July Poem Dump

 

I thought I would share some of my favorite poems I've written lately. Please, comment below which one you like best! I will post some of these on my Instagram.

How My Elementary School Teacher Inspired Me to Become a Writer

 

I've loved creating and telling stories since I was first able to write complete sentences. It didn’t occur to me I could choose to be an author until I was in third grade. This is my story of how my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Jill Welch, inspired and encouraged me to keep writing and to become an author.

Mrs. Welch is one of those teachers who is renowned for her kindness towards her students. She comes down to their level without talking down to them. I was lucky to have Mrs. Welch as my teacher for the 1992-1993 school year. I always look back fondly at her class—her sitting in her director’s chair, legs propped up on an empty desk, sharing stories about topics that mattered to us kids. Her stories typically covered topics relevant to our adolescent lives—from pop culture moments like the Tonya Harding attack on Nancy Kerrigan and the allegations against Michael Jackson, to deeper discussions on morals and values. I have fond memories of being very interested in her discussions about life, some of which still guide me today—like the fact that she’s one reason I never picked up smoking.

In Mrs. Welch’s class, we had a weekly list of spelling words to practice.

“I’m going to give you all a spelling test every Friday. But for now, your homework is to make up a short story with the words from your spelling list", Mrs. Welch announced.

While the class groaned, I was excited about this challenge.

Every Monday, she handed out our weekly list. I always made sure to complete the story on time. My stories were pure nonsense—funny and full of less-than-perfect grammar. But Mrs. Welch saw something in them—something no other teacher had ever mentioned to me or my parents.

“Sam, you are a talented writer. I can easily see you being an author someday,” Mrs. Welch wrote in the margins of one of my short stories. She returned the paper with a big red "A" at the top.

I wanted to be an artist when I was in third grade. But my drawing skills were not the greatest, unlike some of my classmates, who were much better artists than I was. But after that comment on my paper, I realized writing was my calling. It made more sense than becoming an artist.

Mrs. Welch continued to nurture me and my creativity in her class. She even had me submit a poem I wrote to our local newspaper, The Flint Journal’s Wide Awake Club, a section of the newspaper for elementary school students to submit writings and drawings based on a topic. The best submissions won prizes.

The newspaper published my poem—even though it didn’t win a prize, it still felt incredibly cool. My poem was about Easter. It wasn’t anything too special—just an abecedarian poem. That was the first poem I ever wrote. It was a pretty big deal to my parents and my grandma Annette when I got published in the newspaper.

“Look at my granddaughter, the writer!” my grandma Annette would proudly say to her friends, who came over,showing off the newspaper clipping she had proudly displayed in her china cabinet.

Mrs. Welch was extremely proud of me for submitting my poem to the Wide Awake Club. She had me read the poem out loud during Show and Tell Friday. I got to sit in her director’s chair, feeling important, and read my work to the class. I was so proud and felt so confident. The entire class applauded after I finished reading my poem. I turned bright red—I was shy and socially awkward back then.

I remember The Wide Awake Club would become something our school district took part in. I had only two pieces published during elementary school—once in third grade, and again in sixth grade, when I wrote about wanting to be famous and win a Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award.

Mrs. Welch even recommended that I attend a Young Author's conference that the school district was having with another local school district. I read a book I had written for Language Arts class.I connected with other budding young writers. They even had different writing activities for us, such as writing something in Chinese, and exploring the writing process as a professional writer. It was a fun Saturday before the end of the school year.

Eventually, third grade was over. It was time to move to fourth grade and attend a brand new school. I ran into Mrs. Welch when I was in sixth grade, when she was touring the school with incoming fourth graders in her third-grade classroom. 

“Mrs. Welch! It’s me, Samantha Tate!” I shrieked with happiness. 

“Hi babe! So good to see you!!” Mrs. Welch said warmly as she hugged me.

We then became friends on Facebook in my adult years. She still comments on my posts, saying things like, “Sam, you are so smart!” or complimenting my writing and telling me I’m still an amazing writer. Mrs. Welch was so excited when I published my first book. I think she even bought a copy—even though it was about tarot and she’s Catholic.

Mrs. Welch remains my greatest inspiration as a writer and my biggest childhood hero. Teachers like her deserve all the praise, all the recognition, and all the awards—for the way they nurture young minds and spark lifelong passions.  I thank God every day for having had a teacher who cared about me the way Mrs. Welch did. I haven’t felt as warmly about a teacher since. 

Poems I'm Afraid To Share + Why

 

The following are snippets, lines, and stanzas from works I've written but have never shared publicly. I'm unsure if they will ever be shared publicly. Let's just say I'm testing the waters for these pieces of writing with this blog. I will also share the backstory behind these piece of works and why I don't want to share them just yet.

