I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
the empty wineglass sits at the edge of the coffee table
after I’ve written another poem about you
it needs to be refilled so my mind gets tired
of being inspired by the memory of you
poetry: refill
poetry:next valentine’s day
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
next valentine’s day I want to be calm especially if I’m still alone
I want my nervous system to be ultra regulated and not the mess
it currently is
next valentine’s day I don’t want to entertain vengeful fantasies
of getting my baseball bat to scare couples in the middle
of their romantic dinner
Next valentine’s day I don’t to keep playing the role of bitter,jaded,
and lonely bitch who allows herself to become a wreck
at the mere mention of romantic love
Next valentine’s day I’m rewriting the script of grief stricken lonely girl
and will make it a day that will reflect on all of the love I have in my life
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poetry: your purpose
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’ve written dozens and dozens of poems about our story of lust and love
but today I found your purpose
with you I found inspiration and motivation to make myself better
hoping you could really love me
hoping you wouldn’t see me as just a sexual commodity
hoping to make myself worthy of you
and while now I see it was a delusion of mine
to do all of these things for your love
it still helped me to become better than before
it still brought me the resilience, strength and courage
to start living the life I always wanted to live
and plan the future I had always dreamed of
with you and after you-
I became the empowered woman I am today
and for that I thank you
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poetry: feminist
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
never set out to become a feminist but somehow ended up becoming everything
opposite of what I was taught a woman should be
in my young girl’s mind
a husband and children should have made me happy
even when I observed all of the women around drown in misery
always complaining about their husbands and kids
I thought that maybe with me, it’d be different
and when I found myself in my grown up conditioned woman narrative
I almost tried to die in that reality and knew it was never for me
and for a while I searched for answers in others until I looked within
and understood, i alone am magic
I alone without a man am really enough
and the only one responsible for my happiness and to make my dreams come true
all a man ever did was drag me down and made me feel like the dirt on his shoe
or like an ornament to take out at times for his convenience
and when I realized all of this
that’s when I became an unintentional feminist, unapologetic and unashamed
to be the woman I always wanted to be but had been too afraid to embrace
until my middle age
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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: the fairy tale died that day
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
I’m pregnant, it’s yours, I want to keep it
I start crying
“Just get rid of it you tell me
he fairytale died that day
I’m at your apartment drunk
And you;re drunk, we fight, then we kiss
And you take me in-but then you feel guilt
And kick me out I
The fairytale died that day
I’m at your apartment
I want to hold you and kiss you
I yearn for you
You imply I can’t be trusted
The fairytale died that day
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poetry: so resilient
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
Diseased hip evicted, shiny aluminum to replace it
6 inch scar needed to better my life
80 minutes of the Drs doing their magic
Cutting into me and making me whole
a recovery period of 6 weeks or so they say
third time trying to fix my hip
hopefully the third time is a charm
all of this just for being born broken,
Damaged and different
everyone admires my strength and resilience
and all I dream about is one day not being defined
by everything I’ve had to overcome,
of ne day not being called resilient
and being seen as more than the turmoil
I’ve had to endure and over come
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Excitement
Write about your first computer.
Excitement over our new computer
I can’t wait to get into those yahoo and aol chatrooms
I’ll bet I’ll meet someone and maybe even fall in love
maybe I’ll have better luck find a man online
than I have in real life
maybe the man I find will stay and become
my soulmate
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poetry: house
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
burning house, no way out
Stuck in bed as I call out for help
no one comes, as the flame gets closer
and closer to me
and there is no way out, is this the end of me
am I about to meet God or Satan or worse
end up in purgatory
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poetry: sunshine
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
wrap me up in your sunshine
and allow me to feel your warmth
melt down my frigid walls
with your fire
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poetry: lovely
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
once upon a time I wrote a lovely poem about us
and called it by starlight
it told the story of our first night
but now you’re gone and all I’m left with
are memories of who we once were
and while I miss you
I know it’s better this way
we both needed a clean slate from our baggage
to start anew with someone else
we both needed to have a brand new start
with someone who fits into the new versions
of who we are now
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poetry: he’s praying for me
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
My former lover prays for me because I won’t fuck him
Is this how it feels like to change my story from on call whore
to an I’m healing and deserve better “Woman
Is this how it feels like to to go from fun girl to healthy woman
I use to measure my worth by who loved me or who wanted to fuck me
but those days of impulsivity and “hey, this will be fun”
are long gone
Now are the days of painful transformations,therapy worksheets, self reflection
and most importantly self love
So I put away my sexy vixen persona
And I put on my ” “I’m authentic without apologies persona”
I’ve stopped living to please others
and now live to please myself
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Poetry: Sanity
I wrote this poem in January of 2018 .
I’m disappointed once again -being here with you
You represent everything I thought I wanted
But-
You don’t compare to him
You make my body sing with pleasure
but don’t sweep up the mess that I am
You are there to help me escape
but never to rescue me
SO I choose him
Who chooses to be there for me
When I chase death in a bathtub or a bottle
Because while sex and lust feels good
when it’s happening
It doesn’t compare to the love
and support he’s provided in keeping me alive
So I say goodbye to a life
Full of lust filled fantasies
and accept the one and only who truly
cares for me
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poetry: invisible string
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
My past called to me and I made the mistake of answering it
and looked for the former main characters in my life
Stalked them on google and social media
and most of them didn’t want to be found
perhaps they did the right thing in wanting to live their lives
in peace without their ghosts haunting them
but two of the ones who had the great impact on me
both of them are happily married
one of them has a son my youngest son’s age
I’m glad he grew out of his peter pan syndrome
and the other is about to finally become a dad at 43
his lifelong dream come true after waiting for so long
I’m trying to be happy for him
and with all that I’m ready to really close that chapter
On my past because while I was distracted from my grief
And highly entertained by my theatrics and my shitty choices in men
when I was in my twenties
Its time to stop this business of reminiscing of what was
and what could have been
Its time to accept what is and what could be
and focus on making my own lifelong dreams come true
And be open to my invisible string out there somewhere
waiting for me
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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 