poetry: emotional eater
I wrote this poem in February of 2020.

Eating away my emotions with junk food and sugar
is healthier than meth and taking pills to sleep forever
Each bite I take and swallow keeps me alive
and further from a sweet death that tempts me
Food becomes the driving force behind my mediocre existence
until I can find a new obsession
poetry: comfortable
I wrote this poem in February of 2020.

Comfortable will keep you locked
in loveless marriage
Comfortable will keep you trapped
in an easy and boring job
Comfortable will keep you miserable
in a mediocre life
Comfortable will keep you settling
for less than you deserve
Comfortable will find you one day
And make you swallow a bottle of pills
so you can sleep away
your comfortable and mediocre existence
poetry: i’m finally ready
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.

This time I feel like I’ve finally settled most of my soul’s score
by doing so much inner work
I still have toxic and angry moments but they no longer consume me
This year I’m manifesting a new kind of love energy
Someone who can match my wild and creative energy
Someone who values me as a whole person
and doesn’t just fall in lust with my body
Someone brave enough to love me and doesn’t scare easily
when I’m challenging and moody
this year I’m opening myself to love energy
who makes me laugh, who inspires me
I think I’m finally ready
poetry: repurpose
I wrote this in February of 2019.

out of the most depressed minds comes the greatest creativity
I wonder why that is–
Is it because there are no limits in our imagination?
Is it because we live 100 lives in 1 lifetime?
Is it because we are easily inspired by devastation and loss?
It is because pain and sadness flows out of us
more easily than others and we have a necessity
to repurpose it as art?
poetry: happy valentine’s day 2023
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.

valentine’s day is around the corner
so we’re bombarded by teddy bears,balloons,
greetings with corny shit like
“for my wife, the love of my life”
and flowers, the fucking flowers
there are even journals for couples to fill out
in hope of getting closer-
I still can’t figure that one out
and stupid heart shaped everything,
from cookie cutters to pillows
and flowers, the fucking flowers
and most of us eat it all up thinking
if our partner doesn’t buy us anything
or doesn’t meet our romantic expectations
on the most materialistic of holidays,
then they must not really love us-
never occurring to us how this business of love
preys on us and our fear of being lonely
it capitalizes and profits from it
sending us messages that we need
to buy this or that (get the flowers,
the fucking flowers) to show our love
it’s a trap that followed us since our school days
maybe it’s time to riot and burn down anything
related to this dreadful holiday
especially the fucking flowers
or maybe I’m just a crazy and jaded bitch
alone on valentine’s day
Happy Galantines Day!🥹🥰❤️🎉
From my silly ho era to my silly Victorian girl era…a story of growth 😭🤣
poetry: it stops with me
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.

If only I could bypass the trauma lived and experienced
my life would be a lot easier
Perhaps I’d be fulfilled and not on this neverending heroine journey
to acknowledge how trauma happened to me
to understand how it changed me
to tells the stories from it so I can begin to heal from it
to do all of the work so I don’t pass it on to my sons
and their children
because this legacy of intergenerational silence with violence
needs to stop with me
even if it’s sometimes a painful nightmare to deal with
Nonsense
so this was written about a former muse.lol.

I love you like the alcoholic loves alcohol
I can’t live without you
And have a deep never ending desire for you
when the sun rises you’re my first thought
and before I fall asleep, you’re my last thought
I don’t know if you’ll ever reciprocate
but for now I’m content with seeing you almost
Daily-admiring you from afar
8/31/22
poetry: reassurance
This tortured poet…is a desastre.
poetry: unraveling
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.

I’m healing and unraveling at the same time
I’m unraveling the parts of me that no longer fit
in my new narrative
I’m unraveling the ugliness, my vengeful spirit
full of spite and jealousy
talking to it, deconstructing it
cause to live with so much anger and resentment
in my heart is draining
and leaves no room for lovely and hopeful beginnings







