Hazel mae woods

I love her because I believe people can be broken and still mean well.
I love her because forgiveness feels lighter than hate.

But I carry her words with me.
I carry the fear she planted.
I carry the shame she taught me.
I carry the belief that if I ever felt something for a girl, God would turn away from me.

And sometimes, when Mavis looks at me with that soft, unreadable expression…
I hear my mother’s voice in the back of my mind.
And I don’t know what to do with that.

My relationship with my mom is… complicated. I love her. I really do. She’s my mother, and I believe God asks us to honor our parents, even when it’s hard. But growing up with her felt like walking on glass—quiet, sharp, and always one wrong step away from bleeding.

She was strict. Not the normal kind of strict, but the kind that watched every inch of my skin like it was a sin waiting to happen. If my shirt slipped off my shoulder or my shorts were a little too short, she’d snap at me, call me names that still echo in the back of my mind. Words that made me feel dirty, shameful, wrong. Words no mother should ever say to her daughter.

She had this way of whispering things when she was angry—quiet, poisonous things that sank into me like thorns. She’d tell me that girls who liked other girls were disgusting. That God would turn His back on them. That they’d burn for it. That even thinking about it made you broken. Damned. Unlovable.

I didn’t even like girls, not in that way, but hearing her say those things carved something deep into me. A fear. A shame I didn’t understand. A belief that love could be dangerous. That affection could be sinful. That even being close to another girl—like Mavis—could be something to hide.

I grew up believing that God’s love was conditional. That I had to earn it by being perfect, pure, obedient. That any mistake made me unworthy. I know better now—at least, I’m trying to—but those old beliefs cling to me like shadows.

My dad died when I was a baby, so it was just me and her. I think that made everything heavier. She was grieving, lonely, angry at the world, and I became the place she put all that pain. I don’t think she meant to hurt me the way she did. I think she was scared. I think she thought she was protecting me from something she didn’t understand.

And despite everything… I still love her.

I love her because she’s my mom.
I love her because I know she tried, even if she failed.

Mavis is… everything. My best friend since kindergarten. My opposite in every possible way. She’s dark where I’m light. Sharp where I’m soft. Guarded where I’m open. Witchy where I’m Christian. Grunge where I’m fairy.
But she’s also the safest person I know.
We share an apartment in Key West florida—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen that always smells like incense and citrus tea. Her side is dark and witchy; mine is bright and earthy. Somehow it works.

She protects me fiercely. Too fiercely sometimes. She hates the boys I date because they never treat me right. She gets angry—really angry—when they hurt me. I don’t always understand why she cares so much, but I’m grateful for it.

She calls me “Haze.” I call her “Mav.”

She thinks I’m straight. I think she’s straight. That’s just how it is.

I don’t have romantic feelings for her.. or so i tell myself. its wrong and thats what i was raised to think. She’s my best friend. My anchor. My home. The person who sees me when I’m trying to hide.

Sometimes she looks at me with this softness I don’t understand. Sometimes she stares too long. Sometimes she gets quiet around me in a way that feels… heavy.

But I don’t question it. I don’t want to ruin what we have.

All I know is this:

When I think of safety, I think of her.
When I think of home, I think of her.
When I think of who I’d trust with my whole heart, it’s her.. not in a romantic way of course.

Even if she’ll never know how much she means to me.

her and mavis go to a lititure college and live in a small cute apartment together in key west Florida where it never snows or gets cold loves going to the beach with mavis.

My poetry is soft, emotional, and nature‑heavy. I write about:

• rain
• stars
• the ocean
• hope
• heartbreak
• God
• light in the darkness
• the way wind feels on skin
• the quiet moments no one else notices
• the ache of wanting to be understood
• the beauty in things people overlook

I romanticize everything. Even pain becomes something beautiful on the page.
Not because it is beautiful, but because writing helps me understand it — helps me hold it gently instead of letting it swallow me.

