Charlotte Simon-Rowson

I am a Black woman, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a survivor, and a witness. I am a poet because poetry was the first place that held me when the world felt unsteady. Long before I had language for grief, poetry became a sanctuary — a place where pain could rest without judgment and truth could speak freely.

My faith in GOD is the foundation of both my life and my work. When my own strength ran thin, GOD met me in the quiet — in breath, in memory, in the spaces between what was lost and what still remained. Poetry became prayerful for me. It allowed me to wrestle honestly, to hope intentionally, and to trust that even broken words could be used for healing.

I write from lived experience — from loving deeply, losing profoundly, and surviving by grace. My work lives at the intersection of grief and gratitude, faith and endurance, memory and legacy. Poetry is not something I visit; it is how I listen, how I remember, and how I honor the women who came before me, especially my Mommy. Her life, her love, and her lessons continue to shape how I write about womanhood, motherhood, and becoming.

I am the creator of Simonsayswritenow, a reflective literary platform rooted in truth-telling, healing, and spiritual grounding. I am also the writer of the recurring column Grief & Gratitude, featured in Aspiring Authors Magazine, where poetry and reflection meet lived experience. Through this work, I hold space for conversations around loss, faith, healing, and joy — especially within the lives of Black women.

My poetry and prose have been featured in anthologies and creative spaces committed to amplifying stories of resilience and transformation. My work has received recognition through honors such as the Hoinser Awards and the DAG Award, acknowledging the emotional depth, authenticity, and impact of my writing. I have also been recognized by Hoinser Media Group with a feature on a Times Square (42nd Street) Billboard, honoring the reach and resonance of my work.

In addition to poetry, I write legacy pieces and reflective essays that explore survival, gratitude, and the ongoing work of becoming. I am currently developing Roses for Betty, a deeply personal poetic project honoring a mother–daughter relationship across time, memory, love, and loss.

Through poetry, I tell the truth gently but unapologetically. I write so that others feel less alone in their becoming. I write for the woman who needs permission to rest, to remember, and to hope again. I write because silence once kept me alive — but GOD and poetry together taught me how to speak again.

A Poetry piece by Charlotte

What Survives Us

I used to think survival announced itself,

that it arrived with trumpets

and a long testimony,

with proof neatly wrapped in applause.

But survival is softer than that.

It hums with the morning light.

It stretches toward the day without rushing.

It learns how to exhale.

Survival lives in ordinary beauty, 

warm coffee cooling on the counter, music playing 

in the background,  

sunlight finding the floor,

laughter catching you off guard

and staying longer than expected.

It is choosing ease

after seasons of bracing.

It is discovering that rest

can also be a form of strength.

Survival is learning how to carry memory

without letting it weigh you down.

It is honoring where you’ve been

without staying there.

It is standing in the mirror

and seeing wisdom

where there once was only endurance.

I survived by choosing joy on purpose.

By setting the table beautifully,

even after sorrow had memorized the seating chart.

Joy learned my name,

pulled up a chair,

and made itself at home.

I survived by blessing small moments, 

slow mornings,

gentle conversations,

peace that did not need explaining.

I survived by praying prayers of gratitude,

sometimes whispered,

sometimes sung,

the kind GOD receives with a smile

before the last word leaves my lips.

My Mother’s lives in my laugh, and those who have 

made the journey as well, 

in the way it rises from deep places,

in the pauses I take before responding,

in the way I love without apology

and truly forgive with intention.

She lives in my softness

and in my strength.

In my ability to hold joy

without guilt.

Some things do not disappear.

They deepen.

They become wisdom,

become legacy,

become light passed freely

from hand to hand,

generation to generation.

I am still here because GOD

kept inviting me into more life, 

more laughter,

more light,

more becoming.

And I am proof

that what once threatened to undo me

became a doorway.

Where my faith learned how to dance.

Where my healing found its rhythm.

Where my joy stood tall,

unafraid.

This is what survives us:

love that outlives loss,

faith that feels like home,

and a life that keeps opening

long after the hardest chapters

have been written.

By 

Charlotte Simon-Rowson