Meet Me in My Words:
Why I Write to You Every Morning
Every morning, I write something new — sometimes soft, sometimes sharp, always true. The poems arrive before the world wakes: small attempts at making sense of being human, stitched together with metaphors and caffeine.
When you subscribe, that day’s poem finds you first — landing in your inbox every single morning at 7:11AM. No scrolling, no noise, no algorithms. Just words waiting quietly for you, reminding you to pause, to breathe, to feel.
Think of it as a shared ritual: one poem, one breath, one moment of belonging before the day begins.
And if you’d like to linger a while, you can meet me in my words below. 🌿
THE MASK SLIPS IN THE END
There is a particular kind of cruelty in those who spend their lives constructing masks—polished, practised, and paper-thin. They believe performance is protection, that lies repeated often enough will outlast the truth. But masks are fragile things. They crack under the weight of time, under the strain of reality, under the unrelenting patience of those who refuse to be erased. This poem is a reminder: the mask always slips.💚
Stewardship
Motherhood, at its truest, is not about ownership but about care—the quiet, faithful work of tending to what is precious, nurturing what is wild, and protecting what is meant to flourish. This poem is a reflection on that kind of love: stewardship as devotion, guidance, and awe in the face of becoming.💚
If You’d Left Me Out of It
Sometimes, silence is mistaken for surrender. If You’d Left Me Out of It was written in the aftermath of being drawn into conflict I neither caused nor sought. It’s about the moment you realise that the people you once trusted have rewritten the truth in ways that force you to find your own voice again. It isn’t about revenge or retaliation—it’s about clarity. About the way pain can turn to precision, and how standing in your truth, even quietly, can be the loudest thing you ever do.💚
When You Tell a Man NO
When You Tell a Man No is a reckoning with the fragile architecture of male pretence. It captures the precise moment when resistance strips away performance, revealing the hollow core beneath. This poem speaks to the bitter disappointment of discovering that affection was conditional, that tenderness was only ever costume—and yet, it also honours the clarity that emerges in refusal. To say no is not only to protect yourself, but to illuminate who was never worthy of your yes.💚
Her Silence Is Not My Shame
So many women have been taught to keep quiet—not out of peace, but out of fear, duty, or survival. And when they do, we are too often expected to keep quiet with them. Her Silence Is Not My Shame is a refusal. A reckoning. A reclamation of voice from the long lineage of silence that has protected harm and hidden pain. This poem is for every daughter who has been asked to uphold the myth of composure, for every survivor who was told to keep the family secrets sealed. It’s a declaration that silence may have been their legacy—but it will not be ours.💚
I Refuse To Thank Him For Resilience
So often, we’re told that trauma makes us stronger. That we should be thankful for the wounds because they gave us resilience. But I Will Not Thank Him for Resilience is a rejection of that lie. This poem is not about rising—it's about crawling, flinching, checking the locks twice, and living in the quiet, daily aftermath of what someone else chose to do. It's about naming the cost, without dressing it up as a gift. Because survival isn’t owed to the person who caused the damage. Survival belongs to the one who refused to disappear. This is for her. This is for all of us.💚
Always Rallying
There are moments when the weight of everything threatens to undo me, when the ground feels unsteady and the air feels thin. And yet, no matter how many times I’m pushed down or pulled apart, something inside me insists on rising. This poem is a reminder to myself—that even in the hardest seasons, I have always rallied, and I will continue to do so.💚
The Fog
Alzheimer’s is not just an illness—it is a fog that steals piece by piece, memory by memory, until the person you love seems unreachable, though you can still feel them there. This poem is for anyone who has sat in that ache, who has held a hand they could not lead back to clarity, who has listened for a voice fading into silence and still refused to let go. The Fog is my attempt to put into words the heartbreak, the helplessness, and the stubborn, enduring love that remains even as everything else slips away.💚
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (but You Can’t Make It Heal)
Some poems aren’t written from hope. They’re written from the wreckage that comes after it. You Can Lead a Horse to Water (but You Can’t Make It Heal) is for anyone who’s ever watched someone they love disappear into addiction, self-destruction, or madness—who’s poured themselves out trying to save them, only to realize that love alone cannot rescue someone who doesn’t want to be saved. This is not a redemption story. It is not a lesson. It is the unbearable, unspoken truth: sometimes the descent is louder than your voice. And all you can do is survive their leaving. 💚
All The Times We Bend
All the Time We Bend is a meditation on the quiet devastation of endurance. It reflects on the ways life presses against us—not with sudden breaks, but with the slow, relentless weight that forces us to curve away from who we once were. This poem mourns the cost of resilience, the truth that survival often comes with scars, and that strength, while noble, can carry a sorrow of its own. It is a lament for all the bending we do, and the haunting recognition that being unbroken is not the same as being whole.💚
The Strangled Heart
There are betrayals so profound they cannot be mended, wounds inflicted not upon the body but upon the very pulse of devotion itself. The Strangled Heart is a meditation on that kind of cruelty—the deliberate suffocation of love until what once flowed with abundance is reduced to silence. It is a poem for anyone who has known the unbearable weight of affection turned weapon, who has felt their most sacred bond constricted into nothingness, and who has walked away carrying not just grief, but the echo of love’s final, stolen breath.💚
