The words come so quickly
I have no choice but
to pour them all onto the page
Let life carry me
Life, carry me away…

I decided to run a test
throw a few words on paper
see what would happen
and I was amazed
by what I found

will everyone abuse me?
no one ever touched my body
but they all took a piece of me
I guess that’s why I’m empty

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

I’m ashamed to show myself
What will people think?
I’ve lived my whole life in the church
They’ll cast me out
And me?
Will I stop
loving myself?

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

No
It’s not that I want to be some new, renowned poet or writer
Remembered in the future
When children will hold their schoolbooks
Studying literature
No, God forbid
I just have to throw these things out
All these words suffocating me
I think I have the gift
**** the rules and the standards
I need healing

Funny how everything can turn into art in my hands
I’m not good with spoken words
But they flow freely
through my mind and heart

I cried
smudged all these verses with my tears
Yet, in the end
I broke and remade myself
gathered all my pieces
and became
the eighth wonder of the world

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

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

One day I went to a very rich man’s house for dinner
He told me:
“You write cheap poetry”
I replied:
“Yes—because if it were expensive,
even your heart couldn’t afford it”

I am the Samaritan woman
I understand her completely now
Every day I went to the well to draw water
But I never truly drank
Drank to quench the soul
I found my Christ—stunned
Dehydrated
Needy
It’s too much, I can’t contain the emotion
I want
more
more
more
more
and never stop…

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

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

Like a tree
I have lived
Every mark I carry
is one of my victories
scars of war
That’s why
I love myself
because I am still here

I was crying in bed
Only the moonlight entered the room
My cat kept looking at me
climbed onto the bed
and began to lick
my tears

How come
you want ***?
Where is your sensitivity?
Don’t you see the only thing I want to do
is **** myself?
I want to cut every part of me
and cease to exist.
But you don’t look at me
not the way I want.
You only look at that head
between your legs
and the fact that it’s been so long
since we last did it…

You’re not letting me go.
You’re making everything harder,
slowing down my plans.

Do you still miss me?

I’ve written about this before—
the missing piece.

Yes, the piece is already here.
I don’t need to search for anything.

Who said emptiness must be filled?
Who said it’s even empty?
Couldn’t it be a wound
that only needs to heal?

I am already whole.
I just need to be aware of it—
and that
is the hardest part.

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

It is only
pain.

You chose to move on
and I respect that.
I’m sorry—
truly, deeply sorry—
for destroying us.

I miss us.
I miss the love
that was more attachment
and dependence
than anything else,
but still—
it was something.
It was family.

One day,
these tears will stop falling.
The well will run dry,
and I will be able
to smile again.

I climbed out of a well
and swore
I’d never go back.

But this one is different—
it carries
the bitter taste
of suffering.

Crying is part of it.
So is regret.
And yes—if it could ****,
I’d already be dead.
But by my own hand,
not because he destroyed me.
(I wouldn’t give him
that pleasure.)

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.

I will respect you.
You did it
you climbed out of the hole
you once called home
and you flew.
Fly, my love,
you are free
to soar.

I want to rewrite my love story
I want to live a love, yes
intense,
romantic,
but healthy.
A love where we grow together
without me losing
myself.

I can be a woman
I can be feminine
I can be a girlfriend
I can be a wife
I can be a mother
I can be all these things at once
and still be me
I can be everything I want to be
not to save someone
not to heal someone
but because this is who I am
it’s how I came into this world

They told me
that the more time passes
after a breakup
the more we tend to think
poorly of our ex-partners
I don’t want to think badly of you
But with each of our misencounters
I find more reasons to believe
I was married to a madman

"Are you on ***?"
"I'm talking to you nicely and you come at me with rudeness"
This… is you
reacting to the version of me
that sets boundaries

We talked
ate
kissed
I leave
and feel empty
Because the moment I walked
through my front door
I wasn’t going to find you
I was looking for
the part of me
that’s missing

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

Excuse me
I am a powerful woman
How did I let myself
get so lost
so easily?

In all my stories
I always die in the end
It can be a freedom
It can be a prison
So no matter the story
I choose to tell
the ending will be the same
I don’t think that’s a bad thing

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 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

My therapist kept saying
“It’s about you”
Yes, it’s about me
But that phrase is an entire world of possibilities
and I only saw
the words

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