I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
kept the dead rose petals along with your note as long as I could
it was the first time a man had acknowledged me worthy enough
of a rose
and at 16, that was everything
poetry: 16
poetry: cesspool
I wrote this poem in March of 2019.
Feeling hopeless in a cesspool of a world
That will never accept you
-for your skin color
-for your accent
-for your nationality
-for your religion or lack of one
-for your independent thought
Anything that doesn’t fit the image
of white and Christian is blasphemous
To be an “other” is to carry the weight of racism,
discrimination, xenophobia
All the phobias on your already burdened shoulders
So they try to kill us with actual guns Or
metaphorical ones of insults,rejections or looks of disgust.
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poetry: God
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
kept trying to find the God of my youth in men
but instead I kept becoming a martyr over and over
again
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poetry: second chance
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
raindrops serendipiciously hit the window panes of our room
and the wind sings a song everyone can hear
I lay on your chest in our bed in awe of what just happened
caught lovestruck with a smile of love
thankful for this second chance at marriage
for so long I thought I was doomed to be alone
never expected to find you
especially the way you showed up in my life
and now there isn’t a space between us
and you look at me with goofy smile of yours
the one that inspires the poet in me and say
“we need to make up for lost time”
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poetry: you’re so mature for your age
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
Y’all should have known better than to fuck with me
trying me on while I was still finding my footing as a woman
to lust after me because of my curves and pretty face
Never thinking my brain was still developing
Never weighing the consequences of how your selfish ways
would hurt me
Instead I was just fodder for your game of lust-
and you became inspiration for stories and poems about trauma
I still wonder who I would turned out to be-
if only you two would have left me alone
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poetry: between
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
between heartbeats and honeysuckle, they fell in love
this time, it was different for both of them
this time it didn’t take much to see that both of them
Wanted to exchange I dos
this time they believed in forever and happily ever after
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poetry: special
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
With a fiery madness, she survived and made it out alive
tragedy after tragedy, diagnosis after diagnosis
she questioned how or why she did it
Many stood astonished at how she kept herself together
and composed even as her life and her body fell apart
but after a while it was easy for her to triumph
after every devastating plot twist
she was something else
a mixture of manic pixie girl and goddess
she was special
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poetry: scattered memories
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
scattered memories of you and I are tossed into the bonfire
pictures, poems, and letters never sent burn and burn
and I watch understanding this is our closure
and our chapter is finally closed
and I needed the bonfire and a final curtain call
on an early February night to put us behind
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poetry: pleas
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
my pleas for love fall on the deaf ears of the universe
I scoff and get angry with her
Wondering what’s left to heal
what’s left for closure
what’s wrong with me that I need to fix in order
to attract someone to love for the crazy, creative
and complex woman that I am
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poetry: help her
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
help her find hope after becoming the worst version of herself
after getting herself entangled with men who did nothing
but hurt her
help her find grace after the fall from the altar of love
men placed her on and she turned into a monster
who resembled medusa
help her find a path to enlightenment and purpose
after she once again drowns in waves
nostalgia and grief over what could have been
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poetry: all worth it
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’d never say I lost time with any of my love stories-
they all taught me something about myself
They all inspired me to write poetry
and two of them help me create my three kings
even if some of my love stories left me decimated
and almost destroyed me
they were all worthy for the love I felt
the growth and progress I had
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poetry: looking
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m looking for the rhythm of a new heartbeat to fall in love with
A heartbeat that goes with the flow of my intense intimacy
A heartbeat who doesn’t call me angel or princess
only calls me by my name
a heartbeat who’ll fall in love with the real me
and not the idea they have of me
or the persona I play on social media
A heartbeat who can handle my crazy and chaos
A heartbeat who accepts and understands me
and never tries to change me
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poetry: dystopian clusterfuck
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
me and my family have immigration jokes for day on end
and some of my friends think that’s sick and awful
but its one of the only things
that helps me and my family keep our sanity
in Trump’s American is making fun of our misery and misfortune
it’s how we’ve survived generations of corrupt governments
and wannabe dictators
its how we’ve passed resilience and strength to future generations
sure, we may cry at first as the life we’ve worked hard for
starts falling apart and our plans for the future are shattered
because of a few megarich and corrupt maga idiots
who run our government
but right after we wipe our tears and break out in jokes
and laughter
especially now that what’s supposed to be the land of the free
gets more and more fascist
and we swim closer and closer to nazi waters
the only thing we can do is try to find a way to smile, to laugh,
to find a bit of joy no matter how fucked up in may seem
in this dystopian clusterfuck
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poetry: don’t fall in love with me
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
Don’t fall in love with me he said to me
right after he got off from me
he wanted to make sure I didn’t get the wrong idea
So he dotted his I’s and T’s of casual fucking
And I didn’t go into a love hysteria
But it was already too late
My intense emotions couldn’t wait
“I love him, he’s my love king”
I was already thinking
the truth is
No one can control a borderline’s mind
And it’s not his fault of mine
that I catch feelings easily
even when you use me sexually
It won’t matter what you say
My mind won’t be swayed
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Poetry: Death
I wrote this in January of 2022 when I was depressed.
I welcome death to take me away tonight-
death must be better than the anger
that has made an eternal home in me
death must feel better than this emptiness
that lies in my heart
death has to be better than this sorrow
that floods my pillow with tears continuously
death would be better than my emotions
that threaten to consume me
Life on the BPD 