Two Poems

Jordynne McKinstry is a remarkable young woman with a knack for artfully discussing her experiences prior to and within the Vermont foster care system through thoughtful and provocative poetry. Her story is one of phenomenal self-advocacy and triumph.

Whispers Of Truth

In whispers lost, my story takes flight,
A version dances within the breeze of night,
Where words flow free, unfazed by shame,
I tell my truth, unmasked, untamed.

No stuttered breaths, no masks to wear,
No need for hiding the weight I bear,
In that space, my scars are just ink,
A canvas of life, where shadows shrink.

But here, in silence, I hold my breath,
Fearing the ugly glance
that whispers death,
I hide from pity, from judgment's glare,
Shielding my heart, I linger in despair.

For if I speak, what might arise?
An abundance of feelings, a whirlwind of cries,
A floodgate opened, a storm unleashed,
What if the quiet becomes a beast?

So I stand in the shadows, my story untold,
A flickering spark, too fragile, too bold,
Yet somewhere out there, in the winds of time,
Is a version of me ready to climb.

With courage as armor, I’ll find my way,
To share my truth, come what may,
And in that moment, I’ll finally see,
The beauty in chaos, the power in me.

Breaking the Cycle

I see your strict expression,
And time rewinds, I’m nine once more,
Yet here I stand at sixteen,
Caught in memories I can't ignore.

Your voice rises, sharp and clear,
And suddenly, I'm eight again,
In shadows where my fears would leer,
Bound in silence, wearing pain.

A finger snaps, a memory's cue,
My body tenses, heart in flight,
At seven, it meant I’d strayed from view,
A child learning to dim her light.

But now I pause, I breathe, I see,
I am not that girl of yesteryear,
I’m sixteen now, and I am free,
No more shackles of doubt and fear.

You belittle me, your words like chains,
“Love like mine will never be,”
But I’m not six, I’ve shed those pains,
Your truth can’t bind or stifle me.

Once I believed in every lie,
You were my mother, my guiding star,
But now I know, with each goodbye,
You are my past, a painful scar.

At sixteen, I stand tall, I claim,
I will not be your victim again,
No echoes of that child remain,
I break the cycle, I rise, I mend.