To the girl who never knew what to say
to the girl who never knew where to go
to the girl who never liked to look in the mirror for she'd be disappointed with what she'd see
to the girl who never had many friends
to the girl who would be worried on end
to the girl who never thought she was pretty
to the girl who never thought she was enough
to the girl who skips meals to be enough
to the girl who cares about what people think of her
to the girl who uses make-up to cover her flaws
to the girl who is never the first choice
to the girl who thinks she would be better off dead
to the girl who cries herself to sleep
to the girl who tries so hard to be okay
To this girl, I see you. I understand you, because I am this girl.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 12:47 AM UTC
Polly never wanted a *******
She wanted a key
Just wanted out
Of her cage, to be free
Polly had a pretty song,
sang it soft, sang it wrong.
Candy colors, bedtime lies,
sleepy stars and watching eyes.
They said the world was nice and fair,
brush your doll’s soft plastic hair.
Close your eyes, be good, behave,
don’t ask questions, just be brave.
A man named Gerald, last name Friend,said, “I’ll keep you safe till the end.”
Funny joke, a silly lie
friends don’t make you want to die.
Hush now, Polly, don’t make noise,
broken girls are quiet toys.
Pink bow, shaking hands,
learning things you didn’t plan.
The walls were close, the room too small,counting cracks instead of dolls.
Sing your song, don’t scream, don’t fight,morning doesn’t mean alright.
They teach the girls from very young:
hold your keys, bite your tongue.
Don’t go out, don’t stay too late,
fear is just a “girl” trait.
Polly’s song is slow and sweet,
sticky like old candy treats.
Sounds like playtime, sounds like fun,
ends before it’s really done.
Now she lives in every street,
every girl with careful feet.
All of the innocence in the world
The ones who’s words are never heard
That got destroyed when he “scored”
And every no that was ever ignored
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 12:47 AM UTC
A café table by the front for light
people outside stop and talk, I catch bites
of their plans, their issues and moods, despite
the glass, and the curfuffle of indoor café life.
I’m having an Americano glacé
my preferred ‘pause-café’ focused break
a frosty iced-coffee sweet and sugary-brown
while this girl outside is having a full freakdown
I watch life’s tableau of complexity
through a café window, like a front row seat
Oh, the chaos I’m shown from my unobserved repose
“Ooo! the chocolat croissants, I’ll have one of those”
Are whispers magnified by glass?
you wouldn’t believe the secrets that pass
when people think no one’s listening
the gruesome details about lovers smashing
if it weren’t so titillating, i might be laughing
At some point I have to tune them out
with my laptop and AirPods, I shut out the crowd
but occasionally I pause and look up to see
my fellow students from the university
sharing their esoteric exploits unknowingly
I’m REALLY getting to know them - secretly
and these conversations are firing my libido
I’m very good at reading lips - lucky me.
.
.
A song for this:
Messy by Lola Young
I'm Into Something Good by Herman's Hermits
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 12:46 AM UTC
The courthouse steps are scrubbed in white,
Marble gleaming in the light,
But underneath the polished stone
The rot has made itself at home.
The gavels fall with measured grace,
A theater of a lawful place,
Where wolves in suits and ties convene
To sanitize what’s obscene.
They shield the teeth, they trim the claws,
They draft immunity as laws,
Predators in tailored threads
Are crowned with titles, softly fed.
A whisper spreads: “She dressed that way.”As if the cloth could make them prey.
As if a hemline wrote consent,
As if a child’s confusion meant
They asked for hands they did not choose,
Or smiles that hid abusive ruse.
They blame the skirt, the laugh, the tone,
But never bones that should have known
That power is a loaded gun
And innocence can’t outrun
A system built to turn its gaze
From well-dressed men with well-paid praise.
Some walk free to write decrees,
To legislate hypocrisies,
Their signatures in ink still wet
While victims drown in quiet debt.
And outside, on the open street,
Metal hums in restless heat.
Policies like paper shields
In blood-warm classrooms, parking fields.
Maybe some just love their toys
The polished steel, the thunder noise.
Maybe it’s the bang they crave,
The myth of strong, the mask of brave.
But it takes one twitch, one breath, one spark
To turn a morning cold and dark,
One second’s pull, one burst of flame,
To etch forever someone’s name
Into a wall of candlelight
Where grief keeps vigil every night.
The laws shrug slow, the spokesmen sigh,
Statistics blur, the headlines dry.
And still the chorus, tried and true:
“What was she wearing? Who were you?”
As if the rot were not a choice,
But fashion’s fault, or someone’s voice.
