Seeing you happy,
traveling to a place
we once planned to go,
leaves a bitter taste
and makes my stomach tremble.
I wish I were there with you.
I feel I’ve lost so much
I feel I’ve lost
us.

If a heart can tremble,
mine is trembling now.

That thing about the law of attraction—
well,
I imagined my divorce,
imagined myself radiant,
dancing wildly,
happy,
without you.

Look at us —
everything’s falling apart now.

We don’t talk anymore.
We’ve become roommates.
Apartment 403,
welcome.

He works,
I stay home —
that’s the dynamic.

I asked what would become of us,
what you wanted me to do,
and I found myself longing
for you to actually tell me what to do.

If you said, die,
I would die.
Just please —
not in a painful way.

It’s hard for me
to read good books—
the kind that pull me in,
where I live inside the characters’ lives.

I begin to become the story,
and then, suddenly,
the urge to write bursts open in me.

Ideas tumble over each other,
and I rush to my notes app
to catch every drop of inspiration
before it slips away.

A book I could read in an hour
stretches into days,
because reading
always makes me want to write.

When I was a child
I would watch from my window
as the other kids played in the courtyard
My mother said it was dangerous
That I shouldn’t mix with that kind of crowd
And so the idea was planted
that the world is far too dangerous
to be lived

Five of Cups.
I keep clinging
to the spilled wine,
wishing it would return
to the glass—
but it never will.

And now I wonder:
which one of them
is the spilled wine?
Which one
can’t I let go?

That moment when anything can happen
everything can change
and you don’t care
Yes—you do care
about your well-being
about
being truly happy

Last night, we made love.
I was wearing my baby-pink bra,
my white lace *******.

I was surprised you didn’t take it all off at once.
I think you liked how innocent I seemed to you
after so long.

You kissed me deeply,
touched my whole body.
I liked that.

You were concerned about my pleasure—
you wanted me to come.
I didn’t.

But the whole experience
was still worth it.

We’re good now,
like we used to be.

Sometimes
you have to go—
take that step,
despite the fear,
despite the uncertainty,
and discover
that in the end,
we always survive
to tell the story.

You have been called 'too much'
just for feeling.
Silenced,
when all you wanted was to be heard.

You’ve fought the invisible.
You’ve overcome the sadness
that had no name.
You climbed out of the pit of depression.
You walked away from a love
that called you a burden
just for existing with emotion.

And yet —
or maybe because of all this —
you stand here now,
ready to take a step
greater than any step
you’ve ever taken before.

Perhaps what holds you back
is not lack of ability,
but the ache of becoming vast
after being made so small for so long.

Understand this, sweet girl:
no one sabotages themselves because they want to fail.
They sabotage themselves
because they fear rejection
for daring to shine.

And so your soul whispers:
“What if I could fly a little farther?”

Let your blood remind you
that you are still alive.
No soldier waits to feel confident
before entering battle.

I have conquered silence.
I have conquered erasure.
I have conquered the darkness of the mind.
Now I conquer my freedom —
because it is mine by right.

I will no longer live half of myself.

Incredible—
I can make poetry out of anything:
from the tree,
the wheat,
the chaff,
the sea,
the stars,
the sky itself
in all its infinite beauty.

From the good, the bad,
the light and the dark—
everything in nature
becomes verse in my hands.

Will you be part
of this strange art of mine?
Because your eyes
belong to another world—
you’re not from here,
I’m sure of it.

If you were, I would have seen you before,
and I think I would have fallen for you
again
and again.

It’s hard not to look.
I don’t even hear your footsteps
when they pass me by—
heading toward someone else, of course.

But that’s fine.
Even with my skin shivering,
I make your chest my target,
and like darts,
I throw my verses.

It’s always easier to write poetry
about a masterpiece of nature—
but one thing I know for certain:
you are not from here.

You chose to move on
and I respect that.
I’m sorry—
truly, deeply sorry—
for destroying us.

I miss us.
I miss the love
that was more attachment
and dependence
than anything else,
but still—
it was something.
It was family.

I run my fingers
between my legs
searching for pleasure
something that
usually
I don’t feel in my day-to-day
just a little, I beg
make me feel
something

i learned too late
your love
was a poisoned apple

i still don’t know
if you are
the witch
or the devil

wanting you
is a crime
and i
am the guilty one

your truths
drip with lies
a wolf
in sheep’s skin

modern romance
teaches us
to cheer for villains

so i let myself
be robbed
killed
destroyed

fine
you’re the devil

Like a tree
I have lived
Every mark I carry
is one of my victories
scars of war
That’s why
I love myself
because I am still here

In my mind
I’ve slept with so many men
My fingers have felt my own texture so many times
My belly has felt so many *******
That maybe feeling so much
Has made me feel nothing at all

I was working
For a promotion at my job.

