Funny—
it feels like life
has crookedly aligned itself again.

The crisis has passed.
The paper says
we’re divorced,
but our bodies
say something else.

You know exactly
where to touch me,
and I want to try new things with you.

I think I love you—
not with that
passionate, reckless love,
but with a mature one.

I know I have traumas.
You have them too.
And sometimes I feel ashamed,
because I’ll have to tell people
we’re trying again
when they rooted
for it all to end.

Thank you
for agreeing
to give us
another chance.

you said:
“you’ve been kinda annoying this week”
ok…
I guess I deserve that
so I start to cry
you leave me alone
alone
alone
alone
in a dark room
in our double bed
alone
alone
alone
I want to breathe
but I can’t
where is the air that was here?
so I just cry
cry
cry
cry
it’s a never-ending cycle
the pills calm me down
you apologize
you say you didn’t mean it
but I still feel
alone
alone
alone

Sometimes,
when I finish a poem,
when I’ve polished it,
I see a white light
surrounding it—
not because it’s perfect,
not because it deserves an award,
but because it is mine.

I cry
reading my own words.
Sometimes I feel
it isn’t me writing at all,
but someone else takes the wheel,
gathers my emotions,
seals them in a shell,
lets them ripen,
until a precious pearl
emerges before me.

And that is why I cry.
Because this pearl
is too beautiful,
and it was born
from my own heart.

We could have
a second chance—
to meet again,
to date,
to get engaged,
to marry
the right way.

What God has joined together,
let no one
ever separate.

Do you want
to try again?

I admit—
this week
I hit my cat.

It’s wrong, I know that now.
Crucify me.

But did anyone ever teach me
that disobedience
is handled with patience?

In my house,
it was always the slap,
the belt,
the stick.

How do you not repeat the same
when it’s your turn?

I’m not just talking about the cat—
poor thing.

They say relationships
are a mirror.
You see even what you didn’t want to see.

My cat,
when beaten,
running away, then coming back,
showed me I’m a *****,
a ****,
and a human
who needs love.

Yes—
you have your issues.
You made mistakes.
And so did I.

I don’t want this
to be the speech
of an emotional dependent
who only blames herself
and forgets
that a relationship
is built by two people.

From now on,
every “i” will have its dot,
and every accent
will be marked—

as we write
our story
again.

They may exclude you,
block you,
erase you—

but only because you set boundaries,
because you chose your own voice
over theirs,
because you chose to be whole,
not broken into pieces.

Once, you jumped ship
hoping they would save you.
And they did—
but not from loyalty,
not from friendship,
only for what you could offer.

That nearly destroyed you.
It drained your soul.

Now, you’ve jumped again—
no lifeboat,
no life jacket,
no hope of rescue.

And that’s the beauty of it.
Because now you know
the true value
of learning how to swim.

Why did you come back into my life?
Look at the trouble you’re causing—
you’ve shaken all my edges,
as you would say.

I know you want me,
but I’ve been through a marriage.
I know what it means
to give yourself in a way
that maybe, in your idea of love,
doesn’t even exist yet.

Your love still feels liquid.
I need something solid,
real—
not imagined,
not illusory.

In the end,
I need you to change.
Because I have.

My standards are higher now.
Will you be able to reach them?

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

We were arguing
about whether we should have kids.
I wanted it so badly—
but as you’ve said before,
if it were up to me,
I’d have everything yesterday.

I don’t know how to wait.
My feet never touch the ground.
We’d have eight cats,
five dogs,
ten children, and more—
because that’s who I am.
Intense.
I want to live everything at once,
all tangled together.

Maybe being with you
is killing that in me.
Where is the girl
who, when she wanted something,
wouldn’t stop until she got it?

She’s gone.
I lost her.
I can’t find her anywhere.
I searched in all my hiding places—
she’s dead.

And sadly,
she’s no phoenix.
I wish she were.

I killed her.
I was an accomplice in her ******.
How did I let that happen?
I wish I could go back in time.

How can the world change so much
after high school?
I know—it’s cliché.
But my God,
how things have changed.

And yet I’m still there,
trying to see that girl again
who no longer exists.

I tell myself
that as long as she’s alive,
she lives in me—
a comfort,
a lie.

When will I reinvent myself?
When will I finally give birth
to what I truly want?
Do I even know
what I want?

I said I love you.
I still have my doubts about you, L
but I can’t seem
to choose myself first.

I want to run into your arms—
but I need to heal
before I do.

Hello, my dear—
it’s been a while.

We lost each other,
found each other,
but I was always here.