Content warning: The following may deal with serious subject matters such as rape, suicide, and mental health. Viewers are advised to exit if any of these topics triggers or you are not in the mindset for heavy topics right now. I will NOT water down my content to appease everyone's triggers. Thank you.

The first poem I am sharing has the working title "A Prayer To God From a World In Crisis".  This one is controversial for it's atheist and agnostic themes. And also, I write later in the poem that God is not a Christian, Muslim, or Jew. And that God belongs to everybody. Some people's children may not be ready to admit that truth just yet.

Anyway, here's a snippet:

God, why do you not hear our prayers?

Are you even real?

Do you even care?

Because right now,

People are abandoning you.

Because you refuse to show up for them.

If you want us to believe in you again,

You need to help those who help themselves

And those who cannot help themselves

People had strong faith in you

But now

It's non-existent

It's frowned upon.

I may publish this one on Instagram at a later time, later date, once the environment tension cools down. Or it just may remain in my draft section, never to be read by anyone but me. This poem is pretty heavy with the current political, social environment we're in as a country in the United States and as a planet.

3 Things I Loved in June 2025 (And 1 Thing I Absolutely Hated)

 

Welcome to June's edition of 3 Things I Loved and 1 Thing I Absolutely Hated. June has been an emotional but creative well. While the emotions have been unpleasant to deal with, I managed them but tapping into some poetry and prose writing. I started DBT therapy this month and I'm working on distress tolerance and coping skills to help me when I am in distress. I may write a blog post about this later in the future.

For now, let's get underway with 3 things I loved about June 2025!

3 Things I Loved About June 2025

1. No shortage of creativity.

I've been tapping into my emotions and turining the pain I've been feeling into some poetry and prose. My emotional state has been kind of on the down side and a lot of what I've written, is written for me. I don't know if I will ever share the poems I wrote for me (as some are just too depressing and would probably not interest readers). It's been a very helpful coping skill. I have also created some pieces to share publicly too, when it is time.

2. "Meet Me In the Lavender Fields" -- a poem I wrote when I was feeling romantic feels and all lovey-dovey from seeing an advertisement to have a dinner date at lavender at Romeo Lavender Farm in Michigan (google it!). I will be happy to share this poem with you today :-)

Meet Me In the Lavender Fields
By: Samantha Jean Tate
Copyright 2025 Samantha Jean Tate All Rights Reserved. Please e-mail statewrites84912@gmail.com for permission to use.

You left a note on the kitchen table,

"Meet me in the Lavender Fields. Wear your best dress. You bring yourself, and I'll bring the wine".

Curious. 

I walk out to the field of lavender, its fragrance dancing in my nose.

There you are.

In your best white shirt, tie, and khakis.

Barefooted. Grounding into the earth.

A blanket has been set up with a cute little picnic basket sitting on top.

I sit down,

You pour me a glass of wine.

"After years of wrong turns and almosts. After heartbreaks and missed chances. After searching in all the wrong places. Here's to us. We finally found each other", you toast.

Clink.

A kiss. Warm. Soft. Real.

Our tongues intertwine with the taste of aged wine.

The beauty of the lavender flowers surrounds us,

Its aroma more intoxicating than the wine.

We feel relaxed and enjoy each other's company.

We feast on fried chicken, cooked spinach, and raw carrots.

For dessert, chocolate strawberry cake--

and each other.

Making love in the lavender fields.

Your earthy, familiar smell invigorates me,

turning me on along with the lavender scent.

The sun basking on my vanilla skin.

I'll never forget this date.

And when we're apart I'll close my eyes,

and return to that place.

I'll meet you in the lavender fields...again.

3. I have a three-way tie for three. I like my new therapist, Becca, New Kids On The Block's Step By Step album, and I absolutely am loving treating myself to some milk chocolate M&M's on my hard, emotional days.

Becca is my new therapist who uses DBT alongside talk therapy. I found her on Psychology Today's website. I've only had one session with her right now as of this writing, but I felt seen and understood more. While Candace, my old therapist, was a wonderful therapist, I didn't feel as seen with her like I do with Becca. Becca is also on the autism spectrum and that is very helpful. Her speciality is also working with autistic spectrum adults. I feel like this is the therapist I've needed my whole life. And now it's time to catch up.

New Kids On The Block are celebrating the 35th anniversary of their album Step By Step being released. This is my second album of theirs I owned growing up. I got the tape for my 6th birthday along with a jumbo sized birthday card "from them". I enjoyed revisiting this album and listening to the unreleased tracks. The ballad I Love My Girl makes me get in my feels and I feel like I'm on the bleachers waiting for my crush to ask me to slow dance to this song. Needless to say, this got put on my Knight of Wands Only spotify playlist (music I am listening to manifest a healthy relationship).

