When the world isn't quiet
and your job
leaves death notes
at your door
nothing is
meaningless
everything stands for a purpose
When it's just you
and the sun
with a cigarette
and flies
touching your skin
you wonder
about
dogs on chains
skies with no rain in sight
your belly and the pain
and if you have
2 legs to stand on
when everything is at war
with you
your boss
the computer screen
and the right thing to do
I gave a homeless person
a ride
to nowhere
the other day
They talked about smoking,
walking the streets,
and how hard it is to get help
at places that are
ment
to
help
They told me
I was one of the good ones
always made them feel like
someone cared
in a world that is full of voices
that are stern
and faces that show no joy
She probably thinks,
I'll never think of her again
but here I go
immortalized her in a poem
Homeless people
always find a space
in my tearducts
Especially the
woman with children
I was once there.
Right there
Nowhere
So do I fear the deathnotes
No
I did what I always do
all I can
even if it means I'm now
nowhere
and the world keeps on spinning
The death notes
have won today
and now the
flies have fresh
meat to harvest on
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 1:36 PM UTC
Today
was supposed to be
a day of thanks,
but in this household
it never is how it should be.
We ate
drank
and tried to play games.
Until
my little neurodivergente
eight year old
said,
" I want to make mom cry."
begging,
pleading,
bargaining
everything on the table
beating on a win
but
nothing could
stop this
hurricane
Posters torn,
pictures ripped apart sprinkled
across the floor of my life.
"I HATE YOU!"
"YOU'RE THE WORST MOM EVER!!"
"I HATE MY BROTHER!!"
All of this screaming
out of young boys
perfect little mouth.
Memories of
birthdays literally
put in-between teeth
and torn
to pieces.
Tears came
streaming down
my oldest child's face.
As he felt
his brother taking
everything for granted.
Why?
Why?
Why?!?!
To no answers
I admit
red was in my eyes
along with threads
from Google,
on how to handle
someone in his state
who's off their meds and
at such a young age.
Finally there was a snap
the whole house on edge of fire.
I
simply
couldn't
take
anything
anymore
neither could my loved ones.
I stood up and my feet hit the floor so fast
and
—
I stepped outside,
everyone followed.
The dust wasn't settling.
My husband held me
and told me he was sorry.
My eldest said," He's a smart
kid he should learn by now."
I just sat there.
Knees up to my chest
smoking finding
a poetry contest
and wrote this poem.
That needed to be written.
Nov 29, 2025
Nov 29, 2025 at 7:46 PM UTC
My fingers unfold the truth
on a late night poem
in a different country
than my own–
between two black cars
a street light,
wine,
beer,
and
hard drugs
untold white lies
Do you know what's really hard?
Trying to make something beautiful or ugly
out of a lie.
This is me now
talking to the reader
or probably talking just to myself:
There's a hole in the Earth of me
my tooth has a cavity
I have a man
who can't keep
the truth in his pants
his mouth
gets real happiness
when he can bend
what's real and what
he wants me to know
which takes away any real
chance at happiness
the only real
way I can
find out the lies
is by picking
up pennies
that lead down
a trail
to girls,
coke,
hash, and
attention
seeking,
rocks
and a hard
place.
There I go again
trying to make
poetry
out of tears,
and an untrusting heart.
He makes
amazing poetry.
about nights he's lied
keeping it hidden
in metaphors
and grandiose statements
while I applaud and like each write.
I'm ******* stupid
that's probably why
he says he likes
me as much as he does
You think about
the times
when your gut told you so
or the other times
when you ate it up
like drinks and fine dining
Now you forget to smile
and things you wouldn't
think would connect dots,
begin to.
My breast hurt
and I feel a panic attack
is at the bottom of this bottle of beer
Now I can say
I didn't make a poem
cause these are just words
on a page
May 11, 2025
May 11, 2025 at 4:32 PM UTC
I didn't think I
could cry anymore tears
I didn't think my heart
could break anymore.
But tonight everything changed.
I found 3 ****** in bed
and no room for me to sleep.
When someone,
who's suppose to love you
picks ****** over you.
How are you suppose to react.
My partner ghosted me,
then with in a month
broke up with me.
He always made it feel
as if there was
a chance
but
something inside me
told me
there was more
happening
then I was lead to know.
The same thing a man hates,
mostly likely he is doing.
I was gaslighted
to believe there
wasn't a ***** in my bed
while he did his best
to make me not leave.
Telling me if I went
with someone else
it would hurt him.
But there he was
3 ****** 1 bed.
Leaving me
no where
to rest my tired body.
I'm told this is my fault
I should of moved on
months ago
but
in the same breathe
if you were to fall in love
with someone else
it would hurt me.
My gut told me
there was a wolf
in sheep's clothes
but like any naive
girl I believed the wolf.
Now my husband is inlove with a *****
and here I am, left ***** less.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 7:20 PM UTC
On nights
like this one,
and many others.
I feel the flower
that sleeps
between my ribs.
Start to weep.
Her sobs are so heavy
that I find myself
fighting back
tears
of
my
own.