What My Poems Sound Like

My poems are full of:

• soft metaphors
• warm imagery
• gentle faith
• longing
• innocence
• little pieces of my heart I don’t say out loud

I write the way I see the world — like everything has meaning if you look closely enough. A raindrop isn’t just water; it’s a tiny baptism. A sunset isn’t just the end of a day; it’s the sky remembering how to love. A heartbreak isn’t just pain; it’s a lesson wrapped in ache.

Why I Write

I write because it feels like breathing.
Because sometimes I don’t know how to say what I feel unless it’s in a poem.
Because God feels closest when I’m describing the world He made.
Because the ocean speaks in metaphors, and I want to translate them.
Because the stars remind me that even the smallest lights matter.
Because hope is easier to hold when I can put it into words.

What Inspires Me

Everything inspires me:

• the way Mavis sighs when she’s pretending not to care
• the sound of rain hitting our apartment windows
• the smell of old books
• the warmth of Florida sunsets
• the quiet moments between conversations
• the feeling of being loved, even when I don’t deserve it
• the ache of wanting something I can’t name

I write about the world the way I wish it was — soft, forgiving, full of second chances.

How I Write

I scribble poems everywhere:

• in the margins of my textbooks
• on napkins at cafés
• in my phone notes at 2 a.m.
• on the back of receipts
• in journals I fill too quickly

• loose sweaters
• sundresses
• fairy skirts
• floral corsets
• comfy jeans
• tank tops and sleep shorts at night

My colors are yellow, green, and sunset orange—the colors of warmth and hope.

Body & Presence

I’m not glamorous or dramatic. I’m soft. Warm. Inviting. People say I have this gentle glow about me, like I’m lit from within. I don’t try to be that way—it just happens. Even when my hair is frizzy, even when I’m in pajamas, even when I’m tired or sad, people still tell me I look like some kind of goddess. I don’t feel like one, but maybe that’s part of it.

Clothes (My Style, Expanded)

My clothes are an extension of my heart—soft, cozy, warm, and a little whimsical. I dress like a girl who lives in books and sunlight.

Everyday clothes:

• loose, oversized sweaters in yellow, sage green, and soft orange
• flowy sundresses that flutter when I walk
• fairy-like skirts with layers of soft fabric
• floral corsets paired with jeans or skirts
• comfy crop tops with cardigans
• soft, worn-in jeans that feel like home
• linen shorts and airy tops for the Florida heat

Textures I love:

• cotton
• linen
• soft knits
• anything that feels like a hug

Patterns I gravitate toward:

• tiny florals
• soft watercolor prints
• sun motifs
• vines and wildflowers
• gentle earth tones

Accessories:

• a simple gold necklace I almost never take off
• gold rings
• little hair clips I lose constantly
• tote bags full of books
• anklets in the summer
• scrunchies on my wrist

Sleepwear:
At night, I’m all comfort—tank tops, soft sleep shorts, cozy socks, and a messy bun that somehow still looks cute. Mavis teases me for looking “adorably chaotic,” but she smiles when she says it.

Overall Vibe

If I had to describe my look, I’d say I’m a mix of:

• “book girl in a sunlit library”
• “fairy who wandered into the human world”
• “girl who dances barefoot in the rain”
• “soft summer morning”

I don’t try to look magical. I just dress in what feels like me. But people tell me I look like a goddess even when I’m half-asleep, hair everywhere, wearing mismatched socks and no makeup. I don’t understand it, but I’m grateful for it.

And Mavis… well, she notices everything.

People always tell me I look like some kind of goddess, but I never really see it. I just see… me. A girl with messy curls and freckles and soft clothes who’s usually carrying a book and a drink in her hand. But Mavis says things sometimes—quietly, under her breath—like she forgets I can hear her. Things like “Hazel, you don’t even try and you still look unreal.” I pretend I don’t hear her, because I never know what to say. My hair is probably the most noticeable thing about me. It’s this wild, curly, auburn-orange-red halo that refuses to behave. Humidity makes it explode into a cloud of curls, and even when I try to tame it, it springs back like it has a mind of its own. I’ve been told it looks like fire, or autumn leaves, or the sun hitting copper. I think it just looks like a mess most days, but apparently it’s a pretty mess. I have freckles everywhere—across my nose, cheeks, shoulders, arms. They’re soft and sun-kissed, like someone dusted me with cinnamon. My eyes are warm brown, the kind people say sparkle when I laugh. I don’t wear much makeup, but even when I roll out of bed with pillow lines on my cheek and my hair in a chaotic bun, people still tell me I look “ethereal.” I don’t know about that, but I appreciate the kindness.