The Last Page of a Childhood
Childhood doesn’t end with ceremony—it slips away quietly, almost imperceptibly, until one day you realize it’s gone. The laughter without consequence, the honesty without hesitation, the joy without measure—replaced by caution, responsibility, and memory. The Last Page of a Childhood is a lament for that inevitable loss, a mournful reflection on the beauty of what once was and the grief of knowing we can never turn back, only revisit the chapters in memory’s fragile light.💚
Murder Cabin In the Woods
Murder Cabin in the Woods reflects on the way appearances can deceive, and how even the most ominous settings can become sanctuaries when shared with love. What began as a joke about a sinister-looking cabin unfolded into a retreat of laughter, warmth, and renewal—a reminder that connection has the power to transform fear into comfort, and silence into peace. This poem celebrates the gift of rediscovery, of finding both yourself and your partner more deeply in the stillness of an unexpected haven.💚
What I Wouldn’t Give to Be That Waterfall
What I Wouldn’t Give to Be That Waterfall is a meditation on freedom, surrender, and trust in the journey. Inspired by the sight of a cascading Rocky Mountain waterfall, the poem transforms that vision into longing—the desire to fall with the same fearless abandon, to move with beauty and certainty toward whatever destination awaits. It is both a love letter to nature’s grandeur and a reflection on the courage it takes to let go, trusting that the descent will lead to somewhere vast and luminous.💚
Darkness Cannot Hold the Light Back
There are moments when the night feels endless—when cruelty, corruption, and malice disguise themselves as power and the world seems bound in shadow. Yet history, nature, and the quiet rhythm of our own hearts remind us of a truth far greater: darkness cannot hold the light back. This poem is a testament to that truth. It is a declaration that goodness endures, that compassion resists, and that righteousness rises, inevitable as the dawn.💚
When The NPC Speaks
There are voices that shape the world and voices that save it—and then there are voices that echo uselessly, repeating the same script while everything around them collapses. This poem is for the hollow ones, the placeholders who mistake existence for purpose, who watch their own towns burn while offering nothing but the emptiness of words that never mattered.💚
When My Mother Became the Sea
Alzheimer’s is not a single loss—it is a thousand small funerals before the last one comes. This poem, When My Mother Became the Sea, is my attempt to capture that slow heartbreak, to show through imagery and imagined moments the unbearable weight of losing a parent piece by piece. It is about the silence, the drowning, and the graves we carry inside us long before the world declares them gone.🖤
The Wonder of Grandparents
There is a joy unlike any other in watching children discover the magic of their grandparents—their laughter, their stories, their gentle conspiracies of love. The Wonder of Grandparents is a celebration of that bond: the way it softens time, adds sweetness to the ordinary, and fills a child’s world with wonder. It is both gratitude and delight, honouring the extraordinary gift of having grandparents woven into the fabric of a family.💚
The Good Fortune of Stewardship
There are forms of power that are not measured in crowns or titles, but in the quiet, steadfast act of care. The Good Fortune of Stewardship is a poem about the sacred privilege of tending to what matters most—the altar of love, of responsibility, of devotion. It is a celebration of service not as burden, but as the brightest gift imaginable, a radiance so near it feels like the sun itself leaning close to bless the earth.💚
The Vanishing
Alzheimer’s is a thief that does not break in all at once, but instead steals piece by piece—names, faces, whole chapters of a life once lived. The Vanishing is a poem I wrote while imagining what it might feel like for my mom inside her own fading world, reaching for memories that slip through her hands like ash. It is heavy with grief, laced with fear, and filled with the haunting imagery of what it means to lose yourself one memory at a time.💚
Poetry by Britt Wolfe
I publish a new poem every single morning. Or mourning. Depends on the emotional forecast. Some are tender. Some are rage in a nice outfit. All of them are my attempt to make sense of the human experience using metaphors, emotionally charged line breaks, and questionable coping mechanisms.
Let me be clear: these poems are fiction. Or feelings. Or both. Sometimes they’re exaggerated. Sometimes they’re the emotional equivalent of screaming into a throw pillow. Sometimes they’re just a vibe that got out of hand. They are not confessions. They are not journal entries. They are not cry-for-help-coded-messages. (I have actual coping strategies. And group chats.)
Poetry, for me, isn’t about answers. It’s about shouting into the abyss—but rhythmically. Some pieces will whisper, “Hey… you okay?” Others will show up uninvited, grab you by the collar, and scream, “SAME.” They’re moody, messy, and occasionally helpful—kind of like me.
You’ll find themes running through them like recurring nightmares or that one playlist you swear you’ve moved on from. Love. Grief. Identity. Joy. Ruin. It’s all here, jostling for attention like emotionally unstable toddlers on a sugar high.
Think of these poems as an ongoing conversation—one I started, overshared during, and have now awkwardly walked away from. Good luck with that.
There’s a line in Alice in Wonderland where the Mad Hatter tells Alice she’s lost her muchness. I think about that a lot—how the world teaches us to tone ourselves down until we disappear into something more digestible. The Graveyard of Muchness was born from that quiet grief, from the realisation that most of us have buried our own brilliance just to be seen as reasonable. It’s about walking through the cemetery of all we’ve abandoned—our wonder, our defiance, our wild, luminous selves—and daring to listen for the laughter still echoing beneath the soil.💚