When I was little
I wanted to write romance novels
It was all I read
But my heart won’t let me
No matter how many love stories I start
My soulmate is poetry

a person with an unimaginable power to fall, rise, and keep going.
a person who cries, who suffers, who feels the seismic shakes of life and is still here
in the land of the living.
a person who can be whoever they want to be.
a person who can be light and love.

Riding the subway
I realize there are so many people
so many people, really
I wonder if all of them
are okay

My cat starts to meow
He sniffs my nose
then makes a nest on my chest
while I’m lying down
He rests his head right over my heart
He’s seen me cry all day
He knows I want to die
But there he is
reminding me
that my heart
is still beating

I don’t aspire to high ranks
My humble little life
already so worn
is far too good to trade
for any gold that comes from hell
or any weapon that comes from heaven
None of it is worth it
if my heart holds nothing
I hope my journey
lasts many more miles of road
My verses—though not quite country songs—
bring calm
to my breath

I was thinking about the hornero bird today
how it builds its little house
Really, God gives it everything
just like that, for free
So why doesn’t He do the same for me?
Tell me where to find the clay
install in my mind
the coordinates
to build my home
and be
happy in it

You thought I would
wilt like a flower
disintegrate
and become part of the soil
I’m sorry, love
You messed with a phoenix
You turned me into ashes
but I will rise again
better than I was before
So know that every time
you knock me down
you only make me
stronger

The interesting thing about
gardens
is that they usually
have a beginning and an end
I am a garden
I need to set my white fences
put up signs
“Do not step on the grass”
label each flower with its name
water them every day
pull out the weeds
use poison so the insects
won’t hurt them
also breathe in their scent
feel the delicacy of the petals
and, no less important,
admire all the work done

Mistakenly
I cried out for you to pull me
out of a hole
you didn’t even know existed
None of it was your fault
you had nothing
to do
with the story
But I wanted you to be
a soldier, a firefighter
who would come to rescue me
I’m sorry for that
Expectations are a **** thing
It took a while
but I understood
I had to go hoarse
at the bottom of that well
to realize
that no one would take me out of there
Only I had
the power to do it
It was bad, I must admit
very bad
because there came a moment
when I wanted to stay there
because it was comfortable
But if it was bad, how could it feel good?
I don’t know
I only know that I looked at the walls of that well
a well that disgusted me so much
and decided to leave
I had to climb
smear my hands
with my own filth
and the dirt others had thrown in there
I promised myself
that once I got out
I’d take a long, thorough bath
I also wanted to promise
that I’d forget the way to the well
but I chose to remember
so I’d know
never to go back
And so I decided to make that path a trophy
a reminder
that I won

Small pleasures
being present
staying away from social media
exercise
I’d always read this list of items
to improve well-being
on some websites
and never paid much attention
Then I chose to adopt them
like my cat
that I found on the street
They all came to stay

I had already understood
that it was about choosing
what made me feel good
but
what if what made me feel good
wasn’t what God wanted for me?
For so long
I chained myself to this doubt
this anxiety
I came to the conclusion
that I was no saint
that the ticket to hell
was free
while the ticket to heaven
cost me far too much
So maybe
I should try my luck
live whatever life could give me at its best
Because only in the end
would I know
if God would have mercy on me

I read something the other day—
what if I want to be a mediocre person?
I felt I wasn’t alone
I felt relief
Because with two degrees
and unemployed
you start to feel useless
For so long I listened
to the voices of my parents
and other people
telling me I should do this
or that
Yet I never asked myself
what I actually wanted
I was always in some spotlight
a little popular
somewhat known
It’s exhausting, really
But for some reason
I kept chasing it
when everything in me
was screaming
to be nobody
to disappear
to be a stranger
in this world
to be mediocre
to have no riches
no extraordinary career
no mansion
but to be simple
insignificant
just another face in the crowd
just myself
That life, with no sparkle or luxury
seemed far better
than any life
I could choose to live

My natural hair is
curly
but when I look in the mirror
I feel ugly
I grew up hearing my hair was
beautiful
so I shouldn’t do anything to it—and I
believed
that it was sacred
even if it made me unhappy today
Yes, my hair is sacred
but because I decide
when it will be straight
or when it will be curly

