I wrote this poem in March of 2021
I was your short term adventure of lust
you tried to disguise as love
It was fun for a while
while we were both in denial
until you got tired of me and left
My broken heart, I had to atone
I don’t know how to go on
everything feels so wrong
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
When I tell you I’m a poet-
please take me seriously
don’t think I’m some cute girl
who writes a few verses in her room
about how your kiss is a new kind of heaven
Poetry for me has a much deeper meaning,
poetry is how I bleed out all of my emotions
I hold within
When I tell you I’m a poet-
please don’t laugh at me or mock me
don’t berate the simplicity of my words
I weave into verse
It’s how I make sense of my explosion of thoughts
It’s how I express what I can’t say out loud
When I tell you I’m a poet-
don’t try to cure me of my poetic nature
and prey on my insecurities and try to kill
my dreams of making my art seen
I know how the odds are stacked against
someone like me
I don’t do it to make it to the mainstream-
I do it so other women like me
can be seen, can be inspired to dream
And finally when I tell you I’m a poet-
Appreciate the artist in me,
make yourself a sanctuary to put my poetry in-
I’m not asking for endless compliments or an ego boost
I’m asking for a safe space in you to love
the poet I hold within
I wrote this poem in March of 2020.
I don’t want him to be a part of me-
And yet he appears
in my mind, my dreams, my poetry
He doesn’t deserve any amount of space
he comes to occupy in my life
And within me
-and yet he comes and stays
I tell him to go away
Stay away, and forget about me-
But it never happens that way
He consumes every bit of me
and it’s a lost cause to get him out out of me
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
How many times have I lied to myself
when I was young in believing some man’s love
would save me, would complete me
when all it ever did was decimate me
over and over again
but I refused to believe love could be anything
but beautiful
Until one day I learned to be honest with myself
and it was a lesson in dialectics
of how love can be both an ugly and beautiful thing
I wrote this poem in March of 2023. My reference is to Joe Goldberg from the show “YOU” and not Joe Biden( who is in his own right a monster as well.lol)
I sit around in horror-
flagellating myself for comparing myself
to a monster
I know that this was the only way to cope and process
with emotions that threatened to crush me
but if I had to be honest with myself
it makes me question the reality I was living in
and maybe the psychotic who resided inside of me
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
women are recognized all over the world today
but none of us are equal
we still have to fight the same bullshit every day
if we’re human and show emotion, we’re labeled crazy or dramatic
if we want to show off our bodies, we’re labeled slutty or conceited
if we don’t give in to our partners because they’re “in the mood”
we are called prudes, frigid bitches or worse,
we feel obligated to give in to avoid being raped
it we’re educated and try to succeed in our careers
men are intimidated by us and try hard to dim our light
and if we are loud and take up space
we are labeled as too much and abandoned
it’s like as much as the media try to paint a picture of equality
it’s all a fucking lie
because in my 42 years on this earth
I haven’t lived anywhere where my existence is valued
as much as man’s
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
my anger walks in and I feel an earthquake within
and I become the saltiest bitch
Writing poetry about anyone who’s wronged me
but then again it is entertaining
Seeing how mean and petty I can be
It’s not like I’m vindictive or seeking out revenge
most of these new angry poems won’t be shared with the world
it will be kept inside the pages of my notebooks and journals
I just need to let it out and scream
Fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, fuck the world, fuck everything
Before I take it out on anybody
before I post something stupid and cringy I’ll regret later
before I allow the world to know how I’m burning
Yesterday I died but its not what you think
it was the version of me who thought
she needed a man to survive, she needed a man to live
Life on the BPD 