Looking back at what we wrote
reminded you
that a path was being built.

But you thought
it was already strong enough
to stand on its own.

Never.

The thing about having a home
is that you’ll always
need to care for it.

she walks
like light bends
to touch her steps

her silence
softens walls
and eyes fall in reverence

i built myself
out of fragile tears
every love
took pieces i could not keep

still i stand
hands open
heart trembling
believing
even loss
is holy

It aches in my gut
when I think about
how you must be feeling.

Your wife left.
Your wife didn’t want you anymore.

Are you blaming yourself?
Have you been crying—
like you cried to me that day,
saying the pain was worse
than when you lost your brother?

Is it because I’m still alive?
Because the possibility
of something being done
still exists?

Now that I have clarity,
lucidity—
I see it was impossible
for us to continue together.

It’s a fact,
undeniable.

Your world is too small for me.
I am expansive,
vast,
I fill rooms
and lives.

In your world,
the same stories repeat,
the same people
with the same problems.

And there is nothing wrong
with living that life.

But my soul
asks for something else.

I feel I’ve hurt many people.
All of them,
with trembling voices,
show me
I might be on the wrong path.

But as my friend said—
everyone has their own journey.

Maybe those I’ve despised
are the ones I need to make peace with.
And maybe those
who stood by my side
are the ones I’ll have to hurt.

Because it’s not about them—
it’s about me.

Not depending on anyone
but myself,
my opinion,
my belief
in what I know
to be right.

I was crying in your arms
Then I lifted my head and looked at you
You blinked at me, not knowing what to do
And right then I knew
The journey to finding myself
would be mine
alone

You’re kind of funny, you know.
I wanted to stay in our home,
but you said
I was the one moving out—
because I chose separation.

You yelled at me
when we tried to fix things,
shouting that I should
pack my things
and walk away.

Now you’re the one moving,
asking if I want to live there.
Of course not.
I’m on another frequency now.

And yet you want me
to solve the problems
with the painting—
me,
the one you invited to leave.

Where’s your speech now?
You wanted the house.
So—
keep the house.

I don’t know why you showed up in my life.
Was it God’s test?
Satan’s trick?
The universe showing me
I wasn’t happy—
or that I’d never be satisfied
in that marriage?

I don’t want all the answers now.
I don’t think I even need them.

You touch me
and yes,
I melt for you.
But in other moments,
I don’t want you at all.

Something in me says
that even if you are
communicative, romantic,
and so much more—
and even if the cards say
we’re meant to work out—

I see you have much to grow.
And I wanted you grown already.

Maybe it’s because
I’ve already been through a marriage,
but I still want more from you.

You still need to be shaped.
Will it be me
who shapes you?

I’m afraid—
afraid of the new,
afraid of being alone.

I think that when I move
into the new house,
the emptiness will settle in
so deeply
I might break.

I just hope
this weight on my chest
isn’t here to stay.

Will this work out?

You removed my face scan
from the building entrance.
I had to say
I was a visitor
in my own home.

But maybe this
isn’t my home anymore.

Maybe I fooled myself
into believing
God would make all things new
again—
if it were His will.

Maybe the problem is me—
that I loved too much.

I wanted you to give yourself
the way I give myself.
I wanted you to cry for me
the way I cry for you.
I wanted you to care for me
the way I care for you.

To give you an idea—
I talk to you even when you’re not with me.

My God,
that’s awful.
I did give too much of myself,
and I don’t know how to change it.

It’s not just with you—
it’s with everyone.
I love too much.
That’s the problem.
Or maybe not.

Maybe the problem
is expecting you to love me
the way I love you.

But now I hate you.
You’re showing me
how much of an idiot I am
for giving myself away like this.

Because no one cares.
You don’t care.

I don’t think I ever gave you love—
it was charity.
It was my desperation
taking the lead.

How could you let
such an important date
go by unnoticed?

I came home
and you were asleep.
How?
It was supposed to be special—
even if we celebrated another day,
today never comes back.
Never.
It’s gone.

And I think I’ve grown.
I always give another chance,
always tell myself it will get better.

And yes,
the problem is me—
I keep carrying this relationship
on my back,
feeling bad for making you feel bad.

When I feel bad, you say,
“*******, leave me alone,”
and disappear for two days,
then act like nothing happened.
“All good.”

There’s no nonviolent communication
that could calm my rage,
my hate.

I will touch myself this time
with hunger,
as revenge
for all the pain you caused me—
and you won’t even know.

I’ll think of other men,
because in my mind
they’re better than you.

Why do I keep breaking myself
to make others whole?
To make you happy?
I’m not happy.