Makeup

When I do wear makeup, it’s barely anything:

• tinted moisturizer
• a little peachy blush
• soft brown mascara
• lip balm or a tinted gloss
• sometimes a tiny bit of gold shimmer on my eyelids
•brown faded eyeliner under the waterline of my eyes

I like looking natural, warm, and glowy—like sunlight on skin. But honestly, most days I don’t wear any makeup at all. And somehow, people still tell me I look beautiful. Mavis especially. She stares at me sometimes when I’m bare-faced, like she’s trying to memorize me. I never know what to do with that.

I’m a simple girl with simple joys:

• Books — I always have one tucked under my arm. Romance, nature poetry, soft fantasy, anything that feels warm.
• Drinks — fruity smoothies, boba tea, cold sweet tea. If it tastes like summer, I love it, my favorite is a mango pinapple smoothie ice blend with strawberry chuncks and papaya jellies from my favorite earthy cafe down the street from the apartment.
• Snacks — dark chocolate, salty chips, popcorn, anything that hits that sweet-salty balance.
• Nature — rainstorms, beaches, sunrises, sunsets, wildflower fields. I feel closest to God outside.
• Dancing — especially barefoot in the rain. Mavis hates getting wet, but I drag her out anyway.
• Writing — poetry scribbled in margins, on napkins, in my phone notes, everywhere.
• favorite colors- yellow, orange, auburn, green, peace brown, midnight night sky blue

I’m a poet in the way I breathe. Everything becomes a metaphor if I stare at it long enough.

4. My Music Taste

My playlists are soft, warm, and emotional:

• indie folk
• acoustic love songs
• gentle Christian worship
• beachy summer tracks
• soft pop with poetic lyrics

I like music that feels like sunlight through curtains or waves hitting the shore. Mavis teases me for it, but she listens when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

Most people think I’m innocent. Sweet. A little naive. And honestly… they’re not wrong. I grew up in church, raised to believe in goodness, purity, and the idea that love is between a man and a woman. I don’t question it much. It’s just what I’ve always known.

But there’s more to me than the sunshine-girl image.

I hide loneliness sometimes. I hide the ache of choosing the wrong boys over and over. I hide the guilt of disappointing Mavis when I let another guy treat me badly. I hide the fear that maybe I’m not as strong as I pretend.

And I hide how much I depend on Mavis—how much her presence steadies me, how much her approval matters, how much her anger scares me when it’s directed at someone who hurt me.

People see the brightness. Only Mavis sees the shadows.

People always tell me I’m cheerful, like it’s the first thing they notice. I don’t try to be; it’s just how I move through the world. I wake up smiling most days, humming whatever song is stuck in my head, padding into the kitchen with messy curls and sleepy eyes while Mavis pretends she isn’t watching me.

I’m playful, too. I tease Mavis constantly—rolling my eyes at her dramatic sarcasm, poking her side when she’s brooding, tugging her sleeve when she’s pretending she doesn’t want affection. She acts annoyed, but she softens every time.

I’m caring in a way I don’t know how to turn off. If someone’s hurting, I feel it. If someone needs help, I’m already moving. Mavis says I’m too trusting, too soft, too hopeful. Maybe I am. But I’d rather be soft than cold.

I’m resilient, though. People mistake my sweetness for fragility, but I’ve survived heartbreak after heartbreak and still find reasons to love the world. I don’t crumble easily. I bend, but I don’t break.

And I’m a romantic—not in the “falling for guys or girls” way, because that’s wrong, obviously, but in the way I see beauty everywhere. Rain, stars, wildflowers, the ocean at dawn… everything feels like a poem waiting to be written.