The Wounded Soul A touch, a word, a fleeting glance, A whispered hope, a second chance. The way we treat the ones in pain Can mend the soul or leave a stain. A child who cries in silent fear, A wound ignored, unseen, yet near. A gentle hand, a kind embrace, Can turn the darkness into grace. The doctor bends, the healer sighs, A patient pleads with weary eyes. A single dose, a bandage tight, Yet kindness proves the true respite. For scars are more than flesh and bone, Some linger deep, some stand alone. And how we treat the broken hearts Determines if the healing starts. A sentence laced with bitter steel, Can cut as deep as blades that kill. A careless jest, a sharp critique, Can shake the strong and wound the weak. Yet words, when placed with love and care, Can lift despair from weighted air. A compliment, a simple cheer, Can wipe away the silent tear. How do we treat the ones we meet? With words like daggers, cold and fleet? Or do we gift them warmth and light, And guide them gently through the night? The way we treat the weak and small, Defines the height from which we fall. The beggar left without a name, The outcast bathed in silent shame. A world that turns from pleading eyes, Will find itself where mercy dies. Yet justice, when it stands alone, Is nothing but a heart of stone. To treat with fairness is to blend The hand of law with love’s amend. For punishment with no reprieve Leaves hollow hearts that can’t believe. A second chance, a moment spared, Might show the world someone still cares. And in that light, in fate’s own hand, A shattered soul may learn to stand. But what of how we treat our skin, Our weary bones, the soul within? Do we demand, yet never rest, And wear our burdens like a vest? The mirror shows a tale unkind, Reflections shaped by judging mind. We speak to self with cruel disdain, And drown in doubt, embrace the pain. Yet self-treatment, a patient art, Begins when kindness meets the heart. To nourish soul, to breathe, to mend,

That’s true, while I thought of sharing my experience of writing poetry for the last 7.5+ years, this was the first thought which came to my mind. Poetry: it’s raw, it’s emotion and experience, and it’s free flowing. Most of us have different perceptions about poetry, poems, verse, and more but I just felt like sharing my heart on why you should really try your hand at poetry.

The Art of Poetry: Writing What Bleeds This course is for writers who are done hiding. We strip poetry down to its bones, voice, image, rhythm, and truth. You’ll learn how to write with honesty instead of polish, how to turn lived experience into language that cuts and heals, and how to revise without losing the soul of your work. This isn’t about rules or academic praise. It’s about courage, clarity, and writing poems that mean something. Come ready to be real. Leave with work that breathes .