TJ Banski

She could’ve hardened.
She almost did.
But compassion kept her soft—
and that’s her power. ✨

“Rung Between Feeling” by TJ Banski

Muddled emotions
clenched in her throat—
happy, yet disgusted,
sad, yet angry,
hate brushing against
a quiet acceptance.

Words sit waiting,
ready to flow,
but remain—
locked away,
unspoken,
unclaimed.

In time,
they seep out—
trickling slowly
through silent tears,
finding their way
when she cannot.

She doesn’t always know
how to show them,
how to hold them
without breaking.

Her heart clenches,
wrung tight
by the weight of it all—
every feeling
asking to be felt
at once.

And still…
something is changing.

Slowly, surely,
her heart is made new—
stronger in its softness,
or tempted to harden
against the world.

But compassion—
she keeps it open.

Keeps it tender enough
to feel it all,
to sit in the ache,
to understand
without turning away.

So she can meet others
right where they are—
not above,
not beyond,
but within the same
messy, human
moment.

EmotionalHealing SpokenWordPoetry PoetryOfInstagram HeartWork BeingTheLightToOthers InnerStrength CompassionOverComfort GrowthJourney HumanExperience LightInTheDark

😅😆

Girl, look at you. You work, you serve others, and put yourself together every day. You show up even when you are stressed, overwhelmed, and fighting your own battles. You are kind and an encourager. You never give up. You are doing better than you think. Don't forget to love yourself too.

Aww, it sounds like you're giving yourself a much-needed pep talk. Given you value acts of service and being seen, maybe self-love for you is about acknowledging the efforts you put in and being kind to yourself, just like you are to others. As someone who's strong and caring, do you find it harder to prioritize yourself because you're always looking out for others? What's one small thing you could do today to show yourself some love?

City view. Big thoughts.
Thinking…dangerous, I know.






GentleStrength
HoldingSpace

Grandma, I miss you already.

One of my earliest memories is sitting in my high chair while you made simple rice balls with salt and butter. I remember looking at my tiny hands and noticing how much bigger and more wrinkled yours were. You sang while you cooked, adding ingredients by taste — just enough of this, just enough of that — until it was just right.

You never needed a recipe. You cooked by feel. By love.

This morning I cried. The kind of tears that aren’t polished. Later, I watched Rocketman because you loved it. I can still hear your laugh — the real one. Watching it felt like sitting near you again.

Thank you for helping raise me. For the songs. For the kitchen lessons. For the quiet ways you shaped my life.

Grandma, I miss you already.
Rest now grandma. I'll see you again.

😅🤣