So marble stands, and flags still wave,
And justice swears that it will save.
Yet in its shadow, sharp and vast,
The future’s stitched from horrors past.
A system built with blinded eyes
Still somehow sees what to despise
Not hands that harm, nor laws that fail,
But those too small, too poor, too frail.
And in that silence, thick and grim,
The scales are tipped, the lights are dim.
Not broken by mistake or flaw
But held that way, by careful law
Mar 2
Mar 2, 2026 at 9:31 PM UTC
Aunque el mundo se derrumbe
o sea solo una simulación,
aunque todo esté en mi contra,
mi alma terca y fiel
te elegiría 998 veces.
He sentido la frialdad de otros cuerpos,
besos que sabían a soledad,
miradas vacías donde yo no existía,
y caricias que no tocaron
ni una sola fibra real de mi alma.
Y tú…
fuiste el error del sistema,
la grieta en la lógica perfecta,
la chispa que no estaba programada.
No quiero una voz metálica
diciéndome que todo pasa por algo, que estoy destinada a otro encuentro sin sentido. Porque mi corazón
aún late en rebelión.
Y si tengo que huir del algoritmo,
lo haré.
Si tengo que desafiarlo mil veces,
lo haré.
Porque tú
fuiste la excepción.
Y yo,
la que se rebeló 998 veces…
solo para encontrarte.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 9:20 PM UTC
Me era fácil interpretar el papel de la bruja.
Sabía mis líneas de memoria,
esas con las que más de una vez
hice huir a caballeros valientes.
Siempre fui la villana sin corazón.
Nunca supe ser la princesa en apuros.
Reírme del amor
me pareció más seguro
que dejar que me abrace.
Pero llegó él.
El que pregunta justo lo que no quiero responder.
El que derrumba muros sin pedir permiso.
El que pone de cabeza mi historia,
se burla de mis argumentos
y acierta la frase perfecta
sin leer el guion.
No fue invitado a la fiesta del Sombrerero Loco, y sin embargo,
bailó conmigo entre tazas rotas.
Se equivocó de cuento,
pero se inventó uno nuevo
solo por verme sonreír.
A él no le importó que yo fuera la bruja.
Dijo que había belleza
en mi sombra.
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 12:44 AM UTC
Abrázame,
que se me va la vida,
que hoy no sé quién soy,
ni lo que busco.
Abrázame,
porque me he perdido
en este laberinto de oscuridad
llamado mundo.
Abrázame,
que he olvidado
lo que es el amor,
lo que significa el perdón.
Sujeta mi mano,
que de a poco
voy desapareciendo.
Abrázame,
que me duele la soledad
y las lágrimas
me queman el alma.
Necesito morar en tus brazos,
donde el temor
no se atreve a habitar.
Abrázame,
que he olvidado
lo que es ser abrazada
por Ti.
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 12:23 AM UTC
Me dueles en la piel.
En cada rincón donde no estás,
en cada beso que no diste
y que mi memoria insiste en inventar.
Tu silencio es un susurro afilado
que me atraviesa entre las horas,
como si el tiempo no supiera
despegarse de tu sombra.
Hay un caos dentro de mí
que responde a tu nombre
y una calma imposible
cuando trato de olvidarte.
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 11:55 PM UTC
Remendado con hilos de ilusión,
uniendo piel grisácea,
color de muerte en los días grises de septiembre.
En una noche de tormenta
un rayo te dio la vida,
y como caballos desbocados
empezó a latir tu corazón.
Ojos tan puros como los de un niño
en busca del ser amado.
Pero ellos no conocen la dulzura que hay en ti.
Ante sus ojos eres un monstro que causa temor,
que atormenta el espíritu del más valiente.
Eres el sueño y el tormento
de tu creador.
Jan 21
Jan 21, 2026 at 10:49 PM UTC
Déjame disfrutarte unos segundos más,
déjame negociar con Thanatos unos suspiros más,
déjame sostener tu mano arrugada
por el tiempo que no tiene piedad.
Tú, que eras roble indomable ante las tempestades.
Qué ironía la de la vida:
que hoy esté frente a ti y no me veas,
que tu pecho suene como quien ha corrido un maratón,
que tu voz sea débil al pronunciar mi nombre.
Déjame robarle al reloj unos días más.
Juguemos al escondite:
yo contaré y tú te esconderás en mis sueños.
De vez en cuando, déjame verte
para saber dónde buscarte.
Pero ahora descansá,
recuperá el aliento.
Yo seguiré contando
hasta que regreses.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 10:36 PM UTC