This path
Is more like a bridge
Without rails.

I’m taking baby steps,
I already see the light.

I’m hearing thunder—
Still distant,
But I hear it.

Mommy is coming.

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

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

my alarm rings
I turn it off
on autopilot
I stay in bed
eyes closed
I need to live this day
yes, my soul says
get up, I tell my body
it stays in the same place
so I remain
in the same place

Sometimes I ask myself
Why I can’t win this fight,
How to win this fight.

And then I realize
It’s about letting go,
Lowering the importance.

But the urge to fight will return—
My body already knows this.

Now that I know
I can simply release,
If I choose to fall back into this fight,
I’ll be keeping the victim’s story alive.

And that’s no longer
My story to tell.

Lost the battle, won the war

Living love is hard—
when you least expect it,
it sweeps your legs from behind,
leaves you sprawled on the ground,
bleeding out until you die.

There’s no one to save you.

I could say much more,
but I think only those who’ve lived it
know.

The only thing
you two have in common
is your sign:
Pisces.

And I’m the mermaid
who’s already chosen
which one to keep—
but still,
I wanted you both.

“May luck be in your favor.”
Really?
Really?

How many times has it been?
And if it was—
was it luck?
Or was it God?

It depends on who answers.
It depends on who asks.

Lately,
I don’t care.

They say we’ll never win,
that those above us—
mere mortals—
decide who wins
and who truly conquers.

Yes, because winning
is not the same as conquering.

You don’t change a team
that’s winning,
but they’re already champions.

So all that’s left
is to believe
that luck is on our side—
and God Emanuel
with us all.

Last night, we made love.
I was wearing my baby-pink bra,
my white lace *******.

I was surprised you didn’t take it all off at once.
I think you liked how innocent I seemed to you
after so long.

You kissed me deeply,
touched my whole body.
I liked that.

You were concerned about my pleasure—
you wanted me to come.
I didn’t.

But the whole experience
was still worth it.

We’re good now,
like we used to be.

Today is a portal day—
a day to close cycles,
to remember,
to say enough.

And who messages me?
You.
Like confirmation
from the universe.

I saw the photos online—
you with her,
traveling,
smiling.

But always behind sunglasses,
so no one notices
how bored you are.

My sister says
she’s just a filler,
a stand-in.
There’s no glow in your eyes.

All that’s left
is to laugh at the scene,
because deep down,
it feels almost comical.

So I wish you happiness—
though my heart is stormy,
angry, torn.

If I wish you harm,
I create bad karma.
So—
many felicities.

I crave your poetry, L.
It makes me smile—
it makes me wish
he would write the same things for me,
that he would be devoted to me
the way you are.

You don’t know I went back to him.
I know it would **** you.
I know I’m distant—
I’m peeling off the band-aid slowly.

It could be under warm water,
where the wound would soften
and there’d be no pain.
But I choose to tear it off dry,
just to feel
every fragment of hurt.

Because deep down,
I think I’m a *******.

I run my fingers
between my legs
searching for pleasure
something that
usually
I don’t feel in my day-to-day
just a little, I beg
make me feel
something

A date?
I don’t know.

Your love—
is it fake?
Maybe.

Why did you take my number?
Just to know.

And now,
what will this be?
Perhaps a story
already fading into smoke.

Let’s pretend
we never did a thing.

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.

It took me a while to understand
that life happens in active mode
not passive
Everything is beautiful
in my mind
But lying in bed
or sitting on the couch
won’t bring that beauty
into my life

I must confess —
I reached the gates of heaven,
peeked inside,
and chose to turn back.

You weren’t there,
so it wasn’t worth it.

It’s not as if I hadn’t tried;
I know I was a good person.
But this surprise
I did not expect.

I didn’t want to make this public —
people wouldn’t understand.
How could I give up glory?
But you were more glorious.

I knew sooner or later
this would come to an end.
I hope you’re crying for me,
because I slit my wrists for you,
hoping to find myself
alive.

I like when you say
you love me—
but tell me, too,
that you like being near me.

Say it clearly.

It seems to hit me harder
than a simple
“I love you.”

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…

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.

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

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.

I want to text you
and say there’s still
a possibility of a future for us—

because it would give me comfort
in my little world of illusions,
knowing that even if I live my life alone,
I still have somewhere to return to.

And that place
would be you—
even after all the pain.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you.
Because I’d be keeping you waiting,
when you could be living your life,
with someone better.

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.

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 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.

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

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.

I told you no.
I should have walked away.
But I’ve been rejected so many times…
I think I’ve embraced the cause.

I should be a strong woman—
but what does that even mean?
Thinking only of myself?

Forgive me, my love—
next time,
I’ll open everything
I possibly can
for you.

I feel it’s all
right there—
within my reach,
yet so far away.

Goals, dreams,
all those shiny
self-help
and healthy-living promises—

I can’t be that person.

Someone help me.