Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

I deserve better -- a small verdict I learned to say aloud,
like lighting a match in a room that taught me to whisper.

I have swallowed crumbs of affection until my hunger
became ordinary; I have made my voice polite, then thin.
No more. I am unlearning the grammar of keeping quiet
so someone else can be comfortable.

My tenderness is not rent money for a temporary bed.
My time is not a currency to be spent on excuses.
I refuse to catalog my worth by the frequency of your return.
I will not measure my days by how well I fit into your absence.

I deserve better -- not as punishment to you
but as a home I build for myself, brick by reclaimed breath.
I will plant mornings where my name blooms first,
where promises are not fossils but living trees.

If love is a map, I will redraw the borders.
If patience is a seed, I will choose where it is sown.
I will set my feet where my heart is not apologizing,
where my laugh is full, where my wounds are tended.

I deserve better -- this is not anger, it is stewardship.
It is the quiet revolution of learning to keep my own light,
to walk out of rooms that dim me and into days that match me.
I deserve better -- and finally, I will answer to that.

Say it once like folding an old letter--
the edges soften, the ink blurs,
a confession turned into paper boats
set out on a late-summer river.
Nevermind, and the current takes it,
not cruel, not kind, simply moving.

Say it soft as moth wings against a lamp,
a small apology for wants that burned too bright.
Nevermind becomes a lullaby for the stubborn heart,
a quiet room where arguments unpeel
and sunlight finds the dust in forgiving ways.

There is a strange mercy in the word:
not erasing, but shelving--putting the ache
on a high shelf where we can see it, not live in it.
Nevermind teaches hands to unclench,
teaches mouths to close around the sharp things.

Sometimes it is a door left ajar,
sometimes an ocean swallowing a name.
It is not surrender to the night--more like
learning the map of your own soft places,
tracing the seams where sorrow and relief meet.

Say it when you must: to a fault, to a friend, to the mirror.
Let it be small and human, a bell rung for passage.
Nevermind--three syllables that carry a cross and a key,
a weathered hush that somehow clears the room,
and leaves you ready, at last, for morning.

We live to see the day -- not as a promise
but as a small, stubborn miracle.
Night folds its palms and hides its eyes,
but we keep watch: breath against cold glass,
fingers tracing the map of where we were.

We live to see the day when the sky
learns to be generous again,
spilling light like an apology
across roofs, across the rumor of streets.
There is a language in the way dust trembles
as if remembering how to be gold.

We live to see the day for quiet things:
a cup warming a palm, a child's laugh
peeling like sun through the laundry,
an old song hummed into a doctor's waiting room.
We live to see the day for heavy things too--
for names spoken without the clatter of tears,
for graves that become gardens under our hands.

We live to see the day because someone
laid down their fear like a bridge,
because someone else dug their knees in and would not move.
Because the past keeps sending signals: ashes that still warm,
letters folded in pockets, the weight of lessons learned.
We carry them forward, not as anchors but as fuel.

We live to see the day to fill it: with repair,
with stubborn kindness, with stubborn laughter.
We live to see the day and learn again to trust
the small mercy of morning: that light arrives
even when we have nothing left to bargain with.
We rise anyway, shoulder to shoulder with dawn,
bearing the quiet stubbornness of survivors.

We live to see the day -- and when it comes,
we do not hoard it. We open every window,
let it move through us like wind, let it wake the seeds.
We lay our palms on the world and say, here.
We are here to meet you. We are here to keep you.
We are here to make of this bright terrible gift
a life that remembers why it wanted light.

There is a humility in the size of things:
a cup cradled in two hands, steam
that remembers the shape of your palms.
Think small, and the world fits --
a porch light, a book opened at midnight,
the slow exactness of a single, ordinary day.

To think small is to learn the grain
of wood, the contour of your own patience.
It is noticing the way rain scolds the windows
and then forgives them. It is keeping a map
of the streets that lead to your mother's kitchen,
memorizing the sound of laughter in one room.

But small thinking can be a fence, too --
a line that narrows horizons into neat, safe boxes.
It trims the wild edges until only the comfortable remains,
tethers wonder to routine and calls it wisdom.
When fear lives in small thinking, it shrinks the moon,
makes risk an expensive superstition.

Still, there is courage in choosing small:
to plant one tomato and watch it learn sunlight,
to hold one hand through one long conversation,
to refuse the constant roar that promises more.
Living small can be a radical act of focus,
an economy of love, a devotion to depth over display.