And lastly, I've been using M&M's to cope. Now mind you, I am a diabetic, so I have to be careful of when to indulge. I indulge only when I am having an emotionally hard day (like last night as of this writing). I had a 16oz glass of fat-free milk and a handful of milk chocolate M&M's and I felt a little better. Other favorite foods have been cheese pizza from Little Caesaers, quarter pounder meals from McDonald's, bananas, and turkey, provolone, spinach sub sandwiches with yellow mustard.

And now for the one thing I aboslutely hated this month...

My emotions.

I've just been feeling all kind of feels. I'm entering my seasonal depression stage. I was hypomanic for two months. And now I am coming down and just sad, lonely, and everything in between. It doesn't help that I reached back out to my ex, Justin, just to get some kind of closure and he ended up spiraling when I told him I needed space and I wasn't comfortable with his conservative nationalism. I reached out to him because I had just made a post on Instagram about my one year since my suicide attempt. I was feeling all sorts of feelings after that post and I craved someone familiar and comfortable, not necessarily safe. So I e-mailed him. We talked on the phone the next day, and he threw at me that he's a conservative nationalist. No thank you. So instead of starting an argument, I walked away. Blocked him. He e-mailed me on Monday last week and wondered where I went. I responded. He spiraled and blamed me for changing the goal posts and for not telling him I needed space. He completely glossed over that it was my suicide attempt anniversary when I reached out to him. He went into talking about how much he missed me and how drawn he is to me and how I am his soulmate. He never asked me how I was feeling. He didn't say "I'm glad you're still here". Nothing. He just glossed right over it, focusing on him and his feelings. I also said "Quit being a cold-hearted, logical, emotionless asshole". It was the truth he needed to hear.

And that, my faithful lurkers, is what I loved about June and what I absolutely hated this month. I'll see you next month!

Poetry for Cancer Season ♋🦀

 

Cancer is the zodiac sign full of emotion and heart. People born under the sign of Cancer can be sensitive, intuitive, nurturing, creative, and protective. Cancer season lasts for one month from June 21st until July 22nd. 

I thought to celebrate the sun moving into Cancer later this week, I could share some of my most emotional, Cancer-esque poems I've written. Are you ready to dive deep into the feels? Get some tissues, get a box of chocolates, and pour yourself some tea. Let's express our feelings and emotions!

One Year Later: A Letter to Hospitalized Me from One Year Later Me

 

TRIGGER WARNING: This poem talks about my suicide attempt in June, 2024. There are mentions of self-harm and other content that may trigger sensitive readers. Do not read this if you are sensitive. If you are triggered by any means reading this, dial 988 or go to your local emergency room or behavioral crisis center.

With that out of the way. I wrote a poem/letter to my past self that went through being hospitalized after my suicide attempt on June 13th, for four days from June 14 - June 19, 2024. This poem is for those who aren't being heard, aren't being seen. I hear you. I see you. I'm with you. Your struggles are valid. 

Without further ado, here is my poem/letter to my past self. I found this very cathartic to write. It felt...freeing to express what my past self was going through at the time and to put it all into words.

One Year Ago Today

By: Samantha Jean Tate
Copyright: 2025 Samantha Jean Tate All Rights Reserved

One year ago today,

You were mad at the world.

You felt unseen, you felt unheard.

The world showed their cruelty

By deafening silence on your prized work of art.

You tried to find comfort through cuts

But they didn't ease the pain.

You reached out for a hug,

Only to be met with screaming and anger.

You ran for the pills in the cupboard

You didn't care if you saw another day or not,

You just wanted something to take away this emotional pain.

You wanted to stop crying.

You wanted to be held and told "I love you. You matter".

But there was no one.

Just angry, frustrated parents who had it up to here with mood swings,

Just acquaintances on the Internet who were too busy to notice your work,

Silence greeted you at the door.

You checked into the hospital,

Proudly admitting 

you tried to kill yourself 

through your tears.

The only person who sat with you 

was mom.

Mom held your hand, 

let you cry, 

and even got you to laugh.

It was a Friday morning when they admitted you,

Your eyes were swollen and red,

From all the tears you cried.

You ran into an old friend,

Who lifted you up 

and snapped you back to reality.

Now one year later,

The people who matter will care

And the people who don't, well, they can kiss themselves goodbye.

You stand tall, proud of your hard work

Proud that you survived what was meant to kill you

And proud for how far you've come in one year.

Dear me,

I am proud of you

All of your struggles will not be in vain

Your voice is heard and you matter

Thank you for sticking around a little while longer.

Hold on, it's going to get better

You'll see

When they see you on talk shows and podcasts

Promoting your number one best seller

I promise your pain will not be squandered,

We shall turn this pain into art,

For the voiceless, for the damned.

