Soni's Spark Shack

By Soni’s Spark Shack

June 17, 2025

Me—still here…

Moments in time sway with the wind— up and down, shifting with where you are, who you’re with, and the storms—or sunshine—around you.

Pain comes. So do rainbows of hope.

After you read this, I want you to close your eyes. Sit still. Imagine yourself on a quiet hill, right in the middle of a storm. Lightning cracks across the sky, Thunder shakes the earth—but you are safe. And if you just keep watching, you’ll notice something beautiful… The calm sneaks in.

The poem you’re about to read was written almost 20 years ago.It came from deep pain—but there is hope. Not only is there calm before the storm… there is calm after it, too.

Pain
By Soni – 10/24/2005

Pain isn’t loud—it’s a slow burn.
A hateful whisper
Gnawing at the edges of my sanity,
Eating away every last moral
I used to stand on.

I want to break free—
God, I want to breathe again—
But this resentment…
It’s heavy.
It clings like smoke in my lungs,
Like a scream buried so deep
It never finds air.

I don’t want to keep going.
What’s ahead feels like a trap,
A cruel joke from the universe.
Hope mocks me
With promises it never intends to keep.

These broken walls around me?
They aren’t just ruins—
They’re tombstones.
They hold my fate, twisted and dying,
While my heart fades into silence.

I chase comfort in dangerous places.
I let poison wear a gentle face—
Let it whisper lies
That tangle up my reasoning
Until I forget what’s real.

My thoughts burn.
My mind is on fire with hunger—
For peace, for escape,
For something that doesn’t hurt.

So I feed myself the lie:
“I don’t care.”
Over and over,
Until I’m choking on it.
Until my tears turn toxic,
Running hot,
Like acid down my skin.

Words meant to wound
Land sharp and deliberate—
Each syllable a pin driven deep.
Even silence screams now.
Even kindness feels suspicious.

What gives?
Why is this world so cruel?
Why do people break what they don’t understand?
Why does pain move faster than healing?

We carry wounds
That no one can see.
We build walls—
Not to keep the world out,
But to keep what’s left of ourselves in.

But in locking out the danger,
We lose the love, too.
And that—
That might be the cruelest part of all.

Dear Me. By Soni– June 16, 2025

From the future you who finally breathes again

You were in so much pain when you wrote that.
I feel it even now.
Every line, every tear that smeared the ink,
I see you.
I remember the ache that lived in your bones.
The way you questioned everything.
The way the world seemed to press down harder each time you stood up.

You didn’t know if you’d survive.
But you did.

Not because it got easier—
But because you never stopped fighting.
Even when you said “I don’t care,”
You did.
You cared so much, it hurt.
You built walls not because you hated love,
But because you were terrified it would leave again.

You didn’t trust the world—
And how could you?
It had betrayed you in so many ways.
But even in that pain,
Even in those sleepless nights,
Even in the numbness that felt like safety,
You kept going.
You never stopped writing.

You should know something:
You are not lost.
Not anymore.

I still carry the fire you wrote about—
But now it doesn’t burn me alive.
Now it fuels me.
I use it to light up dark places,
To tell others they’re not alone.

I’m healing.
We’re healing.
Therapy is helping.
So is love. So is letting go.
So are the kitties purring on my chest when I can’t sleep,
And Cassi making me laugh on the worst days.

You made it possible for me to be here.
You screamed into the void
So I could one day speak into the light.

Thank you for writing that poem.
Thank you for surviving it.

Love,
Me. Now. Still standing. Still healing. Still here.