lie to you—
It’s not always aesthetic.
Sometimes it's red-eyed at 2AM,
Staring at a ceiling that won’t answer back.
Sometimes it’s empty plates,
And rent unpaid,
And prayers that feel like echoes.

But beneath the rubble
Is a heartbeat.
Yours.
Still wild.
Still writing stories in blood and hope
That tomorrow might taste better.



V.

When It All Goes Quiet

Sometimes life splits open
Not with thunder
But with a whisper.
No fire, no fanfare—just absence.
The silence after a door closes,
The emptiness after a “forever” turns into
“Maybe next life.”

You wait for the scream.
But what comes
Is stillness.
And that stillness
Holds you
Like arms that forgot how to let go.



VI.

The Pulse of the Unseen

Let me tell you something—
Not everything that breaks is broken.
Some things break to breathe.
To shift.
To make room for the real.

The pulse you feel
Underneath the ache?
That’s your soul,
Still dancing.
Even if no one’s watching.

The bruise becomes the blessing
When you realize you survived it.
That you’re still standing,
Not despite the break,
But because of it.



VII.

Speak the Shatter

Name the pain.
Call it out.
Don’t swallow it like pride—
Let it pour.
Rage if you must.
Weep if you can.
Whisper if that’s all you’ve got.

Your voice
Is the first thread
In stitching yourself back together.
Speak the shatter.
Say: I cracked.
Say: I collapsed.
Say: I came undone.

And then say:
But I kept breathing.
I kept believing.
I found rhythm in the ruins.



VIII.

The Mirror Lied

The mirror told me I was empty.
Said the cracks made me weak.
That no one loves
A cup that leaks.
But the mirror doesn’t know
That I’ve held oceans.

That I have poured
Myself into others
And still had songs left to sing.
That even shattered,
I reflect light.

The mirror forgot
That survival looks messy.
That glory wears scars
Like medals.



IX.

Instructions for the Days You Can’t Move

1. Breathe. That’s the only rule.


2. If breathing feels like drowning, let the tears join the tide.


3. Remember: rock bottom is still a foundation.


4. Don’t demand joy, just demand truth.


5. If all you do today is blink and exist, that is holy too.



X.

Rise, Gently

You don’t have to rise like fire.
You can rise like the tide—
Slow. Steady.
Unstoppable.

You can rise
With cracked hands
And swollen feet.
You can rise
In whispers,
In songs no one hears yet.
You can rise
Gently.
Without apology.
Without perfection.
Just presence.



XI.

Testimony of the Torn

This poem is not a eulogy.
It’s a resurrection.

I’ve been dropped,
Ditched,
Dismissed—
But never destroyed.

Call me phoenix.
Call me stubborn flame.
Call me prayer still waiting
To be answered.

I am the story
Life thought it ended—
But the next chapter
Was just written in breath
And grit
And grace.



XII.

Breathe Between the Breaks (Refrain)

So when the silence comes—
Welcome it.
When the tears return—
Taste them.
When the world forgets your name—
Speak it louder.

You are not the break.
You are not the damage.
You are the breath
That keeps rising
Between it all.

So breathe, beloved.
Breathe between the breaks.
That’s where
The healing begins.
That’s where
The poems live.
That’s where
You find
You.