I hate you
Don’t be alarmed
They’re strong words
But what I feel inside me
is unbearable
The truth is, I’m afraid
Afraid to say goodbye
and end up in the arms of another
who might hurt me
Not you—you’re good
But still
you’re hurting me
My heart races
because it knows what it wants
Freedom
Yet I keep it
caged

I’m so confused.
I feel my body fading.

I confessed my sin—
I was welcomed,
not judged.

But I know
I put myself in a hard place.
I’m hurting you
with my indecision.
I’m hurting you
with my choices.

Part of me just wants
to disappear.
To fade.
To die.

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

I showed one of my poems to my best friend.
He was horrified.
Said I write poems as if I were a submissive woman.

I found it funny —
that’s not how I’d describe myself.

But if I think about it,
for a long time I tried to fit
into the mold of a Proverbs 31 woman —
the perfect keeper of the home,
the crown upon her husband’s head.

Eventually, I realized I didn’t fit there.
Not because she was flawed —
but because it was an expectation too small
for someone who is far greater.

I wear my own crown.

Life begins mid-scene,
no script in my hands,
just a trembling voice
and the weight of the spotlight.

I stumble through lines
I never agreed to speak,
yet each word lands
as if carved in stone.

How cruel, this urgency—
to shape myself in seconds,
to wear a costume of flesh
without knowing the story.

Still, the stage keeps turning,
stars lit above my head,
and the only truth I carry:
every flaw is part of the play.

if words could heal
i would cover my body
with them
like bandages

but what can i say
when you look happier now
than you ever did
with me

i tell myself
it is better this way
everything happens for a reason
what doesn’t **** us
makes us stronger

yet i no longer know
if i am dead
or alive
only that it hurts

i pray to gods
i am not sure exist

and the longer time passes
the more i realize
the period you used
to end our story
felt less like freedom
and more like a nail
in my coffin

Can I make you a proposal?

We live apart
but talk every day.
On weekends,
I come to your house—
our house.

We date.
We try to reconcile again.

I want you back.

Maybe this is all
a great illusion of mine—
a dependent heart’s story
I tell myself
just to ease the ache.

But I have been praying.
And I want to believe
God is answering—
giving me wisdom,
guidance,
clarity.

That our marriage
still has a purpose.
That we
still have a story
left to tell.

who would have thought?
isn’t that the girl from 103?
she left that scoundrel,
now lives on the east side.

she should be
the pretty girl with the ribbon bow,
shining every day,
dancing until her feet blister,
getting ready with her friends,
singing with joy,
inking in red
a silly smile
on a boy’s cheek—

not crying at nightfall,
afraid of the monster.

he’s already locked away,
watching the sunrise
through bars.

but yours rises round,
burning like fire—
and tells anyone who dares to see:
fear is no longer yours to keep.

no man
will ever again
hold the power
to make you suffer.

I can’t see a life after you—
with another man.

Even though there’s another boy,
he’s immature compared to me.
I think that’s what
the cards were trying to say.

And if I return
to this marriage with you,
the package will be complete again—
the church,
your family—

and most likely,
I won’t want any of it.
I’ll only want
you.

your love
plays guitar
but hides in a harmonica case

your lies
sweet to them
poison to me

if regret could ****
i would be gone
only my perfume
left in the wind

a ghost you chase
never knowing
we ended
before we began

We can’t go back to the beginning.
If we had known the ending,
would we still be on this road?

But I understand —
you want to know what it’s like
to be far from home,
why I can’t sleep at night.

I understand.

You want to know
why I always order the same drink twice
at that bar on the corner.

I understand.

You want to know
what it’s like to stand
on the wrong side of the history.
And honestly,
there comes a moment
when you get used to it,
and it starts to feel right.

It’s okay.
I’m okay now.

But I appreciate the concern —
keep digging,
keep asking about my life,
and one day
you’ll know about me.

I seemed to be on a good curve toward healing
Everything was falling into place
Then a wave came
and washed it all away
It’s what the doctors call
ICD F33

You send me two messages—
“Hey love, how are you?”

I send you five, six, seven in reply.
You laugh,
but deep down,
you complain—
you think I talk too much.

The truth is,
I’m intense with my feelings.
When I express them,
I can’t hold back.

I write in ALL CAPS,
send a flood of emojis—
all so you’ll know
how much
your two little messages
made me happy today.

Sometimes I’m quick to say
I don’t want you—
and many other times I’m slow to say,
stay with me.

You know I’m a strong, powerful woman,
but you also know
I’m just a child.
I grew up without a father.
I don’t know how to love.
I only know how to give myself
and sink
into a vicious cycle of love
and dependency.

Save me now,
take me out of this sharp curve.
I need to breathe, my love.

Hold me in your arms—
I need the warmth,
the comfort,
a sweet kiss
with the taste of honey.
Amen.

You know I love
to wrap myself in your legs,
spread across the bed,
with the scent of our love.

Today was good,
tomorrow will be better.
Days of struggle are not
the end of the story.
With you…
I want bossa nova.

