Investinlex-Poetry from my soul

08/09/2026

“The Garden Knows” by Alexis Merk

They compliment the flowers...
Nobody asks the dirt.
Nobody kneels beside the roots�to hear what made them hurt.
They only see the petals,�the colors, soft and bright.
They never see the storms I wore�before I found the light.
The garden knows.
It watched me when no one did.
It remembers�the little girl�who learned too young�that silence�could be louder than a scream.
It remembers�the teenager�who begged to be believed...
and wasn't.
The garden knows.
It remembers�every hand�that mistook my body�for something they could keep.
Every time I confused attention�for love...
because no one ever taught me�the difference.
It remembers�sleeping without a home.
Trusting strangers�because loneliness�can sound a lot like hope.
It remembers�every betrayal.
Every night�I wondered�if tomorrow�would finally be kinder.
The garden knows.
Because flowers�don't choose the storms.
They only choose�whether to keep reaching�for the sun.
People tell me�I'm strong.
But strength�was never the dream.
Peace was.
Still...
here I stand.
Not because life�was gentle.
But because even broken roots�keep searching�for water.
So if you ever find yourself�admiring someone's bloom...
Don't forget...
The prettiest gardens�are often grown�from the darkest soil.
And somehow...
they still choose�to flower.

08/01/2026

Dear Silence by Alexis Merk

You became�my first language.
I learned�how to smile�before I learned�how to heal.
You convinced me�that keeping secrets�was safer�than telling truths.
But silence...
you lied.
Every truth�I buried�grew roots.
Now I'm digging them up�one poem�at a time.
This letter�is my goodbye.
You don't own�my voice anymore.

゚viralシ

08/01/2026

Dear Little Girl by Alexis Merk

The world told you�that growing up�meant getting tougher.
No one told you�that it would also mean�learning to forgive yourself�for surviving.
You thought�the bad things happened�because you weren't enough.
You were six.
You were supposed to know�cartoons...
not survival.
If I could borrow time,�I'd kneel beside you,�hold your tiny hands�and tell you one thing.
You didn't deserve�any of it.
And one day...
you'll stop apologizing�for wounds�you never caused.
Love,
The Woman You Become.

゚viralシ

07/29/2026

My Mother Still Speaks (Dear Mother) by Alexis Merk

I never knew my mother long,�just pieces of an unfinished song.�A little girl, then torn away,�too young to understand that day.
At sixteen, truth knocked on my door.�She wasn't who I blamed before.�The anger I had learned to keep�turned into tears that ran so deep.
I don't see butterflies in flight.�I don't dream of her every night.�I don't hear whispers on the breeze...�but love doesn't need memories.
I like to think she's holding me�with hands my eyes will never see.�Not gone...�just standing where I cannot be.
She met every grandchild...�except my own.�Yet somehow my children�still ask for the grandmother�they've never known.
So here's to every mother above,�wrapped in everlasting love.�And thank You, Jesus, kind and true,�for caring for our mothers�until we join them too.
My mother still speaks.
Not always in words.
Sometimes...
through the love�she left behind.

゚

07/28/2026

Dear Patti & Aunt Terri by Alexis Merk

There are people�who change your life�with grand gestures.
And then there are people...
who change it�by simply staying.
You both did that.
When I came into your home,�I didn't know�what unconditional love meant.
I thought love�had to be earned.
I thought mistakes�meant goodbye.
I thought being difficult�meant being unlovable.
You spent three years�proving me wrong.
You let me be a kid.
You let me laugh.
You let me make friends,�fall for my first boyfriend,�dream big,�and trust that someone�would be there�when I came home.
You protected me�from dangers�I couldn't yet see.
Even when I pushed back,�you kept trying�to teach me�how to protect myself.
Not because you wanted�to control my life...
but because you wanted me�to have one.
Aunt Terri,
You taught me�that compassion�is louder than judgment.
Walking through your school,�I didn't just see�young mothers.
I saw people.
People with stories.
People who needed hope�more than opinions.
That lesson�never left me.
Neither did the countless days�at the animal shelter.
I was terrified�of animals.
Fear followed me everywhere.
But instead of letting fear�write my future,
you helped me�rewrite the story.
For three years,�those animals�slowly taught me�what safety felt like.
Dance lessons.
Gymnastics.
Singing.
Little adventures�that seemed ordinary�to everyone else...
but felt extraordinary�to a little girl�still learning�that she mattered.
Looking back now,
I finally understand�the conversations�we used to have.
You'd ask me�if I knew�what unconditional love meant.
I always thought�I didn't have an answer.
But I do now.
Unconditional love...
looks like Patti.
It looks like Aunt Terri.
It looks like opening your heart�to a child�who didn't yet know�how to trust one.
You didn't just give me�a place to stay.
You gave me memories�that survived�long after I left.
You gave me values�I still reach for�on the days�I forget who I want to be.
And if any kindness�lives in me today...
a piece of it�began with you.
So this letter�isn't just a thank you.
It's a promise.
To keep passing forward�the love�you so freely gave me.
Because now...
I finally know�what unconditional love means.
It means finding�and filling my life�with more people�like you.
With all my love,
Alexis

