



I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

I hold onto my should haves for old times sake
to inspire the poet out of me
should have hugged him a few moments longer
the other night so heβd get a hint of how I felt
should have broken up with him in spring
after that email
should have cut ties with him in the summer
the first time he kicked me out of his apartment
should have divorced him the winter
after I tried to die
should have, should have, should have
so many of them could have prevented
some emotional disasters, earthquakes
that broke my core
but then again, should haves have inspired
1001 poems and stories in my tome of lust and love


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

Iβm lead to a higher version of myself after integration
itβs uncomfortable and I blush red in this latest transformation
annoyed and hate everything I write as most of it
takes a romantic undertone
I started to miss the woman-scorned and empowered
who decimated her exes
the one who came up with the clever phrase
electronic pink slip
but that woman is slipping away from me
transforming into a woman who wears her heart
on her sleeve with her poetry
transforming into a woman whoβs grown bored
of hating her exes
and instead wants to be on friendly terms with them
transforming into a woman who understands
and accepts she not defined by her trauma or a diagnosis
and instead should lean into the magic of love
that lurks inside of her


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

thereβs a song I listen to when I know Iβm truly fucked
when I know I have feelings for someone
when I get that sinking wave of romance in my gut
that makes me want to vomit and swim
in an ocean of anxiety
and like the sentimental poet that I am
I wonβt tell you what that song is
but Iβll give you a hint
itβs the cover of a 70βs love song
by Will to the Power


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

my body keeps score even when I think I’m better
even though Iβve found closure and made peace
with most of my demons
my body keeps score on certain dates
and remembers unintentional trauma inflicted
and the great impact it had on me
great emotional earthquakes that shook
and broke the core of my soul
leading to breakdowns and breakthroughs
understanding and accepting who and whatβs
right for me and what isnβt


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

ancestor, ancestor-
which alcohol goes best with making shitty life decisions
ancestors says, not the PBR, not the michelob ultra light, itβs too basic of an energy
for the kind of epic shitty life decisions you tend to make
donβt reach for the margarita wine either, too obvious, too much of a cliche
and you already have plenty of them in your poetry
Go for the Guiness six pack
make your shitty life decisions with some English class
since most of your terrible decisions tend to include some asshole
whose ancestors are colonizer Englishmen
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
desperate for attention, desperate for love
desperate to cover myself up with another soul
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
I didnβt have an identity, I didnβt have any self worth
I didnβt have any self love
Once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
to find validation in my existence
to use compliments to feed my ego
to lose myself in someone else
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
I was undiagnosed with BPD
I was incredibly insecure
I was following the script prescribed to me
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
and that was a long time ago
and now itβs been 3 years since Iβve been in a relationship
almost 2 years in my journey of celibacy
and 6 months since Iβve been declared officially single
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
and now I block anyone who tries to get near me
and want to vomit when I interact with my crush


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

ramen 3 times a day in the dingy 2 bedroom duplex
and it was an upgrade from the miniature apartment
in mid city L.A
the one where there was a bullet hole in my window
so what if the stripper and the landlordβs son
got in screaming matches
so what if the marine next to us beat his wife
weekly for her infidelity
despite the poverty experienced, despite the trashy
and toxic domestic energy
that dingy duplex was freedom to me and my family
it was hope and salvation from the nightmare
of indentured servitude L.A had been



