Counting the Walls: A Poem on Moving On and Gratitude

Two boxes left to tape, and a heart full of gratitude for the shelter that helped me bloom. 📦✨ Read the full poem on the blog!

 The Final Boxes

I count the walls that held my quiet grace,

The shelter where I bloomed and learned my name.

There is no lingering regret inside this space,

Just gratitude for how far I have came.

Two boxes left to tape upon the floor,

A life neatly folded, patient and still,

Waiting to step beyond this open door,

To trace the horizon past the green hill.

I leave a blessing on the timber frame,

And hand the key back to the silent land—

For every room I enter, non-the-same,

I carry my own rhythm in my hand.