I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
your lips on my ear with I least expect it
I can tell you’re going to be different
you’re not one for wasting time to see
if the chemistry right
and by the goosebumps I feel
as the hair on my arms stand up
I can see it really is
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Let’s go to war with ourselves
and speak our truth and heal unprocessed trauma within
and face our fear and insecurities
we’ll walk out with confidence and feel empowered
We’ll leave with versions of ourselves ready
to reach our full potential and ready to love
How do you deal with uncertainty?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic outweigh any rewards
everytime I start to believe in love it never works out
Everytime I start to believe in love it ends up in chaos and destruction
and i try and try again only always to have the same ending
and after 26 years of doing this-I don’t have it in me
to endure another love failure
someone who appears sure of me-only for them to change their mind
about me on a whim
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic has filled a dozen
notebooks and journals with sorrow and grief
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
the scent of jasmine in the air
your hands on my waist
as I sit on your lap
Stolen moments of caresses
at the botanical gardens
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Sex is a work of art if you are in love-
Two bodies entwined in a collaborative rhythm
Two bodies matching energies that derive
a great pleasure
It presents a beautiful picture of ecstasy
Anything else is just a mediocre sketch
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
from L.A burning to alligator alcatraz to sydney sweeney
to hash browns
this has been the strangest summer
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My love data tells me I shouldn’t try again because every time
I crash and burn and cause trauma and drama
because every time it ends, I get hateful and want revenge
and While I do appreciate the poetry that comes
after every broken relationship
I don’t think I can withstand the heartbreak and devastation
the next time it ends
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
home is where poetry is
where I’m inspired
Where I live life on my own terms
without concern or worry
about whether or not
I’m not enough or too much
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
The world has ended for me more times than I care to remember,
more time than I care to count
something about my soul being too sensitive for this world
something about desperation and frustration embedded in me
since I was a little kid
every slight, every roll of the eyes feels like an earthquake inside
everything is intensified twice
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
took a picture of a dying cicada without its consent
didn’t even know what it was until I googled its picture
I just thought something so vibrant and colorful dying was beautiful
just thought this is the closest I’ll come to nature in this unforgiving july heat
and then I discovered cicadas signify transformation, rebirth, and resilience
so it made sense to me why I noticed it
something so small, almost insignificant everyone else would walk by it
but I, about to have another transformation I never asked for
was attracted to it, noticed it, observed it closely,
perhaps, it was my own spirit reflecting my current ego death
as I’m about to level up to the next version of m
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
People watching days are over, this Song era is now my reality
no more longing or yearning over what could have been
or what I once upon a time wanted it to be
instead I focus on the genuine and loving connection in front of me
the one who’s not afraid of the creative beast who resides in me
and makes me feel heard and seen
even if sometimes that seems cringe or weird
Especially after I admitted I had watched him while he slept
this time he allows me to him without flinching
when I tell him he’s the new muse of my poetry
and he’s brave enough to share his feelings without shame
and reminds me of all the things he likes about me
the one who feels like my sanctuary to lay my love and poetry in
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
Iho Place was my teenage dream that ended up in a nightmare
that’s where my Papi bought our first computer
and how I wound up in an AOL chatroom for singles
it would seal a fate I had not intended
flirting with and meeting strange men would lead me
to some dire consequences
I got into my first toxic relationship who ghosted me
after he went to rehab for his drug problem
and I dissociated after the pain of abandonment
I was desperate for love and validation and I met a man
the man who I would make a baby with
Iho Place saw the first 9 months of my son
and the start of my relationship with depression
looking back-maybe it was also the start of my BPD
I remember walking with headphones and losing time
it was hard to be at home with my parent’s silence and disap
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
sometimes I think my sins are the most interesting things about me
Perhaps, that’s why I worship them and keep making poems out of them
Especially when I start to lose faith in myself
especially when I start lose faith in myself and the universe
and fill myself up with self hate and self loathing to crash out fantastically
with pen and paper and write masterpieces
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
Kam Highway would see many changes in our family
three teenagers in one house, our parents were saints
at first we lived in abject poverty
trying to find change in the secondhand couch
for ramen or popcorn chicken or anything
to put food in our tummies
this apartment saw the awkwardness of my adolescence
saw my brother almost fall into the wrong crowd
saw my sister fall in and out of love
until she finally landed her first husband next door
and we had a pizzeria next door and also the interesting neighbors
like the marine next door who beat his unfaithful wife
or Tipper the stripper who was in a toxic relationship with the landlord’s son
their song was Kiss and Say Goodbye by the Manhattans
and the fun thanksgivings with all of the neighbors
Life on the BPD 