You know I take medication
just to be okay—
and still,
this won’t work.

I need to give a little love
to myself too.
A lot of love, actually.

Once again,
I need to rewrite this story—
and I have to take responsibility for it.

You came back into my life
to show me
so many things were wrong
in my marriage,
and that I needed to align
with myself.

You came to show me
that I deserve more—
and not necessarily
that I have to be with you,
but that I have to love
differently.

You were a mirror
I needed to see myself clearly.

Yes, you had your part in the story.
Whether you came from heaven
or from hell—
it’s all right.
Your purpose was fulfilled.

I didn’t choose
to marry the wrong man.
I let myself
live the marriage
in the wrong way—
unconsciously.

By showing me
I deserved more,
you weren’t necessarily saying
he was wrong for me—
but that I had been
treating myself wrong
all along.

You weren’t just an affair—
you were the child inside me
screaming,
“I want to live.”

And how did she show it?
By falling in love with you.

That’s why,
when I was with you,
something still felt incomplete.

Because it wasn’t you.
It was me.

Unfortunately—
it was me.

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

Today would be seven years.
Of course, no longer—
it’s already over.

Still, I wonder—
did you remember?
I almost forgot,
until the memory startled me
two days ago.

And honestly,
it was just a normal day.
I felt nothing different.
Did you?
Were we supposed to feel something?
Was I?

Sometimes it feels so distant—
like it never happened.
Sometimes it feels
like you were my whole life.

I’m sorry
for loving you too much.

They say love sets you free.
But when you love too much,
it cages you instead.

I caged myself
inside a recollection,
a memory,
a ghost of us.

Do you crave attention?
Is that why you play the influencer—
not because you have something to give,
but because something is missing.

Applause.
Adoration.
Affection.
Love.

But you cannot fake influence,
you cannot pretend to be what you are not.
Makeup fades.
And at the end of the day,
when the mirror stares back,
you still hate yourself—
and everyone has already forgotten

I’m grateful
because you told me
I had to take responsibility—
"my friend".

I’m grateful
because you called him
“the park maniac”
and made me laugh
when all I wanted was to cry.

I’m grateful
because you said,
“Now I get off this roller coaster
and leave you on your own.”

I’m grateful
because you reminded me
I deserve more—
a life filled with happiness.

Thank you, both of you.
You are my best friends.

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

I wonder if there’s still hope for us.
If, in the future,
your prayers will be answered.

I admit—
I was shaken.
I always wanted you to be
the spiritual man,
my pastor, my leader,
the priest of our home.

But I learned
you were never that man.

It hurts—
because I left for that reason.
And now you wake
at three in the morning
to pray for us—
because you lost me.

I was valuable,
and I didn’t even know it myself.

Last night I dreamed of you,
mother-in-law.

You were resting by the pool—
the one where we once
spent our family summers.

I crept in quietly,
not to see you,
but to see him.

But you turned on me,
your eyes filling with tears,
asking the same words
he once threw at me:

“Did you come here
to ruin his life?”

I kept asking you—
What story did he tell you?
Because my parents
wished him well,
said he was a beautiful man,
that he would find someone
just as special.

Why did you never reach out?
Why did you never say a word?

Your eyes red,
your voice breaking—
I told you not to cry.
It wasn’t worth it.

You’ve suffered enough—
you lost a son,
you had a cruel husband,
you lived for everyone else.

And still,
you remain strong.
You are a warrior,
mother-in-law.

So don’t cry,
not for this.

At the end of the dream,
he appears at last,
smiling.

And though you spoke,
I no longer heard.
I only saw his smile.

And I wondered—
why was he smiling?

When you feel trapped in the past,
remember why you walked away.

They may have blocked you,
hidden you,
erased you—
but wasn’t it you who begged for release?

Yes, it’s sad.
It was a friendship of years.
But when the walls began to crumble,
they chose the one who arrived later—
not you.

Not you, who was there from the start.
Who gave sweat, blood, and tears
to fuel their dreams.

So don’t forget.
It hurts now,
but being alone
is the better choice.

Dear—tell me,
do you really think
he loves you?

Until you appeared
out of nowhere,
he was still trying
to reconcile with me.

So no,
don’t believe him
so easily.

You are more of a filler,
a patch for the void.

He might post your photos
on Instagram,
call you family—
but you’ve been with him
for a month.
I was there
for seven years.

He won’t get over me
that fast.

He’s replacing one love
with another.
But maybe you’re just
a convenient body
to take to the gym.

So, my dear,
face reality:
he doesn’t love you
that much.