I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
Back to black blast from my car radio as I drive aimlessly in the rain
I have a boyfriend but I still feel alone
It turns out that being in a relationship isn’t the cure for my loneliness after all
Some people will say it’s the long distance, others will say it’s how I still keep my guard up
I think it’s a mixture of both and how I have a tendency to fuck up in love
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
I breathe grief in, I exhale grief out
my pain needs a way out
because despair and sorrow fill up my lungs
and anger sits at the bottom of my stomach
and I’m tired of living like this
a life full of emotional intensity
And supposedly there’s a cure for it
with therapy and radical acceptance
but how do I accept that every man
who’s ever professed his love to me
always leaves
Will my romantic misfortune one day end?
or am I destined to repeat the same story
of abandonment
over and over again?
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
your lips on my ear with I least expect it
I can tell you’re going to be different
you’re not one for wasting time to see
if the chemistry right
and by the goosebumps I feel
as the hair on my arms stand up
I can see it really is
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Let’s go to war with ourselves
and speak our truth and heal unprocessed trauma within
and face our fear and insecurities
we’ll walk out with confidence and feel empowered
We’ll leave with versions of ourselves ready
to reach our full potential and ready to love
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
I need to head back to the gym before my algorithm notices
and starts sending me ads about BBLs and Ozempic
I need to head back to the gym and make it part of my weekly routine
instead of constantly standing still
I need to head back to the gym, I need those endorphins now more
than ever as another financial crises looms over me
and I don’t know how to get under it
give me 45 minutes at the gym to clear my head
strategize about my next to make sure my family
doesn’t fall into poverty
How do you deal with uncertainty?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic outweigh any rewards
everytime I start to believe in love it never works out
Everytime I start to believe in love it ends up in chaos and destruction
and i try and try again only always to have the same ending
and after 26 years of doing this-I don’t have it in me
to endure another love failure
someone who appears sure of me-only for them to change their mind
about me on a whim
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic has filled a dozen
notebooks and journals with sorrow and grief
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
The world seems to be moving awfully swift these days
and I can only seem to stand still against a wall
that won’t move
I can only seem to be the hanged man in the tarot
with an inertia that traps me into a hell of my own making
escribí este poema en agosto del 2022.
El dilema de darte mi amor
me causa ansiedad e insomnia
como se que no seras otro error
otro príncipe azul falso
que me quiere hasta que se harte de mi
como se que de nuevo no acabaré
con mi corazón en pedazos
por lo que no pudo ser
If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?
To myself in 2022,
As I sit here in 2026 with the news of the 6th poetry acceptance, I’ll just tell you to never stop writing, never stop being yourself, never stop chasing your dreams and sharing your poetry. There is a place in the world for your simple verses and stanzas. There is community to be found online and locally. There will come a day like today that the path you chose as a writer, storyteller, and poet will one day be worth it. 🥳🥳🥳
Patty 8/14/26
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
The last tarot card I pull said everything is working in my favor
and yet here I am knee deep in my depression as my world is full of so many changes
it’s hard for me to keep up with
and I feel like I’m playing emotional parkour at double time. not fully processing one
transition before facing the next
and I don’t remember when’s the last time I’ve been to the gym
it’s to suffice to say, I’ve stopped caring about how much weight I’ve gained
but I should considering I don’t have money for new clothes since I’m as broke
as a college student who buys ramen by the bulk for sustenance on most days
but here my tarot say there are better days to come
and lately I’m impatient and shake my fists at the sky yelling “when”
Which author would you love to have dinner with?
I’d love to have dinner with Isabel Allende. I’m absolutely fascinated with her and love all of her books I’ve read so far. I’d like to pick her brain about her creative process and get writing advice from her. I have watched many of her interviews and a couple of Ted talks from her but I think being to talk to her in person would be so much better. Then again, I might fangirl too hard and go mute. 😳😪
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
I’ve tried to keep my life private but I have a talent for oversharing
Especially when I’m anxious
Especially when I’m drunk and you’ll think it’s charming at first
Until one day I explode and then you’ll say goodbye
And I’ll get super salty, cry, and write
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
the scent of jasmine in the air
your hands on my waist
as I sit on your lap
Stolen moments of caresses
at the botanical gardens
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My bra is the milkshake that brings men to my playground
It gives me the cleavage that makes them feel like they’re in love
They’ll claim it’s my words or my eyes they’re in love with , but let’s not kid ourselves
It’s really my majestic breasts that pop out with their own personalities
they fuel their many exotic and erotic fantasies
Life on the BPD 