Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hill Apartments!
This week, we will have no featured story or poem as it is Mother’s Day weekend. The writers and ladies of Valley Hills Apartments Series pray that you have a blessed and beautiful Mother’s Day.
We also send our sincere prayers up for those who have lost their children or who have lost their mothers.
Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hill Apartments!
A Poem for a Flower
Written by Tannika Nikeya
Hello, I am Rose. I moved to Valley Hills Apartments last year. In the middle of the night, I found myself hauling in bags of all I had managed to quietly take with me. And it wasn’t much at all.
Today, I sit here by my kitchen window, slowly sipping my hot chamomile tea. My eyes follow a cardinal, happily chirping along a tree, and then drift to a soft white flower sitting alone amidst the grass. I exhale a long sigh.
I wonder if the flower is lonely, like I had been.
I had once sat alone just as quiet as that little flower—but brokenhearted and lonely. I endured gaslighting and chaos, and felt every petal of my soul being stripped away until I became a shadow of myself.
But as I sit here in my kitchen, something shifts.
I begin to write a letter to a flower…
from the depths of my heart.
In the backyard all alone
Sitting in the mud and dirt
Among rocks and stone
Your leaves withered, withdrawn
Wishing you were placed
On a manicured lawn
The acknowledgments, the daily sustenance
You once received
Have dried up like your leaves
Your wardrobe is dull—renewal must begin within
You may not be the prettiest flower
Feeling like you are about to break, not just bend, in the wind
How long will you wait
For someone to water you to grow
To tell you to soar
To give you value
Just because they walked through nature’s door?
Stand tall—get up on your feet
Encourage yourself
Stretch in hope
You’ve got goals to meet
Air to breathe
Rooms to impact
You don’t have to shrink
Let the sunlight hit your face
And take your joy back
Your worth is not predicated
On what they say, see, or do
No one can validate
Or invalidate you
You’ve known seasons of hiding
Of feeling like you died
Until the true Lover of your soul
Breathed—and brought you back alive
You’ve lost hope
Wanted to run away
But you learned to be still
When noise and storms surrounded you
He quieted you and you began to heal
They said you had no value
Said you wouldn’t last long
Said other flowers were prettier
And although you felt weak, you remained strong
The trees whispered about you;
They gave you a different type of shade,
Shifted their leaves so the heat can make you weary and fade
But you are not doomed
Look up to heaven
Receive your true Lover’s grace to bloom
It’s not over
Life is just starting
He stays close
To the brokenhearted
Each day you rise—just walk
At your pace
Wipe your face
Rest… yield
Dance in the field
And brighten the day
Let the birds see your resilience in every way.
They may stop to admire you
Take in your view
But remember who you are
Deep within you
Some may try to pluck you
Or take you along
But stay rooted
Remain where you belong
Even when others walk away
Stand still; know you’re divine
Humble posture
Fearfully and wonderfully made
You are His design
Continue to grow in His perfect time
Sis, there is courage within you.
See yourself the way God does.
Your worth is not determined by others.
He deemed you worthy before He placed you in your mother’s womb.
So show up today… and begin to bloom.
Contributing Video: https://youtu.be/sJ5Us3_T7yU
Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hill Apartments!
The Diva pt 1
Written by Saneatra Polk
Jas Monroe closed her eyes and replayed the memory of her husband leaning in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of him.
Then the water turned cold.
Reality snapped back fast. Jas stood alone in a shower that couldn’t even hold its heat, staring up at the same popcorn ceiling she used to pray her way out of. She had seen the world, lived in luxury and somehow landed right back at Valley Hills Apartments.
She cried, “God, why am I back?”
She wrapped her robe tight and stormed into the hallway.
“Excuse me, have you seen the maintenance man?”
The woman posting a flyer turned, studying her. Head tilted as she was trying to recall something. “Diva?”
Jas blinked. No one had called her that in years.
