You are now my history.
You made me smile.
You made me laugh.
I’m sorry to see you go.
I’m sorry we didn't have our moment.
I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to try.
I want you to know that my feelings were confusing.
I want you to know I wasn’t really sure what they were.
I want you to know that they were there.
I hoped you would've told me you felt somewhat the same.
I hoped you would have stayed for longer.
I hoped that you had gotten closer.
That our conversations never ended.
I am not heartbroken.
I’m disappointed it didn't last long.
That the butterflies in my stomach didn’t continue to flutter.
I am happy I got the chance to meet you.
To experience your annoying sarcasm.
To get to know the soft side of you.
To get to be your friend.
But I’m not happy I couldn't be more.
The feelings we had for each other were there.
They were so radiant you could feel it through the phone.
I could feel your smile through the way you talked.
I’m sorry I’m your history and not your future.

Your heart opened up like a newly blossomed tulip.
You took me in like you knew me for forever.
You treated me like I was your one true friend.
But it wasn't enough.
I needed you like the tree’s need sunlight.
I needed you as if you were oxygen.
I needed you to be my forever home.
But yet it wasn’t enough.
I loved you like Bonnie loved Clyde.
Like Harley Quinn loved The Joker.
I loved you with all of me.
But of course, it wasn’t enough.
I wanted more.
I craved more.
You chose not to see the reality.
The reality of my love.
I was an open book to you.
All the feelings,wants, and needs were clearly visible.
Why not take the chance?
Why not take a chance on me?
Am I not good enough?
Am I not your type?
But then you say “I’m attracted to personality.”
Then why not choose me?
Instead, you chose the girl who broke your heart the most.
Who beat you down as if you weren't good enough.
Who was so rotten she spoiled the happiness that surrounded you.
Instead, you chose the girl who wasn’t me.

Postpartum is a myth
Postpartum anxiety is a myth.
You can’t have those 2 years later.
Get over it.
You can’t have depression and postpartum depression at the same time.
You can’t have postpartum anxiety and anxiety at the same time.
You can’t have both?!
Get over it.
What if I don’t wake up?
Get over it.

A woman without a voice.
Her mouth sewn shut, by the ones who deem her nothing but a servant.
A woman with no strength to declare her worth.
She is to be given the right of speech by others who constantly steal it.
Her screams can be heard from miles away.
She is clawing out of the hole they dug for her.
Stay they say in order to keep her obedient.
She stays quiet.
One wrong look and she'll be killed.
She is a prisoner in her own home.
In her own body.
She wants to escape but she is trapped.
The only way out is through the lonely dark road.
She starts her journey.
Slowly she cuts the sutures.
One by one the light gets brighter.
Her voice begins to sing.
And finally, her captors are gone.
Never to be mentioned again.
She starts her new life with freedom on her shoulders.
With every step, she realizes that she is something remarkable.
Call her a feminine masterpiece.

It is so crazy how much I can invest in someone.
How much love and affection I constantly give.
How much time and effort I hand out whenever they’re upset or in pain.
My question is who is there for me?
Who will give me the same amount of love and affection I constantly hand out for free?
I’m not Oprah.
Who is gonna give me the time and effort I deserve?
I’m not a ….

One day a girl laid under a tree
She wished her life was rid of sorrow and suffering
She wished for her life to be simple and happy
One day a girl laid under a tree and felt as though she was nothing but a pebble sinking to the bottom of the sea
She wished she felt a different way she wished she was a different way
One day a girl laid under a tree and wished she was six feet down
She wished that the darkness took her away
She wished that the cold brought her warmth
One day a girl sat under a tree and wished she was different
She wished she was happy
She wished she was satisfied with herself
She wished the insecurities were gone
One day a girl laid under a tree
With the brisk winds to keep her calm
The flowing leaves dancing above her
The clouds moving gracefully
She wished she was one with the earth
She wished she was an ant
Or possibly a bird
Then she could be simple
Simple and happy
One day a girl laid under a tree.