So I take her
outside.
Light up cigar
and begin to
drown
her
in
smoke.
I tell her
to be silent.
That she'll ruin
the good things
about to happen
in my life.
If her voice
gets up to my gray
matter brain.
It will get me
thinking
and saying
things,
I should have
let go of
by now.
"We'll lose him"
I tell her
"Is that what you want?"
The flower slowly
let's crystal
tears fall
one after
the other.
So I take
orange pills,
to make her stop.
That way
my kids
the clients
I see Monday
thru Friday
or even my
closest.
Won't know
of how
on some nights
I
cry
with her
as well.
No one will
know about the
late night drinks
we share.
From time
to time.
The terrible memories
that barrage us
as the world sleeps.
No one will
know of how
faces of women
we've never
met
before
haunt us.
Take away
our happiest.
This cigar tonight
is for you
darling,
because
I know I won't
sob tonight.
But
under
these
shattered
stars
you
will.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 7:02 PM UTC
There are days
That are good.
The yelling
is minimal.
The food is eaten.
Arguments
are
but
a
spoonful
and there is
very
little
crying.
Then there are
days like today.
When you
yourself
don't feel too well.
the doctor gives two days
of sick leave.
At 4:30
My little autism
walks through
the door.
With smiles,
taking his clothes off
to jump in the pool.
It only takes a second
to change the
whole atmosphere.
The once smiles
are now full of tears.
and no matter what it is
I'm feeling that all gets bashed
against a wall.
Along with my
anxiety it's the splash back
blue paint down the hall.
You see.
even as
an adult
I have
trouble.
Digesting
my own
emotions.
He paces back and forth
clenches his fingers.
back
and
forth.
Back
and
forth.
How do I expect my young son
with autism to tell
me what the root
issue of his tears stem from.
I was ready to
smash my face
through bricks.
The repetitive
questioning,
repetition of words
can be a lot even
for a nut such as myself.
But it's not about me
you,
or my fiance
hearing it all.
It's not even about the fly
crawling on my leg.
It's about him
everything has to be.
Who else is going to
turn the rain on
at night for him to sleep?
Who's going to rub
his little back to soothe his
blue nerves to be
green again?
And who will receive a
freshly picked flower
each afternoon?
Me.
He finally felt better
once he got the words
out of his belly.
Telling me what provoked
these extreme outbursts.
I was so proud of him.
Now it's," look at that cute cloud."
"Hey, check out my shadow!"
a freshly
plucked
flower.
With autism,
a bipolar mommy
and the sun—
Getting ready
to
nap.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 7:00 PM UTC
You are the butterfly
that softly whooshes
between my ribcage
and that flutters
around my heart
aiding in its job
of moving the carcass
that is my body.
Even if you oddly
revert your
metamorphosis
and stay still
next to me
and rest in a cocoon
allowing silence
to rule for a day or two
perhaps
I've hurt you
and that's your way
to regenerate
from my unintentional
hurt.
As I lay in bed
I do the same
I go back
to my own cocoon
I shelter myself
out of site
but I'm no
butterfly.
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 9:44 AM UTC
There are times
to love
there are times to
see love
when it isn't
just something
beautiful.
When it's covered
in tears
hurt pain
and alone
The curtains
drape a window
in my
room.
To keep the
darkness
in.
I talk to mostly
no one.
Even if I love
wants to love.
I have ears
to listen.
But there is
no voice to hold
a conversation.
Even to understand
my voice.
There is music
playing to dance to.
But I never
learned
to follow the
lead of
others.
There's a cigar
waiting
for me to light.
This I can count on.
With so many
plastic tips
discarded
in the ash tray.
Some I toss in
the fireplace to burn
others I let sit with me.
So I'm not so alone.
With no ears
they listen
With no words they speak.
With smoke they dance
all around me.
As I quietly wait
for the cherry
of their
love for me
to burn out.
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 9:36 PM UTC
Tie me up in
red silk rope.
Bind my breast,
shoulders,
arms,
and belly.
Take the threads
to lasso
these
thick
thighs.
Tilt
my head
back
and slide your fingers
into my mouth.
Force
them
open.
While you
pat my soft
pink cheek.
Gag me
with your poetry.
Force
it
in
through
my lips
Let me whimper
and tear up.
As you feed me
word
after
word.
Metaphors
of panting painting
and other wives
who don't get fed
as well as me.
Make me beg
for your
pen stroke,
pleading
for your ink.
**** I love your poetry
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 2:07 PM UTC
Tenderly touch
the softness of my brevity.
Allow your fingers to embrace,
the pink lace to my soul.
With words that stroke
your back, lick your neck
and moan out a metaphor.
Pink trimmed bows on the dimple
of my back-
whispers
for your palms
to turn a page.
Come on, let it engrave
in your frontal lobe.
Leaving you
wanting more
Taste the ink from my well
I know it is inviting
to you,
him.
Let my words shower every
inch of you
cherry waves,
that keep you
aching
clawing at my door.
Crying out:
Please-
let
me
read
you
one
more
time.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 11:39 PM UTC