I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
pill popper with a vacant gaze, all of the money in the world
couldn’t make her happy
that big house, her gerber blonde toddler son
couldn’t touch the numbness she felt
and so she popped xanax and oxycontin like candy
didn’t care who she was hurting
all she wanted to do was escape
the suburban hell she was living in
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
staying sober from a lover is not easy for a love addict like me
it’s crying in bed wishing I was dead
it’s loneliness, making me crumble in a ball on the floor
making me feel unloved
and even though I have the cure with a text
to someone who’d put me out of my misery
I’d rather suffer for a while
even if it is a hell of a withdrawal
because if I’m ever going to have a healthy relationship
I need to be comfortable first with solitude
and the much needed introspection and healing it brings