No one knows the truth, no one knows how I truly feel inside, how completely shattered I am by all of it and I just get to sit in silence. Pretending that I am okay to avoid the questions of why and the fact that I just am tired. Tired. Tired, so Tired. But why? I'm 21 why am I so tired? Why does it have to be this way? I feel so disconnected it’s crazy. I don’t believe my life went this way and I have no one to be there for me. I don't sleep, sleep isn’t even the right way to describe what I go through. I’m floating looking at my sad lifeless body toss and turning in the sheets begging for 1 second of rest. Then I wake up, and waking up is the worst, someway again I don’t fit in. Somehow I'm not enough today, somehow take photos for you to just look at another, somehow you revert back to your old ways. Do I revert back to mine, I was raised and viewed as some rag, some broom to help clean up. Maybe I revert back to that, I’m so tired of people's view of me as a parent, I’m sick I need help mentally, physically, and emotionally, you don’t know me and you try to say that how I feel isn’t a big deal, brush me off like the others. I don’t have anyone, no one. Wow, I look at my life as a whole always moving around and never once being able to be in the moment, always taking care of others, I never had a childhood, I barely remember my past, I don’t understand my present, I feel shame, unworthy, I am so tired. I didn't ask for this, I don’t want to be singled out in my life, and I wish I had courage. I wish I had peace.

2024, hm that came fast. I don’t remember anything. I still feel like I’m dreaming, it’s very eerie giving birth to a life for 2 years to not feel real, of course a part of me is mom, my daughter has everything she needs and she is my top priority, above myself. I traded, 2 years ago, I was in the middle of drowning, I still am, I had just left my mom’s house running away from home, thinking he was my sanctuary. Moved into this house thinking I was welcomed, I am so stubborn and gullible, I think that’s the trauma child in me begging for safety. I can withstand any abuse and think it’s a form of love and know it’s abuse. Family. Family is a stupid thing. Blood is *****. But the love for my daughter is the purest form, I will never let her hurt like I did. I beg that the love I have with her father is real, and the old-fashioned tyrant of a Jehovah witness mother in law whose values and reality completely disobey the values of her religion ends and a peace washes over this house. The strength to become a mother comes within the strength of your will to become the best version of yourself for yourself, for that inner child. I’m healing my childhood with my daughters giving her everything I never did, my partner on the other hand grew up shielded from family and culture never experiencing holidays, or birthdays. I grew up being abused at my birthday parties but hey at least I had a party. Trauma is not biased. It doesn’t care who you are or where you come from. It’s ******. As result of his upbringing along with being the youngest of two brothers with a 20 year age difference those brothers had addictions, he was kept in the room most of the time in front of a tv trying being told to increase the volume on the tv to mutter out the yelling. I on the other hand used to take care of all my cousins while the yelling happened I was the protector my partner was the protected. His father passed when he was young so that idol and influence was only left to those brothers, raising my own brother I know what a lack of a male role model does to the prepubescent brain of a 11 year old boy. Trauma, it’s ******. The dynamic of the household is everyone to themselves and its very toxic, it’s sad, my caring personality put me here cause I see that they need to be saved, the trials that my spouse has put me through has made me want to give up on this till this day, I have my doubts if he has actually changed. Some people say people don’t change and I hope that this new chapter is growth and actual progress. I want it to be genuine, at the end of the day I want to be with a person I can fully be myself with and vice versa. The trust issues are there, but ******* I have issues, I feel like I’m crazy sometimes, I don’t understand how simple my requests for life can be, for them to prove to be so **** difficult, how can I read back on a poem from 2 years ago and still feel the same way? It’s eerie. If you got to this sentence, then you’ll be intrigued by the next update. I can only write so much.

When I was younger I believed that I was happy.
I believed that when someone touched you in that way it was love.
I never had a family.
Yes I had a mother and yes I had a father but no it wasn’t a family.
There were only glass shatters and unavoidable screams that put me to sleep.
There was no lullabies or calm music.
There weren’t bedtime stories.
There were only arguments that created my childhood.
There was the unwanted touch of a person who was supposed to be there for me.
There were the relationships that were never to be developed.
There was trust screaming and threatening a 6-year-old girl.
When people ask what my childhood was like, I reply with one word.
Okay.
To me it was okay, it was normal for me at the time.
Now that I know it was wrong there was no way to make it right.
The untrust that I had for the world only increased.
I had no friends, I was bullied, I was a quiet girl.
And yet the world asks me if I’m okay.
Am I?
I think I am.
But am I?