I said,
if I go back,
I lose my progress.
If I don’t,
I lose nothing.

But I went back.
And now I have to ask myself—
maybe I’m learning
to stand my ground,
but I’m losing friends.
People are walking away.

I’m confused as hell.

You’ll be so hurt
when you find out
what I’m doing.

And I’m not even thinking about him.
He’ll be hurt too—
but somehow,
your pain
hurts me more.

i watch her
put on makeup every day

not to look prettier
but to cover the sadness

she thinks i don’t see it
but i do—
her smile stops at her eyes

these days have been heavy
she stays in the bedroom
i hide in other rooms

someone has to move first
maybe the cure is in
taking off our masks
sharing cheap wine by the fire
talking nonsense
instead of pointing fingers

i know we can talk
without shouting

we can start again
as if it were
our first date

I fell in love
with the idea of you—
with the fantasy of the past,
with our story
that never truly worked.

I feel ashamed to admit it,
because I ended my marriage
for you.
But I shouldn’t have.

Now I want to say
I ended it for me—
maybe I just don’t want
to retell this story
because the truth
throws me into despair.

I’m sorry.

You’ve helped me so much,
letting me stay at your place—
but I’m truly sorry.

Maybe
the red heart
will never come.

Now I see why
I couldn’t speak about you
in therapy.

I knew you were
a big part of what happened,
but I simply couldn’t
speak of you directly—
not the way I wanted to.

I think my mind,
smarter than I ever imagined,
was protecting me
from a truth
I wasn’t ready to hold yet.

But the Universe—
God—
this Force,
is guiding me
to see the truth,
to give me clarity.

If I had known before
what I know today,
maybe I would have ended my life.
Maybe I wouldn’t have endured.

But in just one month,
I’ve had a surge of maturity
that is keeping me going.

I was a glass—
Crystal, maybe,
Or whatever you’d call it.

But I shattered on the floor—
Or was thrown there,
I’m still not sure.

What I do know
Is that all the shards
Are scattered,
And I am gathering them,
One by one,

Discovering
What I’m truly made of.

I believe that after anger
there is a beautiful place to be—
a place of peace.

Like on a day of heavy rain,
thunder and lightning,
if we could only fly
above the storm,

we would see that the sun
never stopped shining.

It was there all along—
we just couldn’t see it.

You look at me, angry
in the middle of our friends’ wedding party
and ask
why I’m always sad,
always making drama
in every moment that should be
happy
joyful
I look at you, confused
lost inside my feelings
I only know I feel bad
really bad
but you can’t see it
I’m not even sure you care
So I just say
I don’t know why

Your eyes say forever,
your silence says fleeting.
You chain me with your touch,
yet leave me doubting
what name to give this fever.

I would surrender—
life, body, soul—
if this were love.
But if it is only desire,
then I am nothing more
than a flame you’ll let burn out.

Still, I stay,
hoping you’ll call it love.

You know,
I wish you truly understood
I chose you to save me.
I married you.

Come on,
be my Prince Charming,
be the hero who pulls me out of this hole.

But the more I look at your life,
the more I see you moving forward
and me falling behind.

This isn’t how I pictured it.
I thought you’d be by my side.

One day I want to climb
to the highest place I can find
stand face to face with danger
and meet freedom in its eyes
see the vastness of the blue sky
and the stars as they shine
take a leap into life
and embrace death as mine

I feel there’s no boundary
between me and the world.

Everything comes in,
everything goes out.

The membranes of my skin
let anyone enter—
and let all my self-love
slip away.

Yes,
I can get upset
over silly things.

Yes,
I can get angry
at the smallest details.

And that’s okay.

I take those feelings,
pour them into poetry,
or fists against my pillow.
And that’s okay.

But if I spoke of these little things—
the failures,
the sadness—
to everyone,
not all would understand.

And that’s okay.

It’s about feeling,
letting it out,
letting it pass,
and finding peace
within myself.

when you look in the mirror and see no one.
when everything happens on autopilot.
when your best friends are your room and your bed.
when everyone is happy and you’re the only sad one in the room.
when you’re startled by the thought that life is no longer worth living.
when you’re already cutting yourself just to feel anything but the pain.

Is this love,
longing,
or sickness?

Because my heart is racing.
I just want to message you,
to know how you’re doing.

I feel like I’m suffocating,
like I want to run back to you—
and I want to justify it,
saying it’s your prayers working,
that it’s God telling me
I should never have left your side.

I feel delirious,
wanting to ask you
to run with me
on Sunday morning.

Wanting to come home,
to kiss your mouth,
to have our bodies pressed together.

Wanting to see your smile again,
and hear our—your—songs.

Maybe I’m dependent.

at my graduation
there wasn’t anyone there
I wished was there
even you weren’t there
but your ex was
after getting my diploma
I went back to our little house
in the middle of the community
with no idea about the future
feeling so alone
I cried
cried endlessly
no one to comfort me
I wanted to stab my heart right there
I felt
there was something deeply wrong with me