“I’m Tanya,” the woman said, smiling like she’d just solved a puzzle. “Saw you pull up—black car, big coat, all that hair. I said, yeah, she a diva. But you live here?”
Jas recognized the woman from decades ago. Tanya and her family lived in 3B. Same eyes. Same voice. Same building.
“Yeah,” Jas said, quieter this time.
Tanya handed her the flyer. “The landlord was the maintenance man and we haven’t seen or heard from him in months. The building is falling apart and we’re organizing.”
Jas took it, avoiding her gaze, and slipped back inside her apartment.
There were boxes everywhere. She opened one at random. It had her husband’s navy blue khakis and matching navy blue button up shirt in it. A man who built millions and lived simply. A man who would hate what this place had become and what she had done trying to outrun grief.
She didn’t come back to Valley Hills by choice.
But as she looked around, something shifted. The question wasn’t echoing anymore—it was answered.
Jas stood, gripping the flyer.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I understand.”
Tonight, she would tell them everything.
She wasn’t just back.
She was here to rebuild.
Sis, stay tuned for pt 2! If you are enjoying this series so far, please like, share, and subscribe.
Video Snippet: https://youtube.com/shorts/p10TD4nrark?si=lej0vJCTTd0BYXFV
Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hills Apartments!
Come See About Me
Written by Tannika Nikeya
“I’ve been crying
‘Cause I’m lonely (For you)
Smiles have all turned to tears
But tears won’t wash away the fears
That you’re never ever gonna return
To ease the fire that within me burns…”
“Come see about me”
My name is Amani and I just moved into Valley Hill Apartments. My mother used to play music every Saturday. It motivated her through mopping the floors, washing our laundry, and cooking Sunday dinner. But the song she sang along to the loudest was “Come See About Me” by the Supremes. I often wondered if she reminisced about good times with my dad, but the times I witnessed were not so good.
Today, that song popped up in my mind and I began to sing it just as loud as she once did. I sat in my oversized lounge chair with my cup of tea looking out of the window of my small apartment with unpacked boxes.
I find myself in a new place, in a new city, but I am still lost. I am tired. I am carrying mountains of debt. I owe myself exponentially. I am stressed. I have health issues for which my doctor apathetically prescribed pills I can’t even pronounce. And in fact, I need more medicine, the kind that only one doctor can prescribe. I sip my tea, breathing heavily through my nostrils reflecting on how no one wants to help me or even let me rest on their shoulders. But after all, no one knew I was hurting, mad, disappointed, in need. I always keep my mouth shut and regurgitate, “I’m fine.”
I made myself invisible so others could be seen, time after time. After all, I am to be seen and not heard, but somehow my toxic trait said, “go a little deeper and not be seen at all.” After all, you don’t want to be perceived as prideful. So, I refused help—thinking they would like me more.
I live in purpose and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I realized some of my achievements were starting to adorn my worth like a heavy gold chain around my neck. Then, one day, an old lady reminded me that my worth isn’t predicated upon what I do or the titles I bear. She reminded me that I am already valuable–fearfully and wonderfully made. I inhale, then I exhale.
I glance once more around my apartment. I may not have it all figured out. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed and tired because I keep trying to lift loads all on my own, without wisdom and in my own strength. And sometimes I think I have to keep moving without resting, feeling and being. I instinctively pick up my cell phone. “Call Lina,” I command. I need to check on my sister.
“Are you okay?” I ask. We end our conversation with a plan to meet up for lunch at a restaurant with our favorite food we enjoyed as little girls. I hang up the phone and tap the reverse button in the camera, flipping it to face me.
And I can hear the woman clearly as she stares back at me through the lens.
“Come see about me,” she sings with all her heart, trying her best to imitate the pitch of the lead singer of the song.
“I hear you just as clear as I hear the rain tapping on my window,” I compassionately inform her.
With hope and with clarity, I respond further: “I see you. I will love you as I love others. I will not neglect you. This next season is yours.”
