I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
telling our stories, reading our poetry
building community
is the salve for humanity
let’s start another revolution of love
except this time without the drugs
this time let’s make something more inclusive,
more accepting of everyone
let’s keep the music, the frolicking in the fields,
the free spirits,
and let’s become a sanctuary for one another
if we do this, we’ll have a shot at breaking away
from the curse of violence that plagues this nation
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I’m a master magician of emotional alchemy
transforming my suffering into poetry
I never meant for it to happen that way
but life gave me no other viable option
it was either I became magician or I died
and the spark within me was too strong
to give into my self pity and depression
so here I am
making sense through poetry out of my madness
and the nonsense life has thrown at me
and done my best with it
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my emotional hangover drains me
and anxiety and insecurity sets in –
He makes my heart race-
He inspires poetry
He’ll be another tragic love story
I know he’s not a “finally”
He’s more of a “maybe”
maybe he’ll leave , maybe he won’t
I wonder how he’ll grow tire of me
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Will your light illuminate the dark and negative thoughts I have about love?
or will you be another one who fill me up with more self doubt
and makes me feel worthless
Will you really mean it when you tell me you love me?
or will you leave the minute I lose my shit?
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I welcome fall with open arms
looking forward to a new season
of changes
with the leaves changing colors,
cooler temperatures,
exhibiting the beauty of my curves
in sweater dresses
and everything halloween
I welcome fall with open arms
a season where much laughter is shared,
more poetry written,
and I’m filled with a brand new purpose
and determination to be better
I welcome fall with open arms
where I keep thriving in my solitude
and understand being single isn’t a curse
But a blessing instead
filled with freedom and love for myself
without owing anyone any explanations
for my actions or words
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Your butterfly kisses trace the small of my back
and as I lose control with fiery desire
you take me in your arms
and drown me in your love
until I scream
and then mark me with you lips
to let the whole world know
about your passion for me
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
beast hurry up and come find me
it’s been a year since I’ve been married
two years since I had sex
and three years since I’ve been
in real relationship
I’m a thirsty and have a yearning
to break my vow of celibacy
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Stepping out of my chrysalis I stare with awe at everything
I see a world in color and no longer in black and white
I feel a true sense of freedom and no longer restrained
by society’s expectations of who I’m expected to be
and I am finally free to be who I was always meant to be
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
The moon guards and protects me as I lose my sanity
as I drink too much
as I search for someone’s touch
the moon sends the Goddess
with a message of awareness
and I wake up from my trance of self destruction
and start an inner healing revolution
my purpose was never to be diminished and objectified
it was my judgment gone awry
and I try respect and worth on for size
my beauty is not all there is to me
I’m a mosaic of intelligence, love, and creativity
never a barbie to be treated as a reward or trophy
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Lately I feel too big for my current pot
I need somewhere else to bloom
this is too comfortable
too stagnated
it’s almost suffocating
I need another place
full of challenges
and opportunities
I need a place where
I can full fill the extent
of my potential
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
soon we’ll be back to business as usual
obsessing over taylor and travis
clicking on clickbait about ben and jen
finding another celebrity to cancel
over some politically incorrect crime
of their past
soon we’ll go back to business to usual
as mothers still mourn their children
over another violent tragery
that never should have happened
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
as my son and his friends are hypervigilant
over anything suspicious
at 13, this world has taken away their innocence
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
as we go back to our stupid jobs
whether that’s a 9 to 5 office setting
or back breaking labor
as if evil didn’t happen at our community’s door
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
and I’ll write another poem about unrequited love
or the ex I dreamt about last night
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
except this time I’ll carry a when and where
in back of my mind
waiting for it to happen again
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my guardian angel sighs in exasperation and frustration
she’s tired of my self destructive behavior
she’s tired of being hyper vigilant
as I tear my life into shambles
and now she sees it’s too late
there was nothing she could’ve done
to stop me from giving into attraction and chemistry
and she wonders how this story will turn out
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I never did get my happily ever after
but I did get my happily divorced after
and a year after it was all done
and signed by the judge
I feel gratitude for solitude
and breathe a sigh of relief
that I won’t settle ever again
for fear of being lonely
never again will I ever allow
Societal pressure to write my life’s
Narrative
and never again will I stay somewhere
Past the expiration date
because of fear or for the sake of appearances
I never did get my happily ever
but I did get my happily divorced after
and life feels joyous and glorious
and I am the most empowered version
of myself
Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.
the ceilings of America are laced with poison ivy
every time I act out of the norm or forget to code switch
people tell me I’m too dramatic -ouch-
accused of being toxic and crazy-damn
and a rash of doubt takes over my mind
I’ll never fit it, no one will ever love or accept me
and I turn down who I am
but even that doesn’t work
it makes things worse
and I explode and project-
fuck you, you’re blocked
then I discover therapy -slowly I heal
accept the pieces of myself that will never fit in
exhibit myself in my most authentic form
and slowly the poison ivy becomes an ivy of love and growth
and I understand that to be happy
I need let go of normalcy
and embrace my unconventional and eccentric self
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I tell my son I’m proud of you
and he’s like why, because I’m alive
I nervously laugh even though
my heart aches over what he said
Why does America like to play
Russian roulette with its children
Why can’t I have a normal conversation with
my kid over too much screen time
and reminding him to brush his teeth
instead of conversation over what
he should do in a mass shooting
Life on the BPD 