Before it could happen,
The job I had quit—
The one that hurt me so much—
Wanted me back.

I said no.
I could never return
To a place
That wounded me so deeply.

The cards now say
You’ll come back,
That you’ll miss my love.

I will say no.
It would be an insult to myself
To go back to someone
Who hurt me
So much.

The past calls us back
Before the future brings
Something better.

I chose you—
different from before.
Not to be saved,
but because in you
I find freedom.

You asked me:
if every card,
every oracle,
God,
every sign
pointed to you—
and my heart
pointed to you—

would I have the courage
to send you the red heart?

Yes.
I have the courage.

This path
Is more like a bridge
Without rails.

I’m taking baby steps,
I already see the light.

I’m hearing thunder—
Still distant,
But I hear it.

Mommy is coming.

We talked
ate
kissed
I leave
and feel empty
Because the moment I walked
through my front door
I wasn’t going to find you
I was looking for
the part of me
that’s missing

What if I’m not good enough for it?
What if that path isn’t mine?
What if
what
if
w
h
a
t
i
f

I don’t know.

They say if you never try,
you’ll never know.

Ah, but I’m scared.
Then go scared.

(eye roll)

Life is one big piece of s.h.i.t.

From: Me
To: My Inner Child

Hello, my dear.
How are you?
I hope you’re well—
because I am not.

You’ve always been here,
speaking to me,
showing me signs
I refused to see.

Now I see.
Now I want to keep you close again.

I’m in tears—
it’s been so long
since we last spoke.

I think I grew up
and left you behind,
abandoned
the way everyone else did.

I’m sorry.
Will you forgive me?

I’ve done so many wrong things
to you
and to myself—
things I’d never
do to a child
if I were truly responsible.

So tonight—
if you’re willing—
let’s spend time together.

Do you remember
first grade,
when every afternoon
you’d run to the ballet studio
just to watch the girls
in their pink tights,
gentle and graceful,
warming up for class—
and you’d stand at the door,
dreaming of being one of them?

I remember.

Our mother said
we could never be ballerinas—
our feet weren’t right,
our toenails always ingrown.

So what could we do?
Dance in secret,
alone in the bedroom,
with Barbie
and the Twelve Dancing Princesses.

So tonight—
will you dance with me?

Let’s be ballerinas for one night.
Let’s be what we always dreamed to be.

Will you take my hand
for this dance?

With love,
Me.

I need to rewrite this story—
but to do that,
I have to leave it in the past.

I tell people I’m divorcing
as if the process
were still happening,
but it’s already done.

I am divorced.

And it’s a leap into the dark,
yet there’s still
a thin nylon thread
tied to me,
wanting to believe
I’ll return to our little house,
our nest,
our love.

I will respect you.
You did it
you climbed out of the hole
you once called home
and you flew.
Fly, my love,
you are free
to soar.

I want to rewrite my love story
I want to live a love, yes
intense,
romantic,
but healthy.
A love where we grow together
without me losing
myself.

When I was younger
I loved tulips, but it was
because
there was a girl
holding a tulip on the cover
of a book
I loved that story
But now
I like daisies
Maybe one day my daughter’s name will be Daisy
I like them
because they are simple
they bother no one
they have their own sun at their center
and around it, many angels
make harmony
dancing to the most sublime songs

The truth is,
sometimes
victory lies
in leaving the past behind.

You can’t move forward
when you’re tied to the depths
of the ocean.

They say Christ
casts forgiven sins down there—
but it feels like I’m leaving
all my sins
tied like stones to my feet,
sinking with them.

If Christ exists,
He has forgiven me.
But I have not forgiven myself.

I’m like a submarine,
lost in some sea,
in the dark,
sending out signals
for someone on the surface
to hear me.

No one will come.

I should have learned by now—
princes on white horses
are a myth.

I am the prince.
I am the white horse.
I save myself.

I don’t aspire to high ranks
My humble little life
already so worn
is far too good to trade
for any gold that comes from hell
or any weapon that comes from heaven
None of it is worth it
if my heart holds nothing
I hope my journey
lasts many more miles of road
My verses—though not quite country songs—
bring calm
to my breath

You’re not letting me go.
You’re making everything harder,
slowing down my plans.

Do you still miss me?