Sis, stop trying to pour from an empty cup. It’s okay to see about you too. When you do, you show up to your God-given arenas more authentic, more capable, more grateful, and fully present.
Video Snippet: https://youtube.com/shorts/3-L3b65pdIQ?si=xsRQNJqjhaO4057w
Thank you for coming along this new series and stay tuned for next week’s story or poem!
Hey Loves,
Here is a new series for a new season!
In this new series, the ladies of Valley Hills Apartments share pieces of their lives through short stories, prose, and poetry.
Some moments may make you laugh.
Some may make you pause and reflect.
And each piece will leave you with a little encouragement.
Because sometimes the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills.
Come on in and meet the ladies of Valley Hills Apartments!
Disclaimer: These short stories and poems are works of creative expression, written by writers, Tannika Nikeya, Deandrea Moore, and Saneatra Polk, and are intended to inspire and encourage young ladies and women. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Additionally, this series includes AI-generated visuals used for presentation, created by Tannika Nikeya, Saneatra Polk, and Deandrea Moore.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Pssss: we are about to conclude our series soon so we hope you have had a great time at the P’osies Cafe. We look forward to seeing your comments and for you to join us at the next series. Hmm. Where will we be next? Stay tuned!!!! We are so excited to bring some more treats your way.
But today, we have a new treat for you!!!! One full of humor and wisdom that you don’t want to miss!!!! So, come on in and grab your coffee or hot chocolate, and enjoy.
When The Walls Started Talking (c) 2025
Written by Saneatra Polk
She didn’t just leave the apartment. She left the heaviness that lived in her head. Some moves start in the body, but the real shift begins in the mind.
📢My New Kindle Book is LIVE!
Introducing:
Jackey and the Stranger at the Bus Stop
Jackey is met with the growing distance from her high school sweetheart. As he is drawn deeper into street life, she faces the erosion of their hopes and dreams.
One day, while waiting at the bus stop for him, a stranger appears. This encounter brings fear, confusion, and a challenge that forces Jackey to confront what love, loyalty, and her own survival truly mean.
To download a copy of Jackey and the Stranger at the Bus Stop, click on link below:
This urban fiction short story blends Romance, Mystery, and Urban storytelling as Jackey must decide if she can hold onto the familiar or embrace the unknown.
A Personal Note: This was one of the first stories I ever wrote for a college class, and sharing it now is a way of honoring my creative beginnings and embracing my evolution as a storyteller.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today at the P’osies Cafe we have Part 3 of Mr. Daniels and His Cup, written by me, Tannika Nikeya.
In today’s story we have humility, hope, humor… and a coffee machine about to snap. So sit back and enjoy.
Part 3 Daytime Crew
(c) 2025
Mr. Daniels nodded his head, his face serene, and proceeded back to his seat at his usual table in the middle of the café.
“Shrek was about to blow his lid about his darn wallet he lost.” exclaimed Gregory. The café broke out into united chuckles.
The momentary burst of laughter then faded, leaving the familiar, comforting clatter of cups and the low hum of conversation. The café went on about their usual routines and morning bustle serving each customer and sending them on their way with their favorite beverages and pastries.
Mr. Daniels watched the staff settle back into their rhythm. His coffee, from which he had just taken a tiny sip, sent up a faint, comforting steam.
He noted Kimberly wiping down the counter with long, firm strokes. She was such a pleasant young lady who embodied the virtue he just told the man in the expensive blue suit to possess. She served more than just coffee; she served humility and patience that accompanied her smile. She doesn’t know her power yet, but it is immense, he thought.
Next was Lesliana, shy and timid, back at the register, her big smile reappearing as she thanked a customer. Lesliana worked to help pay for her college classes. It wasn’t easy to juggle her studies and a job but she needed the money for school. This was her seventh year at a four-year university, but this was her last year. My last year of college she would tell Mr. Daniels. Many of them mistake velocity for progress, Mr. Daniels mused, but patience and trusting God’s timing is a virtue. She carries hope, a quiet fire that needs only gentle tending.