P.S. You may have only had me for three years,but I’ll carry what you gave me for the rest of my life.❤️
゚

07/28/2026

I will be releasing a collection of poems titled letters I never sent over the next few days. I haven’t had time to post the video versions yet but I will come back and add them once they are finished. I hope that by the end of me finishing, I will have a collection big enough to fill a book even if it’s only 100 pages. . ゚ ゚viralシ

07/27/2026

Sorry I’ve been so out of it everyone toddlers are not for the faint but I should have atleast 5 poems up on here and TikTok before my birthday on the 30th

07/22/2026

Life in a Nutshell
By Alexis Merk

I am surrounded by love.�This is the part I’m supposed to lead with.
A partner who stays,�family who shows up,�hands ready to catch me�if I ever decide to fall.
By all accounts,�this should be enough�to make me happy.
But happiness never arrives�the way I imagined.�It doesn’t fill the room.�It just stands in the doorway�like it’s not sure I invited it.
The days are loud.�Too many questions,�too many needs stacked on top of each other.�By noon I’m already tired�of being needed correctly.
I raise my voice�because it’s faster than explaining.�I snap because I have nothing left to hand out.�My kids look at me, startled,�and I watch myself become�the version I swore I wouldn’t be.
Exhaustion follows me everywhere—�into the kitchen,�into bedtime routines,�into conversations where I nod�instead of feeling present.
At night, when everyone is finally quiet,�the guilt gets loud.�I cry into a pillow�so no one has to hear�how badly I wish�I were better at this.
I replay the day in pieces—�every sharp word,�every missed moment,�every time I chose survival�over softness.
I tell myself I’m trying.�I tell myself my past explains it.�Some days that feels true.�Other days it just feels like another excuse�I hide behind.
I love my children fiercely.�That’s the cruelest part.�Loving them doesn’t automatically make me�the parent they deserve.
So I carry this quiet hope—�that one day, when they’re older,�they’ll see the effort beneath the mistakes.�That they’ll understand�I wasn’t distant because I didn’t care,�but because I never learned�how to be emotionally safe myself.
I hope they forgive me�for the days I was tired instead of gentle,�for the years I was healing�while raising them at the same time.
And maybe—�if they can forgive me—�I’ll learn how to do it too.
゚ ゚viralシ

07/05/2026

Grieving by Alexis Merk ( no video)

She learns quickly �that grief has rules.�It should be clean.�It should be private.�It should not interrupt birthdays�or grocery lines�or the comfort of others.
They tell her she’s still a mother,�as if the title alone�could replace the weight.�As if love without a body�doesn’t rot somewhere behind the ribs.
She wakes up every day�and continues.�This is what they call strength.�She feeds other mouths,�ties other shoes,�answers to “mom”�with a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone else.
Therapy teaches her the words—�trauma, acceptance, survival.�Years stack up neatly in files and calendars.�She learns how to breathe through it,�how not to cry in public,�how to say the name�without shattering the room.
But no one teaches her�how to stop replaying the moment�where everything went wrong.�No one tells her�how to forgive a body�that failed at the one job�it was promised to do.
They say it wasn’t her fault.�She nods.�She understands the sentence.�She just doesn’t believe it.
At night, the blame comes back quietly,�well-behaved,�sitting at the edge of the bed.�It never raises its voice.�It doesn’t need to.
She is expected to move on,�because time has passed�and time is convincing.�But time does not carry a child,�and time does not bury one either.
She will live.�She will function.�She will even laugh, occasionally.�But somewhere under all of it�is the unchanging truth:
A mother can survive the loss of a child—�but she never outgrows the space they left behind.

07/02/2026