Hi fellow writers, I hope you’re all doing well. I’d love to connect,.what stage are you currently at in your writing journey (drafting, editing, or published)? Feel free to share your experience.

I’m 43, and not too long ago I was working a restaurant job earning about $500 a month. It paid the bills, but I knew I wanted more. Everything changed when my sister introduced me to Shopify dropshipping. With her guidance, I stayed consistent, learned the process, and built my own store from scratch. Today, it’s generating around $30k a month. But beyond the income, what drives me most is legacy. One of my biggest fears is leaving this world without setting my children and grandchildren up for stability. That’s why I’m committed to teaching them how to build their own stores and create opportunities for themselves. For me, it’s not just about making money it’s about building something that lasts.

My chest is caving in again, I swear I feel it crack, Heartbeat’s racing like a car crash I can’t take back. Every breath’s a warning sign, red lights in my brain, I tell myself I’m fine but it’s just another chain. Mirror says “you’re worthless”, and I almost believe, Tried to patch my heart with tape, it just won’t ever leave. I can’t breathe in my own skin, Feels like I’m drowning deep within. I fake a smile, say “I’m okay,” But I’m breaking more each day. I’m a failure in disguise, Screaming out behind my eyes, No one hears the war within, Can’t breathe in my own skin. My head’s a hurricane, spinning guilt and fear, All the voices in my skull are the only ones I hear. I used to have a spark, now it’s ashes in my throat, Every dream I ever had, I built it just to watch it float. My friends say “it’ll pass,” but they don’t understand, This storm inside my chest don’t listen to commands. It’s the panic at 3 a.m., When your body’s not your friend, And your heartbeat sounds like gunfire You can’t defend. And depression’s just a ghost That wears my face, It whispers, “you’re a waste,” And I can’t escape. Tear me open, see I bleed static, My head’s a riot, it’s automatic. Try to fight but my lungs give in, Drowning in the dark again. I can’t breathe in my own skin, Feels like I’m fading from within. I fake a laugh, I play the part, But I’m collapsing in the dark. I’m a failure in disguise, Still I’m trying to survive, No one hears the war within, But I’ll learn to breathe again.

I'm new at Haiku. I usually write rhyme , rhythm poetry, but I've been trying other poetry styles.

How do we continue in the confusion of racism? Why is it not laid out plainly—on the table, in the open—with the proverbial curtain pulled back on its flawed foundation? It is blatant. Obvious. As simple as 1+1=2.And yet somehow, it is treated as if it is not. The idea that one human is superior to another simply because of how they were born is not strength—it is a glaring display of weakness. How has this persisted, so strongly, for so long? Why is there not a collective spotlight shining on the simple truth: What kind of person stands on pillars that have nothing to do with who they are or what they’ve done? How long will we, as a society, entertain this fabrication of power? Here is the irony—the coup de grâce: Those who cling to racial superiority often possess real, earned strengths. They may be brilliant strategists, devoted parents, loyal friends, exceptional athletes—capable, accomplished individuals. And yet, instead of standing on what they have built, they reach for what they were handed at birth. True accomplishment—earned skill, cultivated character—naturally creates pride inspires others. It elevates communities. It builds something real. In contrast, superiority based on race, sex, or inherited status produces only division—an atmosphere thick with defensiveness, hostility, and emptiness. To validate these ideologies—to give weight to racism, sexism, or inherited elitism—is as absurd as the beliefs themselves. They are not just flawed; they are fundamentally disconnected from truth. We have, in many ways, been conditioned into accepting a false reality—one reinforced over generations. History has shown us where such distortions can lead, when unchecked and normalized. The consequences are not abstract. They are visible in the fractures of our societies, in the conflicts we face, in the systems that fail because they are built on faulty premises. A world that insists 2+2=9 does not function. A civilization built on false equations cannot solve its own problems.