Still Here

Still Here is a reflective narrative poem about a little girl who could always find room for things that had been left behind.

Told through the image of worn stuffed animals, crooked ears, thinning fur, loose seams, and a space made beside them year after year, this piece is about the things we love without question—and the years we spend forgetting to offer ourselves that same kindness.

It is for the ones who worried the worn places made them harder to keep.

For the ones who learned to hide their scars while offering grace to everyone else.

For the ones who spent years believing they needed to become someone different before they deserved a place to stay.

Created from my home to yours, this poem is a place to sit beside the child who never walked past something lonely without making room for it.

The child who never asked what happened.

Never asked where it had been.

Never asked whether it deserved to belong.

Because sometimes healing is not learning how to love yourself.

Sometimes it is remembering that you already knew how.

You just forgot that the same tenderness you gave to every wounded, worn, and forgotten thing was meant for you, too.

Because the things we love most were never asked to earn their place.

And neither were we.