I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
feet washed and kissed in front of others
everyone calls her blessed and lucky
no one knows about the scars she hides
beneath her lilac modest dress
no one believes her if she told them
what a monster he was behind closed doors
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
her warmth keeps me safe and loved
it protects me from the harshness of this world
I call her Mami
her strength inspires me to stand up for myself
it makes me want to become a better version of myself
I call her my sister
Her ability to be there for me keeps me from dying
It keeps from falling into a dark abyss
I call her my friend
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
we’re in our saorsa era, redemptive and honest
a complete 180 turn to who we were before
a story I like so much better than our last one
always said I was a much better friend
and girlfriend
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone
but I wish death upon you
the minute your child posted about your open heart surgery
and immediately , it makes sense,
a man with a weak mind has an even weaker heart
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone
but I wish death upon you
couldn’t you die on the operating table?
you never deserved your life with your beautiful children
you-who made me carry the burden of shame and guilt
for years and years
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone but I wish death upon you
you-who desecrated my morality and ethics through
your domestic authority
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone but I wish death upon you
because someone like doesn’t deserve to breathe
the same breath of real human beings
I wrote to this poem in March of 2022.
I should go back to where I come from and where is that exactly
here -is the only real home I’ve ever known
here – is where all of my babies were born
here- is where I’ve loved and I’ve mourned
so where is my place
because anywhere else feels like a home unknown
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
in total darkness I fell for a while
for a year I didn’t listen to music
For a year I don’t remember being a mom
and while I still function and went to work
Several years later
I realize how I had forgotten all about
the darkness I had fallen in a while ago
my mind blocked it in an attempt to move on
in an attempt to heal
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
I wrote this poem in March of 2021.
I don’t want to but have to be the boss
the boss of my family
the boss in my relationships
the boss of my life
it sucks to take charge and dominate all of the spaces
it sucks to have so many responsibilities thrust upon me
it sucks to always have to shrink myself for egos
it sucks to never be in a space where for once
I can be soft
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
not much of choice, get married or become a whore
at 19, she was trapped between a sword
and another sword
either way she’s trapped and kept away from the life
she really wanted to live
either way, her fate would be sealed
with her ink of shame
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.
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
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m soldier of love
too lost battles for me to count and recount
how many times I’ve had to stitch my heart over and over again
from the many knives past lovers have stabbed me with
with the last one, I almost lost all hope for love
It made me lose my sanity and almost gave me PTSD
Still the romantic in me refused to die
and resurfaced this year
Told me, “this time it will be different, this time you have self respect
and you’ll be choosy over who’s worthy of your love energy”
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
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
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
this is a dangerous road I’m traveling on
smiling at your messages
Creating a playlist inspired by you
romanticizing every interaction we have
liking every single one of your posts
Wondering if you’re safe enough
To get to know you
beyond the walls of this simple friendship
Life on the BPD 