And Gregory, who had a rough childhood in foster care, was already making the next customer laugh. He thought his job was only making the latest latte or frappuccino. It was not. His task is the balancing of sorrow and bringing joy to customers, Mr. Daniels thought as he observed him. For Gregory, laughter was a mechanism he used to aid himself in difficult times. And now the laughter he coaxes out is a necessary pressure release for the souls gathered there.
Mr. Daniels folded back his newspaper and set it on the table next to his cup of coffee. He often poured his attention into the stories of the daytime crew more than he read the newspaper.
Kimberly would often talk about her parents. Her dad was gravely ill. As often as she smiled, no one knew just how worried she was about her dad who had lost so much weight and could barely walk now, and her mom who looked after him. After work, Kimberly would stop by to check on her dad and her mom. This Saturday, she looked forward to sitting in with her dad while her mom got a 60-minute massage courtesy of Kimberly. But at this moment, worry lay right behind her smile because her mom reported her dad hasn’t been eating much.
She had prayed with her mom after her mom gave her the news, trying to chuck fear aside and nurture hope for a miracle.
Mr. Daniels knew about her dad as he had listened intently to every detail Kimberly shared about him. He had watched as her colleagues wrapped their arms around her and assured her it would be okay.
Kimberly threw herself into her work, making sure the cafe ran smoothly and delivered those same cozy vibes it gave each day. The sun settled in just as the crew did, alternating spots and illuminating the cafe through the big picture window. The crew picked up their pace as the store became more alive.
Just then zzzz, zap could be heard and then a pop.
Gregory jumped back from one of the major coffee machines, with his eyes wide and his head leaned back.
Accompanying Video: https://youtu.be/d3SxwnJWqyU?si=91T-JutCUhtwCNnQ
Stay tuned for part 4 of Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee as well as A New Hope pt 6 written by Saneatra Polk. See you next Friday!!!!
Hey Friends, welcome back to the P’osies Cafe Series! We apologize that P’osies Cafe was closed yesterday. Some things came up and we got a bit delayed. Nonetheless, we are open today and have a new treat here at the cafe: part five of A New Hope.
Enjoy!
She walked forward not because she had all the answers, but because she believed again. Her hope returned—reminding us that new beginnings often start at our lowest point.
Check out today’s treat:
A New Hope Pt 5 (c) 2025
Written by Saneatra Polk
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today, we have an awesome story by my bestie, Saneatra Polk. So come on in and have a sip of suspense and your favorite coffee!!!!
A New Hope Pt 1 (c) 2025
Have you ever felt pulled in a direction you couldn’t explain—like a whisper from God, or the weight of something greater than yourself? That’s how the voices came to Zayah. For weeks, they urged her to go east, toward a gold box hidden in the wasteland. She tried to drown them out with the bass of her battered CD player, but the voices grew stronger—until the music itself refused to play.
Zayah crawled from her tent. The air was heavy with dust, glowing orange under a pale white sun that looked more like fire than light. All around her, people emerged from tents, their eyes set on the rubble field where they would spend the day digging for scraps. Scraps meant survival—a doughy posie to chew, maybe a sip of water, maybe tea if luck was kind.
Zayah slung her knapsack over her shoulder, but instead of joining the slow line of scavengers, she turned the other way. Her heartbeat was fast. If anyone noticed, they’d ask questions, maybe follow her. They couldn’t know she had the power to sense treasures in the rubble, or that the voices had chosen her. They couldn’t know she was leaving it all behind.
East meant desert. East meant danger. East might mean nothing at all.
But Zayah took one last bite of her posie, tasting sugar and dust on her tongue. She pulled a strip of cloth across her mouth and nose for protection against the dust and stepped forward into the unknown.
Video:
Saneatra Polk’s channel: https://youtube.com/@saneatrapolk9911?si=y_ZSKNX-58aXCHXQ
Tannika Nikeya 