I think my favorite time of day
is dusk
It feels as if something important is happening
Yes, the death of a day seems
reasonable
In that moment
I turn off all the lights in the house
sit on the couch
put on some good music
pour myself a glass of wine
and consecrate that moment
A toast to me
I am alive

When I was younger
I loved tulips, but it was
because
there was a girl
holding a tulip on the cover
of a book
I loved that story
But now
I like daisies
Maybe one day my daughter’s name will be Daisy
I like them
because they are simple
they bother no one
they have their own sun at their center
and around it, many angels
make harmony
dancing to the most sublime songs

Understand this once and for all!
Within me, I am as many as I choose to be
Don’t get me wrong
I’m not sick
I’ve never been as sane as I am today
But the strength of a single woman is not enough for me
I need to be many
I need to be Athena
But I also need to be Persephone
At times I’ll be Hera
But most of the time, Aphrodite
And, strangely enough, I’ll be Hestia, Demeter, and Artemis
All at once, or in their rightful time
Because this is me—unique
Goddess of myself

I was scrolling through Pinterest
when I saw a drawing
of a girl with flowers sprouting from her head
watering herself
I felt the scars on my thigh—
the ones only I can see—begin to itch
So I decided
I would tattoo that drawing over
my war marks
so I’d never do something like that
to myself
again

I don’t want money!
How many times do I have to say it?
I know my verses will lead to nothing
But at least I’m whole
Isn’t that what we needed?
A purpose
I’ve found mine: writing cheap poetry
that only sells to crazy hearts longing to understand
Understand what?
I have no idea
I only know that art is this—being ecstatic
Not trapped in some rule because someone said so
Do it differently
Put that dot outside the curve and
Tada! Art!
Only there does the magic make sense
Sorry, babe, you tried so hard to make me rich
But I found my wealth elsewhere
I know, you’ll tell me that money can’t buy happiness
But it can buy many other things
Still, without it
I found peace

Not the others
To hell with the others
I want the courage and bravery
of those who said “**** it”
and went to live
I want to live
“Please, let me live,” my soul screams
And I think the most painful part
is realizing it’s all up to me

I think I need to wash my soul
All the water I drink every day
makes no difference
I’m not sure if I’m writing poetry or music
I guess it doesn’t matter
Right now I just need to let it out
I read the other day that it takes maturity to be happy
So please
don’t give me happiness
give me maturity
Because I don’t know how to be happy
I’m still a child
I need to grow

You found this book on the last shelf
of an old, dusty bookstore
Yes
I didn’t write this to be a success
Only those who truly want to be healed
will find me

I don’t want crumbs
I want gold
wheat
honey
the finest and rarest in this world
I am not cheap
My mental health has cost me dearly
My tears
are priceless
I’d like to see you pay for them all
I cried for everyone
But I cried most for myself
for letting me cry for those who didn’t deserve it
for giving space
and letting them destroy my peace
I owe nothing to anyone anymore
Yet everyone owes me
Starting with the one who writes to you now
I owe myself
a great deal of love

The part I am missing…
But why does it feel missing?
Am I not already whole?
Then what do I lack?
For I search for what is already within me
Long imprisoned
in the claws of the Devil
desperate to break free
But what will become of me with it?
Wasn’t this the missing part?
If it was already in me
it was never missing
It was already
in its rightful place
I just needed to find it

That moment when anything can happen
everything can change
and you don’t care
Yes—you do care
about your well-being
about
being truly happy

Everything in life is a process
It’s more about letting go and learning to stay
There is no control
Only cycles and adaptation
Here’s the question:
Do trees cry when their leaves fall in autumn?
They mix into the ground
a blessing to the soil
a party for some passing child
Even the tree understands
that not everything is meant to stay
But from what goes away
a new beginning is born in its place

It took me a while to understand
that life happens in active mode
not passive
Everything is beautiful
in my mind
But lying in bed
or sitting on the couch
won’t bring that beauty
into my life

Accepting that I might need medication
for the rest of my life
hurt
But it hurt less
than
trying
to quit it