Words matter

You said the words,

they left your mouth.

They were clear and defined.

It’s almost like – finally – you’ve allowed your mind,

to open up and let your feelings fly.

But – What to do now?

Because the one your words landed on,

the one who has been there for it all,

the one that helped, and cared, and listened.

She’s turned away – so now your backs against the wall.

And maybe it’s for good this time,

you begin to fear.

So you try some new words,

maybe these she’ll hear       —–     differently.

Just claim you were mad,

didn’t mean what you said.

Begin to tell her don’t be so crazy – it’s all in your head.

Try to pretend away the words you said when in front of all others.

For they don’t see how you turn the tables around,

even if they are your sisters or brothers.

But once words are out — you can’t put them back,

because they really do matter and that’s just a fact.

In time though you’ll learn and write and discover,

how to only allow your own words to matter to you

more than any other

Alone at midnight

She lays on the green bed.

Asleep but always aware.

The clock has just hit the midnight hour.

She looks as if she will leave for the picnic soon.

Shirt tucked into pants that fit.

Hair as the morning before.

Her attack face on.

In the darkness, she feels the presence begin.

A touch – A tug, and when her body rises,

Her heart stops for just a moment.

Her head bangs hard against the radiator across the room.

Awake but always aware.

She sees the green bed where she used to lay.

The clock has just hit the midnight hour.


15          Death has come for her, but it’s left me all alone

15           I’m confused and I don’t know what to do

15           I hate myself slowly with each passing day

15           They all show up to watch me cover her with dirt

I don’t know what to say

15          I learn to keep walking even though they pile up on me

They all seem to enjoy my hurt

15           I’m not safe at school and I’m not safe at home

They all laugh and make me a joke

The verbal beatings begin to take their toll

But she died and left no plan for her baby girl that the world now slams

Her death closed her chance, so the girl just cries

No one cares as they attack her, so the girl’s spirit slowly dies

She abuses her body and hurts her heart

No one ever comes to her rescue

She realizes – it’s been this way from the start

15           She never planned for the one daughter that would be left behind

15           She wasn’t loved enough by the mother

15           It’s here the lesson was learned to never trust another

Tea and Bread

She wore the same clothes, and no one noticed because she covered the smell with holy water.

That hair,

it was as lifeless as her eyes.

Those teeth,

they went in and out.

Those words,

they came from every direction.

Days turned into years, and I almost forgot.

Then out of the blue my mind hears, that voice.

As it screamed for tea and bread, always from the bed bought by the incarcerated one.

Fear flowed like my blood on the bathroom floor.

That house was not made of glass.

All mouths afraid to speak.

Just watching her from a distance, always knowing that Queen Bees can sting, even when their hands are clenched in prayer.

If gates fly open for her,

I’ll burn like her voice in my mind.


I have been writing poems ever since the age of 15, as a way to save myself. I wrote this particular poem way way back in 1984. I have recently come to the realization that I am a writer. I have always been one. It makes it easier for me now to claim this fact because I have my first ever children’s book published. I am aware though, that while I have always been a writer, I need to take care of the writer, my feelings, by learning how to speak.

So today, Friday, January 27, 2023 I have made this post on my blog, but I have also posted my very first TikTok video. You can find it at @jacquelyncommander on TikTok, This is where you can HEAR Tea and Bread.

It’s ok to remember

Most times when I think about my past, I’m always brought back to the time when my whole world just stopped.  May 2, 1981, 6:30 p.m. to be exact.  And at 6:31 p.m., when it all started up again, I was 15 years old, and a motherless child.

I am fully aware that I am not the first human who never knew her father, whose single mother died young, and then was left in the hands of someone who just couldn’t hold all the weight.  I know there are far too many of us.  But, I am the one who, through my pain, discovered my poetry.  My words offer a chance to see into me.  My story has scars, it may scare some people, and it may make many people uncomfortable. These words on paper helped me discover that no matter what the reaction, it’s ok to remember and give your memory a voice.

I remember

I remember even though I knew she had stopped breathing,

I still put my finger under her nose, I knew, for the last time.

Two weeks in a coma and now, there was no air.

I remember walking quietly into the little pink bathroom and letting the giggle leave.

Was laughing just a nervous reaction? Or did part of my sanity just escape from my lips?

I remember getting up and just running.

Thinking only–where am I going to go?

I remember knowing that if I go back into that house,

I do not belong.

I remember watching them lift her out of the bed.

I remember watching them place her on the stretcher.

I remember watching them cover her up.

I remember them leaving with her and not me.

I remember I was 15, and my mother was gone, forever.

I remember now I have to live with all I can’t remember.

Registration Number TXu 2-306-672


“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”

― Sylvia Plath

Guts. That’s what this is taking. Guts.

I have a fabulous way of visualizing all of my next steps. I can clearly see how I want something to go, how it should go, and how it will go. I see it. In full color. The thing I’ve always struggled with is actually doing the steps. The thought of someone not liking my work would be all it would take for me to stall. I couldn’t muster up the guts to put into action what I so clearly saw in my head. I will give a quick example. I wrote a children’s story when I was 28, way back in 1993. Yep….29 years ago. I love it. It’s a wonderful story that I am so incredibly proud of. Yet even though I’ve made countless New Year’s resolutions that this would be the year that I would, at the very least, copyright the story, it never happened. It always seemed easy enough when I thought about it and made my plan, but I just never had the guts to do it.

Finally, I have gotten to the point in my life where I simply do not place so much emphasis on what others think of my writing. Admittedly, this is new territory for me, but losing the weight of other peoples opinions of me and my work, has been very freeing. While there are still times I get in my own way, I am happy and proud to say that I have now in my possession the copyright for my unpublished story, Marvin the Mouse In Search Of The Perfect Christmas Present. I recognize this is one small step, and may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but I had the guts to go on to the next step; which is more then I can say for my past self. Another added bonus is that it has stirred up some more guts!

I decided to start (again) this blog to share my writing with everyone. I know I am ready for it to come with whatever it comes with. I am excited for it all because my story, my thoughts, my feelings, and my writings really need a place to go. They deserve more then just me. In this heavy social media world we all live in, most of us have become somewhat programmed to place value on our work, photos, experiences, and such by the number of “likes” we receive on the platform we selected to share those moments on. I realize that I just want to experience as much as I can. I am in control of most of that. The joy I get from writing fills me to the brim. If someone likes it, well that’s an added bonus because I want my words to be helpful, but my focus is to go for more and show up with guts.

Back in the day, I used to always say “I want to be a famous writer”. Seems strange at 56 to have such an easy time admitting just how ridiculous that makes me feel now. What I want now is to live and enjoy the process. I want to be honest. I want to be brave. I want be present with my past, present, and future. I want to speak my truth. I want to be real with my feelings, words, and even my worry. I want others to have that same freedom. Most of all, I just want to write.

I’m proud of myself. I am looking forward to this journey with guts and grace, and I hope that I will meet some new friends along the way.