I’m not sure if I have to work as much as I Do but I know what happens when I don’t my electric bill goes in the red a food stamp application is filled and filed for me and my family I start to lose sleep over the bills and the things my kids need and when I fall into dreamland dreams of soup kitchens, panhandling, and scarcity follow me and I end up in the land of poverty, insanity and hypervigilance where I beat myself up for not doing enough to give my kids the life they deserve and I regret my life choices that led me here especially the one where I chose a lazy baby daddy I’m not sure if I have to work as much as I do but I’ll continue to do so until my body shuts down who cares if my hip is broken and I hardly have any time to myself I’d rather work myself to the bone than to allow my family to fall again into being victims of poverty
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)
random thoughts from my 15 year old self
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
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
A crazy business idea I came up with this morning is making custom made piñatas. They’re not any old piñatas. They’re piñatas of things or people you absolutely hate. I would also have a private and safe room where you can beat the shit out of the piñata. I’m not sure if they’re anything like this out there in the world. I have seen a piñata of Trump online before so who knows. I imagine that people with anger issues and disposable income would maybe go for this idea. The safe room I’d provide to beat up the piñata would include music tailored to the client’s taste or my own personal rage playlist. I would also decorate the room according to the clients needs. I know that there are things like rage rooms out there, but, do any of them have custom made piñatas?
she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is women’s empowerment and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment perhaps it’s because I’m a working class immigrant woman who struggles in America perhaps it’s because the rights of the marginalized and working class are being ripped away from us and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie oh yeah, we worked together briefly and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability but I stop this barbie isn’t worth my time or energy it’s time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe who only serves to trigger my working class rage who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality in this capitalistic and racist American society
cupid gets it wrong once again- bringing out a drawn out rejection for a month- This time he tells me, “You’re cool enough to make out with but not good enough for my mom” I almost throw my phone across the room instead I say “it’s cool.it’s okay” and take a pen to my rage on paper
The debut collection of poems Visceral from Melia Cogan is appropriately named since it will make you feel a multitude of intense emotions internally. As a person that feels intense emotions, I loved this book. The book is divided into 3 sections titled Love, Rage, and Death. Reading this book felt like going through a roller coaster of emotions-from sexy to anger to sadness. Personally, for me, this is a good thing. I resonate with poetry that makes me feel my emotions. I picked my favorite poem from each section. This was hard since all the poetry in this collection is amazing.
The first section Love captures the magical feeling of what it’s like to be in love, make love, and be loved. Her poems in this section makes even the most jaded of us feel like there is a world where love is possible. The first poem “Daemon-Lover” leaves you breathless with the raw emotion and sensuality felt throughout the poem. The second stanza is fire as it states, “With a spirit strong as seventy/As his throbbing passion sears me/ With its ‘blind encompassing throbbing power ”(Cogan, 22-25) It makes you feel like you are witnessing passion on display. You might have to take a cold shower after reading this poem. The other poems in this section not only capture the passion of being in love but also the complexity of other feelings that come with it.
The next section of the book is Rage, and you feel the anger and rage within this section.
My favorite poem in this section is Women’s Inheritance which captures the essence of what’s like being a woman in the 21st century. It addresses the misogyny that our modern patriarchal society continues to administer to women. The poem also conveys the disappointment that women feel after being used and discarded nonchalantly by men. The sixth stanza captures this feeling as it states, “Finally, you who I love with my whole self / Could not display this mythical manly bravery/ To tell me the truth/ Why not?” (Cogan, 30-33). The other poems in this section captures the anger felt with different experiences in life ranging from expectations in relationships to abandonment issues. Cogan expresses a raw truth about anger that most people are afraid to express and that is a kind of bravery you don’t see often.
The last section is Death and I’ll just say that you should have a box of tissues by your side because it will probably make you cry. In this section, Cogan is versatile in exploring the theme of death. In this section, my favorite poem is Remember Me for the Birthdays which is how the poet wants to be remembered by her loved ones. The eleventh stanza conveys this as it states, “Remember how I filled you with the urge/to push forward and explore/To engage life, expanding in all good directions” (Cogan, 37-40). Cogan is skillful at portraying grief in a conscientious manner that’s both thoughtful and respectful.
Melia Cogan brings a raw vulnerability and talent to her debut collection. I highly recommend this poetry collection if you are looking for a versatile collection that explores the depth of the human experience. I’m excited to read and review her next poetry book, Love Pangs. Below are the links for both Visceral and Love Pangs.
I wrote this about my ex Juan in the year 2000.Juan was an interesting character. I met him in October of 1999 while I was working at a gas station. We dated from October to December. He was either super charismatic or I was super dumb. We had fun. Since we lived with our parents, we had to be creative as to where we would have sex. I remember one time we had sex at work during my shift on my boss’ desk. Lol. However, Juan also conned me out of almost $3000 I had saved up saying his family needed the money. I hated myself afterwards. I also cheated on him with Sam. Anyways, Juan ghosted me in December and tried to come back sometime around January or February of the next year. I agreed to meet him because I was interested in getting my money back. Well, I got in his car and while he was driving around my neighborhood, he kept trying to put his hand in between my legs. I kept pushing him away, but he wouldn’t stop and kept getting more aggressive. Idk how but eventually I gathered my strength and anger and elbowed him in the crotch and managed to get out of the moving car. I never heard from him again. I should have been traumatized from that incident but I wasn’t. I think that while I was in the car with him, I was more pissed than scared of him. Looking back at this incident, it feels crazy that this didn’t affect me.
Me and Juan in November of 99Not a lie…lol
My dear amor How can I tell you? That I no longer love you How can I hurt you? By saying that all of the extraordinary feeling I once felt have gone and faded away from my heart and soul It’s not that I’ve falling in love with someone new It’s just that our special bond has been broken in two When you use to kiss me I used to think I was in heaven Now I just feel empty So sorry to say, but baby you’re fired
I wrote this in November of 2001 about the great breakup of that year. I was quite salty. Hey, at least I didn’t go Joe Goldberg on his ass. Lmao. Sometimes as a way to process trauma, I will write letters to the people that have hurt me. This is an example of one of them.
I feel like this same story has repeated in my life over and over again
My heart knew you were no good Something told it you were not being true All those days you were out there “working” You had been out there fucking I should’ve known to walk away The first time your lying ways gave you away But I wanted so badly to believe That you were truly in love with me Now I’m a big mess But I deserve this I guess For not listening to myself And falling in love with your sorry self I’m glad we’ve reached the end Cause baby you were hell sent
Life on the BPD 