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Poetry: can’t think of a sexier metaphor
poetry: the muse
I wrote this poem in December of 2020.
The words, the phrases, the sentences seep from me
when I think of you, my muse
Words of hate, words of love,
Words of devastation, words of lust
You inspire everything that is great,
You inspire everything that I hate
Spilled phrases about my desire for you
and my disgust for you fills pages of my journal
I hate him, I love him, I can’t live without him
Phrases that bleed from my our toxic love af
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poetry: tomorrow
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
radical self compassion and grace falls from my life
as thoughts of crashing my car unintentionally come to the surface of my mind
but this happens every year in early december
the old me from 2016 still wants to be heard and seen
the trauma from her is visiting me mixed with winter and PMDD
and lack of sleep makes me feel incompetent and unworthy of existing
but I resist and resist thoughts of self harm and despair
there is still too much life left in me and besides it’s one bad day out of many
Tomorrow, tomorrow, is another day, another sunrise, another sunset
another brand new beginning
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poetry: grip
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
the more I lose my grip on reality
the more I try to write myself
back to sanity
it’s the only way I know
how to deal with what’s
in front of me
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poetry: jeff
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
desperation and despair sounds like a former friend
calling me out of the blue,
asking me for numbers of drug dealers I used to know
saying it’s a matter of life and death
in shock, I tell him I’m a different person
from who he used to know
I couldn’t help him-the call ends-
I’m no longer the person he used to know
I finally understand my value and worth
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poetry: no more lamentations
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
there will be no more lamentations for what was once
scattered across my journals and notebooks
from now on, I hold my head up high
and look towards the sky
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poetry: tricky
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wouldn’t visit your grave a second time once you died
you’re not worth my time, you’re not worth my energy
I’d already would be forced to say my goodbyes at your passing
due to our familial connections
and I want to be respectful to my sister and nephews
but after that I never want to think about you again
with your death
I want to bury the harm done-the trauma you caused and move on
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poetry: demon
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
I found God as a poet sang on stage sang
“Don’t be scared little child, you’re no demon”
it was a moment of triumph acknowledging
that all of this time, I had been lying to myself
I was never a demon, or the monster larger than life
I had made myself out to be
I was just a flawed and imperfect child of God
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poetry: friendship
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
on days like today when the world hurts
and i can’t stop doom scrolling reminding me
that everything is burning
I put down my phone, pause and breathe
and ground myself in my friendships
which are a reminder of love to me
which are a reminder that no matter what happens
in this world, I have people to hold space for me
which are a reminder of hope
and because of that
I can keep on going
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poetry: esoteric
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
Implied I was a heretic because of my tarot cards
told me I should look up some verse in the bible
that validates your suspicion that I’m breaking bread
with the devil
because of esoteric tendencies
the funny and ironic thing in your lecture
is my tarot cards never harmed me or made me feel
Worthless
and the nearest I came to living with devil energy
is the man you look at when you look in the mirror
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poetry: black
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
while our friendship has been various shades of gray
I’d never imagined that one day it’d turn black
without an explanation
leaving me alone to find closure
leaving me in tears to find acceptance
and understanding that somehow our friendship
wasn’t meant to be
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poetry: silly dream
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
when no one is watching I manifest a new lover-
I’m tired of solitude, I’m tired of crying from loneliness
so I dream about him, I write about him
and I pray that he appears
and while I tell myself it’s ok if he doesn’t exist
and it’s just one of my many silly dreams
secretly I want him to become a reality
I just want to know what it’s like for once
to be loved and accepted for the complicated
Woman that I am
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poetry: well,okay then
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
when someone blocks me, I wonder what was the last straw
was is some irreverent post I posted
some salty poem on my blog that offended them
something stupid I said
most of the time I simply let it go and understand
I’m not for everyone but when it’s someone
I considered a friend, I’m stumped
because I thought friends were supposed to talk
things out when conflict occurs
I thought friends were supposed to give each other
Space when they screw up
But I guess in this instance, I must have done something
so unforgivable, so horrible, I didn’t deserve a warning
Before being blocked
And now there’s nothing I can do
I have to accept this was just a season of friendship
and move on
I’ll never know what I did wrong
and he’ll never know how he wrecked me
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poetry: obsessed
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wish I could forgive everyone who did me harm-
but something in me won’t allow me too
maybe it’s unprocessed trauma that still wants to speak-
about every single atrocity I’ve experienced
at the hands of those who said
they care for me and love me
I really wish I was better than this-
constantly holding onto these old grudges
but something in me still needs to heal
so I can stop obsessing about revenge
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poetry: lesser evil
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
it’s election day and I feel numb and empty
I doubt my vote made a difference
in my swing state
but at least I made my voice heard
for the lesser evil
Life on the BPD 