Sitting inside a booth with music low,
Tea, cookies, and some lemonade in place.
I try to keep my thoughts from letting go,
And search for comfort in this quiet space.
The cookie’s soft, with raisins rich and deep,
It stirs a memory I can't reshape.
The tea smells pure—Haitian, rich and steep—
But even then, I could not find escape.
Outside, the world goes on without a sound,
While I sit still, both heavy and unseen.
The past keeps tugging, pulling from the ground,
A girl who once was lost, now caught between.
Yet through the pain, I hold my truth upright—
Somehow, I’m here. Somehow, I chose to write.
Yes to Creativity
MD Cashdollar 