 

Today, I'd like to share a personal post. The post will be about my suicide attempt last June. I'm coming up on one year of no self-harm and one year of no suicide attempts. I'd like to talk about recovery and creativity, specifically. Trigger warning for those who are sensitive to suicide and mental health issues. If this bothers you, come back next week, and leave now. Without further ado, here is my story.

The Attempt

It was the night of June 13th. I had just released my first book I self-published, Saturday Morning Tarot: Tarot Spreads For Your Inner 80's Child (which is now out of print). I felt like I wasn't getting much support on it on social media. I felt unseen and unheard. I craved validation as an actual author. I hoped more people would celebrate my book and my authorship. Instead of telling myself that I write for me and other cliche's, I wallowed, feeling sorry for myself. I texted my therapist, hoping to schedule an appointment with her for the next day. No response. I cut myself as that makes me feel a little better and I snap out of it. I was willing to break my five-year streak of no cutting for this emergency. When the cutting didn't help any, I went to my parents and talked to them, seeing if they would show me some compassion or hug me tightly. I got into a fight with my parents, instead.

"NO ONE SUPPORTS ME! NO ONE CARES ABOUT ME!", I yelled and sobbed while my mom held me tightly, trying to calm me down.

After that, this is where my mind goes blank. I remember I went for some pills in the cupboard. Any pills I can find. I didn't care what they did to me and if I survived or not. My mom was out in the kitchen and she yelled for my dad to stop me. My dad is literally my hero. As I was getting water to drink with the handful of pills (I can't swallow pills without water, I'm one of those people), my dad grabbed my hand and yelled at me.

"What's the matter with you?!" he yelled at me. I broke down crying and asked to go to the ER. I was due for a grippy sock vacation.

My Mental Health History

I have a mental health history of Not Otherwise Specified Depression, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Schizoaffective Disorder, and Bipolar II with psychosis. This was the first time I actually attempted suicide. I have threatened suicide since I was thirteen. I got help in 1998 after years of being bullied and being bullied by a neighbor/old crush took a toll on me. I have been on several medications and have been in therapy since. A lot of my mental health and self-esteem issues has come from childhood bullying. I went undiagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder until 2006, when I was 22. I was also in special education classes for math, social studies, civics, economics, and science. 

How Creativity Has Helped Me Deal with My Mental Health

Writing poetry has been a lifesaver for me, mostly. It's a coping mechanism I learned when I was fifteen or sixteen years old from a therapist. I stopped writing poetry when I was out of high school. I wanted to write a novella. But my parents did not believe that I could make a living as a writer. They told me to either get a job or go to college. So I went to college, and I stopped writing for about 20 years. I would write some erotica on the Internet. But it wasn't my best work. I was averaging 2 stars to 4 stars on my stories. And eventually, I wasn't obsessed with sex anymore. 

In 2021, I picked up writing poetry again. I set myself the challenge of writing 100 poems a day, good or bad. I went into the depths of my soul. I did some deep healing and introspective work with my new therapist. She encouraged me to keep writing as a coping skill because it was overall improving my mental health. 

I would get burn out from time to time and not write for a month or two, but I would slowly ease back into it. Writing poetry was like the concept of shadow work for me. In 2023, I decided I wanted to publish my poems. I hadn't gotten to 100 poems yet. But I knew I wanted to publish a book of poetry, and maybe even publish more poetry if it was well-received.

July 2024, I finished my 100 poems after my hospitalization. I had reunited with a friend/high school crush on the psych ward (what are the odds people?). I also felt less angry and more healed after my four-day stay in the hospital. My hospital stay re-taught me how cathartic writing is when dealing with hard times, even though I'd ignored this coping mechanism when I needed it most.

My Healing + My Advice

Writing is really therapeutic for me. And you know what else is great? Reading your work at an open mic or writer's and poet's night. Or even reading it to yourself in your bedroom, out loud. The act of vocalizing your writing provides catharsis and healing.

I did a local writer's and poet's night a month after my hospitalization. I read the angriest, chaotic, vulnerable pieces of poetry. And people clapped, they cheered. They LOVED it! I even had someone come up to me, introduce themselves and told me they loved how raw and open my writing is.

My advice to others is it's okay to not be okay. It's okay to not write when you don't want to write. But please, tap into your coping skills, such as writing. You don't have to resort to cutting or other means of self-destruction. And if you seriously need help, dial 911 or go to your local emergency room or behavioral crisis center. If you need someone to talk to and are in the United States, call or text 988. There are people in your community and outside of it who care.

Don't be afraid to turn your chaos into something messy, sacred, or beautiful. Creativity can't save you, but it helps lessen the pains and troubles significantly.