Waves
Whispers aren’t always sweet. A poem about what healing does—and does not—erase.
READ WAVES IN FULL ↓Author & creative writing
Some words refuse to whisper.
Poetry in English and Spanish, personal essays, and stories worth lingering over.
Selected writing
The reading room.
Poems and essays in English and Spanish. Read a little. Stay a while.
Full texts · English poetry & essays
Jardín
Una voz que florece entre la sombra, la ciudad y la esperanza.
Tengo que escribir y cantar
a través de esta sombra,
hasta llegar a esa versión elevada de mí.
Donde los jardines de mi mente
encuentran aventura y pueden florecer,
más allá de mi mente,
pero también fuera de mí.
Un lugar donde mi alma pueda respirar,
y donde las semillas que Dios quiere que plante
se puedan encontrar.
Me inspiran los corazones brillantes,
valientes, pero con los pies en la tierra.
Las rosas que florecen del concreto,
y de terrenos colonizados y sufridos.
Guardando dignidad
sin pudrirse ni quedar vencidas.
Quizás mi rosa
también pueda inclinarse hacia esa luz.
Quizás no tenga que vivir hermosa en la sombra
ni detener su floración.
Vivir en un jardín donde brille con color,
sin que el sol marchite su esplendor.
(Si es taíno,
dulce calor y sabor)
Nueva Yol...
¡Pah! ¡Pah! ¡Pah!
petardos en el cielo...
no disparos de pistola,
ni miedo.
Los veré en el cielo
— Maribel Colon Toure
My Lost Veils
Writing about the selves we conceal and the clarity we reclaim.
READ THE ESSAY EXCERPT ↓Rose-Colored
Beautiful roses with thorns. Fresh air in a storm. Motherhood without the rose-tinted edit.
READ ROSE-COLORED IN FULL ↓Waves
Whispers aren't always sweet.
Sometimes they're echoes of trauma,
waves of darkness
bringing old drama to shore.
Loneliness isn't always being alone.
Sometimes it's a crowded room
where you feel the farthest
from being known.
And the good...
the good doesn’t erase what was done.
It just sits beside it,
gentle, patient...
teaching the wound
how to laugh again
while it’s still learning
how to close.
— Maribel Colon Toure
Leveled Up Healing
Leveled up healing,
when you’re beyond existing
in the duality
of a broken you
and a healed you...
the trauma
and the beautiful.
And you begin to exist as,
and understand
you are both.
I’ve known both fire and softness
and learned how to carry them
in the same breath.
I understand now
the soil that held the wound
grew the wisdom.
I am the woman
who became both
and kept going.
— Maribel Colon Toure
Rose-Colored
The beauty and ache of loving a family through every season.
Motherhood is rewarding, sacred,
and a lifelong gift—
yet frustrating, sometimes infuriating,
overwhelming and terrifying.
Beautiful roses with thorns.
Fresh air in a storm.
Late nights and tears,
prayers infused with fears.
Overstimulated, dysregulated,
lovingly neurotic.
I live for them.
I’d die for them.
I sacrifice—
then plead with them to come home.
I miss his face.
I wonder where he roams.
The little ones cling to my skin,
and the oldest—
I fear I may not see again.
Sickness and heartbreak.
Mother’s guilt
for mother’s mistakes.
But even that sits
under the weight
of a love
most can’t find.
A life filled with sweet air
and beautiful colors,
warmth for the cold,
and laughter over the boulders.
Happy tears
and dissipated fears.
All of it is rose-colored.
Because this life
is drenched—
and drowning—
in love.
— Maribel Colon Toure
From “A Mother’s Mirror”
I’ve wept in silence, smiled through ache—
Built kingdoms daily, slept days for break.
I carry meals, and dreams, and fears,
Wipe tiny noses, swallow tears.
My name is whispered, screamed, then sung—
I am the soul where stories hung.
I’ve traded sleep for midnight cries,
Prayers whispered under heavy skies.
