spoken word, from the trenches of loss and love
Let me make this simple.
I’ve lost people I shouldn’t have lost.
Not to war. Not to car crashes.
But to silence. To shame. To the weight they were too scared to hand someone else.
And I’m pissed about it.
Because I would’ve sat there all damn night.
No advice. No judgment. Just presence.
But no one gave me that chance.
And now all I’ve got are eulogies I never wanted to hear.
So this isn’t some poetic tribute.
This is a wake-up call.
To you. To anyone thinking they’re too far gone or too heavy to carry.
Let me say this as clear as I can:
I’d rather lose sleep than lose you.
I’d rather be uncomfortable with your truth than devastated by your silence.
Don’t make me show up in a suit. Show up now. Messy, tired, breaking — whatever. Just show up.
This poem is for every person who’s ever thought no one would sit with them in the dark.
You’re wrong. I will.
And I’m not the only one.
Just stay.
I would’ve stayed.
Sat beside you in silence.
Watched your walls crumble and said nothing —
just handed you the pieces
because I’ve been there, too.
But you didn’t let me.
Didn’t give me the chance
to carry even a corner of that pain.
You just… vanished.
Quiet like snow.
Loud like a gunshot.
Now all I hear
is your absence.
I would’ve taken the late-night calls,
even the ones where you didn’t say a damn word.
I would’ve sat on the floor with you,
in the dark,
in the mess,
while the world kept spinning and you couldn’t.
I know that place.
I’ve cursed the sunrise too.
Screamed into pillows until the seams split
and still woke up wondering
if it was worth it to breathe again.
So don’t tell me I wouldn’t understand.
Don’t you dare tell me I wouldn’t have stayed.
I’ve lived inside the ache
that convinced you no one could love you through it.
But I would’ve tried.
God, I would’ve tried.
Now I’m stuck
writing poems instead of texts,
lighting candles instead of cigarettes,
whispering your name
to a sky that never answers back.
And here’s what haunts me:
I never wanted your strength.
I just wanted your truth.
Even if it was ugly.
Even if it shook.
Because I’d rather
hear you say “I can’t do this anymore”
than stand at your grave
wishing you had.
I’d rather hold your trembling hands
than hold your obituary.
I’d rather lose sleep
than lose you.
So if there’s someone else out there
standing on the edge,
this is for you, too:
You don’t have to make it look easy.
You don’t have to carry it alone.
You don’t even have to speak —
just stay.
And let someone love you
in the middle of your falling apart.
Because I promise you this:
I’d rather walk with you through hell,
than sit through your eulogy in heaven.
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About Your True Direction
I’m not here to play nice, I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.
I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.
That’s my legacy, and I’m just getting started.
Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.
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