Jhon smith
Bio
Welcome to my little corner of the internet, where words come alive
Stories (107)
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Writing Feels Like Therapy
There is a peculiar solace in the act of writing—a quiet alchemy that transforms the chaos inside us into something tangible, something we can examine without fear. Life often presses upon us with an unrelenting weight, and emotions can become suffocating, swirling inside the mind like storms we cannot control. In these moments, words offer an escape, a lifeline, and sometimes even a revelation. They allow us to speak to ourselves in ways that silence never permits, to untangle the thoughts that seem too heavy to carry alone.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Writers
Genetic Confession
I didn’t come for forgiveness. I came for a kidney. The air inside the confessional smelled of old cedar, floor wax, and the faint, lingering scent of frankincense. It was a heavy, suffocating smell—the kind that makes you realize how hard it is to breathe when your own body is slowly betraying you.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Families
The Line Was Thinner Than I Thought
They tell you that the difference between a "good man" and a "cautionary tale" is a wide, sturdy canyon. They tell you there are signs—warning lights, sirens, a gut feeling that screams stop. But as I stood in the rain outside the Miller estate, feeling the cold weight of the key in my pocket, I realized the truth.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Criminal
Confessions of an Accidental Criminal
I never imagined I’d end up here, confessing to a crime I didn’t intend to commit. The irony isn’t lost on me: how someone can drift from an ordinary life into the gray shadows of the law, all in the span of an ordinary afternoon.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Criminal
Why Silence Triggers Anxiety
Silence is often sold to us as peace. Retreat brochures promise it. Meditation apps pursue it. Spiritual traditions revere it. And yet, for many people, silence does not arrive gently. It presses. It unsettles. It tightens the chest and sharpens the breath. In the absence of sound, anxiety doesn’t fade—it steps forward.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Psyche
We Outpaced the Soil
We learned how to move faster than the ground beneath us. At first, it felt like progress. Roads unrolled like promises, machines hummed with the confidence of certainty, and cities rose as if the earth itself had agreed to carry our weight. We measured time in minutes saved, distances conquered, yields multiplied. We learned to outpace the seasons, to outsmart rain, to hurry seeds into obedience. We learned to treat the soil like a resource instead of a relationship.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Earth
We Are Our Ancestry
I grew up in a house filled with stories. Not the kind written on pages, but those whispered over dinner tables, hummed in lullabies, and carried in the creak of the old wooden floors. My grandmother would sit by the window, staring out at the trees, and begin in a soft voice: “Your great-grandfather once walked these lands, barefoot, with nothing but hope in his pocket.” I didn’t understand the weight of that hope then. I only knew it sounded important.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Writers
