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 August of 2025.
When I think of the moon, I always think of your silhouette against it
maybe it has to do with the many nights spent fighting in your back patio
maybe it has to do with nostalgia catching up to me in the heat of august
in the midst of many transitions
I wrote this poem in August of 2020.
I met you on a cold January night at the IHOP
across your apartment complex
As I was eating up my loneliness
with scrambled eggs and coffee
I hoped you couldn’t see remnants
of tears that had fallen before you came
and you sat across from me
and as we awkwardly made conversation
I wondered if you would be the one
to breathe new life into my almost dead existence
I wondered if your kiss would help me
reignite a fire of desire, would remind me
I’m more than a wife and mother
But most of all I wondered if maybe, just maybe
someone would finally love me
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.
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 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
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
my childhood was not easy and at times full of chaos
good to inspire my creativity, one where I never needed
much imagination
since real life served up a lot of telenovela energy
from toxic family dynamics to immigrant trauma
to the ghetto melrose place in hawaii
my childhood felt like a constant barrage of episodes
where the adults couldn’t keep it together
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
beautiful women possess a certain kind of power
it’s the power to bring men to their knees
with just one kiss
or make them fall in love
with the prowess of their sexuality
they’re lionesses and make men their prey
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
My humble beginnings make men want to play savior with me
as I tell them about my childhood drenched in poverty and chaos
they try to act like white knights trying to rescue from the cinderella trauma
I suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to protect me
but what they understand is that it’s not how they will earn my heart
because all I want is to be heard, to bee seen as an equal
and not a poor victim of my tragic life circumstances
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
Hold onto joy and magic in times like these
pause, breathe, drink water
Remember your existence is resistance
all of that pain, sorrow and grief felt in your body
Alchemized it into poetry, art,a story
or you could just scream and allow it to exist
understand that the oppressors want to overwhelm you
And make you crazy and over react
using it as an excuse to frame you as the enemy
protect your peace at all costs
if someone threatens it, it’s a sign they’ve
handed you a match to light up
and burn their bridge to you
and finally,
Remember, the distress, the exhaustion is intentional
to burn out your light
Don’t let them
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
dating a soldier in not for the weak in these modern time
especially now with a civil war and WW3 on the horizon
our new love story could be cut short if he’s deployed
Things can get complicated and messy
if end up dehumanizing or ripping apart families like mine
because its his job
it makes me wonder if we were foolish in the throwing caution
to the wind and getting into a relationship
it makes me wonder if we have any chance of working out
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’m not trying to be rude, I’m not trying to be mean
but I can wear whatever I want, I can post whatever I want
Your reaction to any of it is not my responsibility
I don’t care if you acquire a thirst for me
and delude yourself into thinking you love me
I’m just woman sharing my story however I see fit
in order for me to heal, in order for me to help others
feel a bit seen
I’m not here for some random man to tried
to persuade into a love story I’ll never be
interested in writing
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
closing the door to love is filling up every moment I’m awake
with work,therapy, my kids activities, time with friends,
Exercise, facing fears, writing, writing, and more writing
because I want to be so busy I don’t have time to think-
to think about romance, to think about what could have been
to think about how nice it is to have someone
so instead, I fill up every second of my life
with everything that fuels my growth
so I don’t have time to think about this love nonsense
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
put me on a pedestal and watch how quickly I fall
for saying no to you
For standing up for myself
for making myself heard
You’ll cry foul and wonder, where did my dream girl go?
but don’t you see-
I wasn’t made for altars and pedestals
I was made for thrones
A throne where I know my worth
A throne where I’m valued
A throne where I’m appreciated as a whole person
and not just seen as an object as affection and masturbation
So quit seeing me as a saint or angel
and understand I’m a chaotic queen
Life on the BPD 