The joy is wild, the pain is deep,
I hold their chaos, kiss their sleep.
— Maribel Colon Toure
A Textured Draft in Motion
.... A textured draft in
motion, tripping
forward... a pulse
hoping to catch up
with the mind.
— Maribel Colon Toure
Late Arrivals
Some things arrive late.
An apology.
A little courage.
The right words
with terrible punctuality.
A door opens
after you’ve stopped knocking.
Someone finally sees you
after you’ve gotten quite good
at seeing yourself.
Funny, isn’t it?
Life can miss the appointment
and yet show up with flowers.
We call it late
from our little corner of the clock.
We do love a straight line,
as though life
has ever respected a ruler.
Still,
I’ve learned not to confuse
late with never,
or finally
with forever.
Some things come to stay.
Others arrive
with your old address in their pocket,
only to find
you’ve already moved.
— Maribel Colon Toure
ORIGINAL INSTAGRAM POST ↗“Life has terrible timing.”
Life has terrible timing.
Still, the coffee is warm,
my children are laughing,
and sunlight has let itself in.
Some days, gratitude
is opening the curtains...
taking a breath,
and lifting my eyes
to the sky.
— Maribel Colon Toure
ORIGINAL INSTAGRAM POST ↗“I’ve learned to pause”
I’ve learned to pause
where an old hurt would have spoken.
In that small quiet,
my future gets a word in.
— Maribel Colon Toure
ORIGINAL INSTAGRAM POST ↗The Power of Small Shifts
A complete short essay about why the smallest changes can be the ones that last.
Big change is exciting in the beginning. A new calendar, a strict plan, a dramatic promise—everything feels possible while motivation is fresh. The trouble begins when real life returns.
The schedule fills. Energy drops. Missing one day feels like failure, and failure becomes permission to quit.
Small shifts work differently.
They do not ask you to become a new person overnight. They ask you to practice one useful choice often enough that it begins to feel familiar.
A small shift might be adding protein to breakfast, preparing tomorrow’s lunch while cleaning tonight’s kitchen, taking ten quiet minutes before the household wakes, or choosing a realistic bedtime twice this week instead of promising perfection every night.
The action may look modest. Its power comes from repetition.
Small changes also create information. When the step is manageable, you can notice what helps, what gets in the way, and what needs to be adjusted. Instead of judging yourself, you begin learning yourself.
Six months will pass whether you begin or not. The goal is not to force a perfect transformation before then. The goal is to build enough small evidence that you trust yourself more when those six months arrive.
Choose one shift. Make it kind enough to repeat. Then let consistency do the quiet work.
— Maribel Colon Toure
Small truths, big echoes.
Sometimes a sentence is a whole story.
Waves still happen on sunny days. We can still enjoy the sun.
Wildflowers grew through the wound. Living was never the absence of ache. It was learning how to make beauty speak from it.
— Maribel Colon Toure
From “My Lost Veils”
An excerpt from my personal essay archive.
“I often observe the many veils we place over our faces, hiding our eyes and interrupting a clear view. These veils can alter our clarity about the things that matter most.”
Books & longer stories
More than a page.
Projects in development, each exploring a different corner of the human experience.
Not a Bad Mom, Just Overstimulated
For the mother carrying everyone’s needs—and wondering where she fits in.
A book about the noise of motherhood, the woman inside the mother, and the tender work of repair. Manuscript prepared; publication pending.
Not a Bad Mom, Just Overstimulated
A compassionate look at motherhood's noise, guilt, invisible work, and overwhelming love. Publication details to come.
Braided
A head nod to the African, Caribbean, and Latino histories woven through New York City.
Night Time All Around
A children's book project. More details will be shared when ready.
Let's talk
Have a story worth telling?
Tell me what you're working on. A rough idea is a perfectly good place to begin.
EMAIL ME ABOUT YOUR PROJECT →Or write directly to maribelctoure@gmail.com