I’m certain
That to you,
I was a dandelion
You held too tightly
In your hands.

The wind came
And carried all my petals away,
Leaving only my memory behind.

Know this—
I’ve flown to a better place,
Even if that place
Is far from you.

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.

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.

i learned too late
your love
was a poisoned apple

i still don’t know
if you are
the witch
or the devil

wanting you
is a crime
and i
am the guilty one

your truths
drip with lies
a wolf
in sheep’s skin

modern romance
teaches us
to cheer for villains

so i let myself
be robbed
killed
destroyed

fine
you’re the devil

Separation is not an option—
just as they say
that giving up isn’t either.

Why do we have this tendency to end,
to not go on?

Why can’t we talk,
swallow our egos,
and try one more time?

The new is good—
but the renewed is even better.

The renewed has history,
a feeling of triumph
and resilience.

The other day,
my friend told me
he was doing a master’s degree.

I told him
I’d left my job
and was living a quieter life.

He was happy for me.
I was happy for him.

I thought:
I wish I were doing a master’s.
He thought:
I wish I had a quiet life.

I quit my job
because I wanted to invest in my dreams
but depression made everything blurry
distorted
confusing
What were my dreams after all
I asked myself on the fourth day
lying in bed

Your kisses
are dry across my body.
They don’t excite me anymore—
they’re like a lullaby.

I don’t feel desire,
I’m sorry.
I don’t know what happened to us—
if love cooled,
or froze completely.

I don’t want you to touch me.
My toes used to curl
every time
your hands
moved across my skin.

Now
there’s nothing.

is there anything wrong
with being just
a spectator of life?
watching the living go
the dead return
not letting it shake me
never caught off guard
just letting it flow
as if some great sage
had been reborn in me
and nothing was new
under the sun

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 thought I was empty—
but the way words
poured from me onto the page
proved I was, in fact,
overflowing.

Brimming with ideas
echoing inside,
begging to be set free.

I spilled them all,
and now,
I am truly empty.
And it feels
so much better.

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

I realized
our relationship
will be built
on evolution—

spiritual evolution,
fraternal evolution,
loving evolution.

Because that’s what we are:
together,
we heal.

I should keep silent more often—
today, yesterday,
and every day.

I feel useless.
I’m good for nothing.
Oh yes—
for cooking,
washing clothes,
ironing them afterward,
cleaning the house.
Yes, very useful indeed.

The problem is—
I made so many plans.
Ah, the plans!
The joy and the uncertainty of man.
The goals achieved
at the end of the journey.

Where are mine?
Gone,
long ago.

I wish I could tell you
about all my victories.
I’m sorry—
the ones I have
hold no value for me.

What I do have
are debts,
endless fatigue,
and the perpetual feeling
that I am a failure.

Yet silence,
before my failure,
brings light to my mind—
inspiration,
poetry.

I think I’ve learned
not to throw myself
back into the well I climbed out of.
And yet,
I lean over the edge,
staring down,
as if searching for something.

But there’s nothing there.
It seems the plans
I make for myself—
I throw them all down there,
as if burying them
in a grave—
my grave, once.

And now?
Another day passes.
I have made nothing
of myself.

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’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.

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 can feel your nerves from here.
You didn’t expect our love story
to take this turn.

It may seem insignificant,
but that’s how life works —
when we least expect it,
it sweeps our feet from under us.

They say love is forever
while it lasts.
I guess we’re somewhere in the middle.
We’ve earned a C.

I won’t text you,
or show up out of nowhere
in your life again.
We don’t need to repeat this script.

But I hope you make peace
with our memories,
with the good moments we shared.
Those, at least,
will be eternal.

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.

I feel like I’m about to explode
Not from something bad
But from joy, yes
The very thing I once judged
Turned against me
I had no idea the twist life had in store
I spoke so poorly of poetry
Old thing, boring thing
But now my words
Only know how to be poetic
What was poetry again?
Ah
Yes, my life is now this
Everything is now song and poetry
Life is more beautiful, more colorful
My heart has learned
to love speaking

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 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’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.

Forgiveness—
that’s what we need.

To erase the past
and rewrite our story.

When I picture myself at fifty,
looking back,
I’d be happy to see the story
of a young woman
who was once erased
in her marriage—
but in the end,
they grew
and were happy.

I’d be glad to see
a garden
that once had no hope
yet somehow
we made it bloom.

Not just me—
us.

You are not my daughter—
you are the daughter
of his late brother.

But everyone used to say
you looked like me,
that you could have easily
been mine.

And that was fine.
I called you princess,
because you are.

I don’t know
when you will realize this,
but the place you’re growing up in
is a hard one.

I won’t say I miss you,
but I wonder—
do you ever miss me?

Because in the few moments
we shared,
you clung to me,
you painted my face,
brushed my hair,
and for a while—
I became a princess
in your kingdom.

I hope the little time we had
was enough to show you
there is more to life.

Never stop dreaming, Nic.
You can go far.
All it takes
is believing.

I wonder why I keep delaying the end with you.
I never fell in love with you—
I fell in love with the freedom you gave me.
And maybe that’s why
my farewell still waits,
unfinished,
in a notes app.
I don’t want to lose my freedom.

Hi, beautiful—
how have these last days been?
I’ve been thinking of you,
you know?

I confess—
I’m a little lost.
I don’t know what I want from my life.

Today I see myself
in a profession that maybe
wasn’t what I truly wanted,
but what I chose
to avoid discomfort.
Now I’m left with frustration.

So I ask you—
what did you want to be
when you grew up?

I remember—
besides being a ballerina,
we used to write so much.
Whole stories.
Whole books.
Our imagination so vast
that today I’m still in awe.

Would you like
to write those stories again?

I will be completely open
to you,
to whatever you want to tell.

Let’s color the world
with our words.

With love,
Me.

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.

When I read
poems from the past,
I barely understand them.

I try, yes—
but they are minds
from another time.

It takes time
to connect with them.

Then I imagine myself:
will they, in the future,
read the poems I write to you
and understand
anything at all?

I think I saw a ghost today.
I’ve moved away,
but there you were,
standing on the corner,
waiting to cross the street.

I thought you were dead —
but unfortunately,
you’re healthy and well.
I thought you’d fall apart
after I left.

In the end,
I think you were just afraid
of my intensity.
You said you’d love me forever,
and the next day
you didn’t love me at all.
A one-night love.

Just know —
every night,
I stand on my balcony
As Juliet
and whisper things
to the moonlit night,
to the city wind,
so it can carry those caresses
back to you.

I’ll be the ghost
haunting you.

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

some people seem to carry heaven
in the way they walk—
effortless, luminous,
as though their purpose
is to remind us of grace

i have not known such ease
my lessons came
through breaking bones of the spirit
through the heavy silence
of unsaid words
through desires that cut too deep

and still—
i do not curse the falling
i do not despise the storm

because what it left in me
wasn’t bitterness
but the stubborn clarity
that love,
even when it burns down,
remains the only treasure
worth guarding

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

I think we had
the most honest conversation in ages—
and it was beautiful.

I cried.
I think you cried too.

But I loved your honesty,
your open heart.
We’re growing.
We’re maturing together.
And that is priceless.

i wait each day
just to see you
walking through the school

a fleeting second
is enough—
i don’t even know
if you notice me

still,
i carry this quiet crush

i won’t make the first move
fear whispers
that the magic might vanish

so i just keep staring
every
single
day

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.

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?

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.