I spent the whole day
waiting for you to get home from work
with my favorite hot dog
so we could have dinner together.

You arrived empty-handed.

I forgot
I needed to tell you
what I like.

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.

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.

It’s not about the money itself—
it’s about being happy
with the choices
I’ve chosen for myself.

But this,
I already knew.

So why did someone from outside
have to tell me
this truth
that was already here?

Because I still don’t know
how to validate
the ideas
of my own voice.

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

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

The truth is,
sometimes
victory lies
in leaving the past behind.

You can’t move forward
when you’re tied to the depths
of the ocean.

They say Christ
casts forgiven sins down there—
but it feels like I’m leaving
all my sins
tied like stones to my feet,
sinking with them.

If Christ exists,
He has forgiven me.
But I have not forgiven myself.

I’m like a submarine,
lost in some sea,
in the dark,
sending out signals
for someone on the surface
to hear me.

No one will come.

I should have learned by now—
princes on white horses
are a myth.

I am the prince.
I am the white horse.
I save myself.

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.

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

"Don’t judge a book by its cover."
Sorry,
but let’s be honest—
a beautiful cover
draws attention.

And your cover?
Does it draw attention?

Looking at your cover,
would I know the story you tell?
The food you love?
What you’d buy?
What you’d wear?
Who you’ve lost
or who you’re searching for?

Who would be your publisher?
Who would be your author?

Do you even like your cover?

Would you be at the bookstore entrance,
or lost among the shelves,
hidden between so many other covers,
passing unnoticed?

Poems come and go.
How many have I left unwritten
simply because
I had no paper in hand?

They attack me without mercy—
sometimes at the break of day,
sometimes at nightfall—
but always,
always,
after a powerful feeling,
after a great illusion.

Always,
they are with me.

One day,
I asked you to save me.

And I realized
It was I who would save myself.
But I got lost—
It was only words,
Empty from my lips.

Now,
I have truly saved myself.
I’m still learning
To save myself every day.

And now I ask you:
Walk beside me,
As my partner,
As someone who will share this life with me—
Not as someone
Who must save me from myself.

I no longer need
A rescue.

Forgive me—
my life isn’t interesting enough
to post on Instagram,
but it’s no less colorful.

I live intensely, yes,
and those who’ve been with me
know it well.

I like a good secret.
If you want to know what happened,
just ask—
and with my words alone,
I’ll make you jealous
you weren’t there with me.

Then I’ll invite you
to live
a few lives
with a little more meaning.

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.

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.

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.

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 read something the other day—
what if I want to be a mediocre person?
I felt I wasn’t alone
I felt relief
Because with two degrees
and unemployed
you start to feel useless
For so long I listened
to the voices of my parents
and other people
telling me I should do this
or that
Yet I never asked myself
what I actually wanted
I was always in some spotlight
a little popular
somewhat known
It’s exhausting, really
But for some reason
I kept chasing it
when everything in me
was screaming
to be nobody
to disappear
to be a stranger
in this world
to be mediocre
to have no riches
no extraordinary career
no mansion
but to be simple
insignificant
just another face in the crowd
just myself
That life, with no sparkle or luxury
seemed far better
than any life
I could choose to live

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.

After everything
didn’t you learn anything?

You were supposed
to be healing by now,
reflecting on the mistakes,
on the love you gave
that was never solid—
only wind.

It was not true,
even if you are certain it was.
It wasn’t, love.
It was emptiness,
a hunger for affection.

If you had stopped,
just for a moment,
to think about it,
you would have known too.

You shouldn’t be writing
about us,
about our love,
our undone plans.

You should be writing
about your traumas.

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

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.

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.)

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 wish
all of my blood
would cover the kitchen floor
so I’d know
the end had come

Why won’t it cut?
I’ve run the knife so many times
but nothing comes out of my thigh
at least,
my tears have stopped falling

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.

I am the worst murderer of all—
I killed my entire family,
but let them
stay alive.

There is only:
Happy Birthday,
Happy Mother’s Day,
Happy Father’s Day,
Merry Christmas,
Happy New Year.

There is no:
I miss you,
I love you,
When will you come?

I dug their graves
and buried them deep in the ground.
They wounded me immensely.
I gift them
with my nonexistence.

I let go.
I let go of the story I keep trying to tell—
the one where, near the end,
someone comes to save me.

I’ve already learned,
in the most painful ways,
that I will always save myself.
It is my responsibility,
and mine alone.

So I let go
of that narrative where I remain
the little girl.

Now I am a woman,
and I choose to write
a different story.

Everything in life is a process
It’s more about letting go and learning to stay
There is no control
Only cycles and adaptation
Here’s the question:
Do trees cry when their leaves fall in autumn?
They mix into the ground
a blessing to the soil
a party for some passing child
Even the tree understands
that not everything is meant to stay
But from what goes away
a new beginning is born in its place

My greatest fear
is telling someone
all the pain I’ve been through
how many times I cried
and hearing them say
it was all in my head