So let your smallness be generous:
pamper detail with attention, let tenderness grow,
allow the tiny things to teach you scale.
Keep room for sudden expansion -- a kindness that widens,
a door left open to the sky. Think small to sharpen sight,
live small to feel everything close and true.

They call it talent when lightning strikes once,
but skill is the slow keeping of fire--
a patient bellows under the ribs,
a hand learning the hymn of its own work.

It is the hour repeated until muscle remembers
what thought forgets under the weight of fear.
The edge that shaves away the useless,
the small gestures that tilt fate's heavy wheel,
the quiet sharpening of a single motion
until it sings true in the dark.

Skill is not thunder; it is a seam
stitched through days of stumbling and return--
scars mapped like constellations across the palm.
It converts doubt into a steady currency,
turns clumsy hopes into instruments of light.

See the maker bend to wood, to code, to clay:
each breath a syllable of apprenticeship,
each mistake a tutor who refuses to leave.
Power blooms where repetition meets attention,
where the ordinary becomes miraculous by care.

And when the world needs to be remade,
it asks not for raw force but for hands that know
how to coax a stubborn thing awake.
This is the power of skill--silent, relentless,
the small, fierce music that reshapes the world.

In the face of daunting trials, we stand tall,
Like mighty oak trees, weathering the squall.
Life's challenges, they come in many forms,
Testing our strength, resilience it transforms.

When the storms of despair threaten to consume,
We find the light, dispelling darkness' gloom.
For within us dwells a flame, burning bright,
A spirit unyielding, ready to take flight.

Like a phoenix, we rise from ashes anew,
Unyielding, unbroken, in all that we pursue.
Each obstacle is but a chance to grow,
A stepping stone, teaching lessons we must know.

As mountains tower, we conquer our fears,
Guided by hope and determination, our dearest spears.
We gather strength from within and from each other,
For united, we triumph, sisters and brothers.

In every setback, a lesson is revealed,
Opportunity hides in wounds yet unhealed.
Through tears shed, we find the strength to mend,
To piece together shattered dreams, our hearts to tend.

With every step forward, we leave the past behind,
Embracing the present, a path to joy we find.
For life's challenges shape us into who we are,
Transforming us into warriors, shining like a star.

So let us face each hurdle with unwavering grace,
Knowing that together, we conquer the vast space,
Overcoming life's challenges, we shall prevail,
For within us lies a fire, that will never fail.

In this digital age, where screens consume our days,
A poetry I write, to rediscover life's vibrant ways.
For in this sea of technology, we often wander astray,
But fear not, dear souls, for a digital detox will lead the way.
Turn off the phones, unplug the wires,
Let nature's symphony ignite your inner fires.
Detach from the screens, reclaim your time,
Rediscover the beauty of a world so sublime.
Find solace in silence, embrace the reprieve,
Unburden your mind, let your soul receive.
Leave behind the notifications, the constant noise,
Embrace the grace of stillness and find your voice.
To reset the relationship with tech, seek balance and connect,
Engage in conversations, meaningful and direct.
Immerse yourself in passions that make your heart race,
Release the shackles of screens, let creativity embrace.
Discover the wonders of the analog world,
Be captivated by stories, unfold and unfurl.
Rekindle human connection, bask in togetherness,
For it is in these cherished moments, true joy we possess.
Engage your senses, let your imagination soar,
Reignite the flame of wonder you may have ignored.
Feel the warmth of sunsets, breathe in the scent of earth,
Let nature's healing touch guide your rebirth.
Reflect on moments far from screens' allure,
Seek mindfulness, find solace in the pure.
In solitude and reflection, your spirit shall mend,
Rediscovering yourself, your essence, my dear friend.
So, let us detach from the chains we have worn,
Reset our relationship with tech, let it be reborn.
Embrace the digital detox, let your soul be restored,
Find harmony amidst the chaos, life's blessings fully explored.

In the quiet depths of night, I ponder why,
Why the stars twinkle in the vast sky,
Why the ocean waves kiss the shore,
Why the wind whispers forevermore.
I wonder why the seasons change,
Why love can heal and also estrange,
Why time slips through our grasp,
Why we hold onto memories that last.
I wonder why dreams take flight,
Why some battles we must fight,
Why laughter can chase away the tears,
Why music can calm our deepest fears.
I wonder why we search for meaning,
Why we find solace in our dreaming,
Why the answers elude our grasp,
Why we must journey through this fast.
In the mystery of the unknown,
In the seeds of truth we've sown,
In the wonder that fills our soul,
I find a beauty that makes me whole.