When did it happen?
When did we become this snowball—
cold and homeless,
rolling aimlessly
down an icy mountain?

We were doing so well, weren’t we?
Now we’re sliding downhill,
frozen,
distant,
barely speaking.

That’s why they say—
when you reach
the top of the mountain,
the only thing left
is to go down.

I am
deliberately
destroying our family.

They say a wise woman
builds her home—
I am removing every brick
we so carefully
stacked.

But do not blame
my wisdom,
or the lack of it.

If only I could show you
all the possible endings
of our story—
the ones I’ve built and rebuilt
in my mind and heart—
and still
it would not be enough
for you to forgive me,
for me to forgive myself,
for the shame
of becoming
a beggar
pleading for life.

Jesus, son of David—
have mercy on me.

Five of Cups.
I keep clinging
to the spilled wine,
wishing it would return
to the glass—
but it never will.

And now I wonder:
which one of them
is the spilled wine?
Which one
can’t I let go?

I’ve begun to realize
that great minds
don’t need a thousand words
to change a life
Often
ten
within a poem
can light up
the entire world

I found out you moved on,
you’re with another woman.

I felt nothing.

I thought I would cry,
tear my hair out over you—
but I think I love myself now.

My weekly therapy sessions worked.

I’ve been trying
to be so strong these past days
that I haven’t allowed myself
even a single second
to be
merely weak.

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

Sometimes
Poetry comes
Like a slap
Across my face.

It keeps bothering me,
Begging to be written.

And I go,
“Ok… here we go.”
I’m channeling now.

I was never addicted.
I was always starved for affection—
That pleasure I tried to find
Here, in my core,
Was only an attempt to rescue
The girl in her old bed
In that house filled with
Violence,
Neglect.

Where no one ever told her a story
Before she fell asleep,
Where no one ever said
“Good night,
Sleep with God.”

Today,
She’s feeling her way along the walls
Of her cold house,
Trying to find
The path back home.

—It was always about
Feeling loved.

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

This path
Is more like a bridge
Without rails.

I’m taking baby steps,
I already see the light.

I’m hearing thunder—
Still distant,
But I hear it.

Mommy is coming.

You have been called 'too much'
just for feeling.
Silenced,
when all you wanted was to be heard.

You’ve fought the invisible.
You’ve overcome the sadness
that had no name.
You climbed out of the pit of depression.
You walked away from a love
that called you a burden
just for existing with emotion.

And yet —
or maybe because of all this —
you stand here now,
ready to take a step
greater than any step
you’ve ever taken before.

Perhaps what holds you back
is not lack of ability,
but the ache of becoming vast
after being made so small for so long.

Understand this, sweet girl:
no one sabotages themselves because they want to fail.
They sabotage themselves
because they fear rejection
for daring to shine.

And so your soul whispers:
“What if I could fly a little farther?”

Let your blood remind you
that you are still alive.
No soldier waits to feel confident
before entering battle.

I have conquered silence.
I have conquered erasure.
I have conquered the darkness of the mind.
Now I conquer my freedom —
because it is mine by right.

I will no longer live half of myself.

This was supposed to be my day—
a day to be happy.

I ended up alone.
Again.
Disgracefully.
Inevitably.

Every choice I’ve made
has brought me here.

I try to fool myself,
saying it’s not my fault—
blame my parents,
they raised me this way.

But I’m no longer a child.
Or at least,
I should have grown,
matured,
evolved.

At the end of my day,
the pleasure should have been mine.
But instead, I undressed,
put you in my mouth,
and gave you pleasure.

Happy birthday to me.

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.

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

For so long,
I thought something was wrong
with being empty inside.
But I’ve made peace with my emptiness—
a flute only makes music
when its soul is open wide.

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

There were many times
I cried
beside you
lying in bed
wrapped in blankets
I don’t know if you heard
I only know you did nothing
I’m still waiting
for you to do something

The pain
that tears through my chest,
from top to bottom—
there are no words
to truly describe it.

It is only
pain.

My mind
keeps whispering
that what I’ve done
is unforgivable.

— I am not worthy

I was working
For a promotion at my job.

Before it could happen,
The job I had quit—
The one that hurt me so much—
Wanted me back.

I said no.
I could never return
To a place
That wounded me so deeply.

The cards now say
You’ll come back,
That you’ll miss my love.

I will say no.
It would be an insult to myself
To go back to someone
Who hurt me
So much.

The past calls us back
Before the future brings
Something better.

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 will take all this pain
anxiety
nervousness
and turn it into poetry
Sometimes it will come out beautiful
Sometimes it will come out raw
Both
are deeply spiritual

Hi!
I’m so glad you reached out—
it’s been far too long
since we last spoke.

Yes, let’s watch the movie.
I love the idea!

It’s okay not to be okay right now—
we’ll get through this together.

Today,
we can take care of our feet
if we want to be ballerinas.
No one will stop us.

Write to me again soon.
I miss you.

P.S. I love you.

If a heart can tremble,
mine is trembling now.

That thing about the law of attraction—
well,
I imagined my divorce,
imagined myself radiant,
dancing wildly,
happy,
without you.

Look at us —
everything’s falling apart now.

We don’t talk anymore.
We’ve become roommates.
Apartment 403,
welcome.

He works,
I stay home —
that’s the dynamic.

I asked what would become of us,
what you wanted me to do,
and I found myself longing
for you to actually tell me what to do.

If you said, die,
I would die.
Just please —
not in a painful way.

Sometimes
you have to go—
take that step,
despite the fear,
despite the uncertainty,
and discover
that in the end,
we always survive
to tell the story.

With each passing day,
I realize I am not alone
in the universe
that there is something greater than me,
greater than everything,
and that this everything
dwells within me.

Because you never ask
or say anything
Can’t you see I’m suffering?
I’m a nobody to you
Well, at least in the end
I’m feeling something—
anger

Seeing you happy,
traveling to a place
we once planned to go,
leaves a bitter taste
and makes my stomach tremble.
I wish I were there with you.
I feel I’ve lost so much
I feel I’ve lost
us.

When I was a child
I played with the egg carton
scattered paperclips around the house
bottle caps
nail polish
anything
that could be a passenger
on my spaceship

Sometimes I think my verses are bare and raw.
The same way I believe I have a way with words,
I feel I don’t.

Sometimes I wish I could shape them,
so they wouldn’t be so direct—
that I could mold them
like water atoms between my fingers.

I don’t know.
Strange.

I just don’t want to be
so dry,
sometimes.