I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
pumpkin patches, fairy costumes, scary movies-
leaves falling, trees dying-
october is here
another damn season of my life is here
another transformation I’m not ready for
poetry: autumn
poetry: script
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
when it’s good, I float on clouds
but lately, I feel trapped
like a bird in a cage
doing everything I can to survive
enslaved in some script I follow
in order to not be alone
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Poetry: Sunflower
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
the sunflower longs for the warmth of summer
where it feels loved and comfort-
but summer has to end every year and fall comes in to kill her
and she dies every autumn waiting for almost a year to be reborn
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poetry: my caramel
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
the happiest week of my life happened a year ago
when I broke my two year celibacy vow and landed
in my situationship’s bed and felt stupidly hopeful
we could have a new beginning where a toxic love story
could be redeemed
where I saw my favorite singer performed all the songs
that had been the soundtrack to my healing
that week everything seemed possible and that love
could rise from the ashes of past crashed
and setting into something full of promise
and potential for fairytale ending
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poetry: exhaustion
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in the land of exhaustion, I silently pray for a burst of energy
to get me through the last 4 hours of the work day
to make me fake perky and be productive at my job
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poetry: failure
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
I stink of failure lately
and the stench is so strong
I wonder when it will stop
I wonder if I’ll find
my self worth once again
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Poetry: Control Myself
I wrote this poem in 2019 when I got into a fight with a friend because he was cruel to one of my friends. After this fight, we didn’t talk for 2 years but we ended up reconnecting in the summer of this year.
“Control myself”, he said as I called out his misogyny
his fragile ego couldn’t handle hard truths thrown at him
he thinks that he has a license to offend
because of the organ between his legs and the pale color of his skin-
He thinks that I’m wrong for not sitting still and silent
He thinks that I have no right to stand up for myself
“Control myself”, he said to and “fuck off” I replied to him
you won’t ever be able to control a woman like me
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poetry: simpler times
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
compasses, faded maps, stereos, VCRS, corded phones
all relics of another era
when we weren’t one click away from seeking validation
from our peers or the news trying to break us with each headline
simpler times when we could ignore
what was happening around us
