The pain
that tears through my chest,
from top to bottom—
there are no words
to truly describe it.

It is only
pain.

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.

My birthday—
the day I was born—
also feels
closer to my death.

Sad, yes,
I must admit.

No one will remember me.
I try so hard
to make others feel important
on their birthdays,
to remember them.

But when my beloved day arrives,
they forget the one
who remembered them.

Ungrateful!
Don’t they know
I placed them
on a pedestal?

And yes—
those on top
don’t look down.

Maybe that’s why
they don’t remember my birthday—
because I valued them
more than I valued myself.

You thought I would
wilt like a flower
disintegrate
and become part of the soil
I’m sorry, love
You messed with a phoenix
You turned me into ashes
but I will rise again
better than I was before
So know that every time
you knock me down
you only make me
stronger

It’s hard for me
to read good books—
the kind that pull me in,
where I live inside the characters’ lives.

I begin to become the story,
and then, suddenly,
the urge to write bursts open in me.

Ideas tumble over each other,
and I rush to my notes app
to catch every drop of inspiration
before it slips away.

A book I could read in an hour
stretches into days,
because reading
always makes me want to write.

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

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.

You have been called 'too much'
just for feeling.
Silenced,
when all you wanted was to be heard.

You’ve fought the invisible.
You’ve overcome the sadness
that had no name.
You climbed out of the pit of depression.
You walked away from a love
that called you a burden
just for existing with emotion.

And yet —
or maybe because of all this —
you stand here now,
ready to take a step
greater than any step
you’ve ever taken before.

Perhaps what holds you back
is not lack of ability,
but the ache of becoming vast
after being made so small for so long.

Understand this, sweet girl:
no one sabotages themselves because they want to fail.
They sabotage themselves
because they fear rejection
for daring to shine.

And so your soul whispers:
“What if I could fly a little farther?”

Let your blood remind you
that you are still alive.
No soldier waits to feel confident
before entering battle.

I have conquered silence.
I have conquered erasure.
I have conquered the darkness of the mind.
Now I conquer my freedom —
because it is mine by right.

I will no longer live half of myself.

I want to rewrite my love story
I want to live a love, yes
intense,
romantic,
but healthy.
A love where we grow together
without me losing
myself.

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.

When I was a child
I would watch from my window
as the other kids played in the courtyard
My mother said it was dangerous
That I shouldn’t mix with that kind of crowd
And so the idea was planted
that the world is far too dangerous
to be lived

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.

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?

You found this book on the last shelf
of an old, dusty bookstore
Yes
I didn’t write this to be a success
Only those who truly want to be healed
will find me

I feel this force
pulling me down.

What am I doing?
It’s killing me.
I’m hurting so many people.
I’m hurting myself.

I can’t break free from you.
Am I being overdramatic?

You asked me
to simplify the complex.
But I am complex—
I cannot
simplify myself.

When did it happen?
When did we become this snowball—
cold and homeless,
rolling aimlessly
down an icy mountain?

We were doing so well, weren’t we?
Now we’re sliding downhill,
frozen,
distant,
barely speaking.

That’s why they say—
when you reach
the top of the mountain,
the only thing left
is to go down.

sinking into cushions
i ask myself
is this silence
a wound
or a gift

my friends have vanished
into their own worlds
this is what love does
it swallows people whole

maybe the absence
is my reflection
me and the glowing screen
sharing secrets
until sleep

i whisper lies
humans were made
to be islands
i tell myself
and i try
to believe it

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.

I decided to run a test
throw a few words on paper
see what would happen
and I was amazed
by what I found

You chose to move on
and I respect that.
I’m sorry—
truly, deeply sorry—
for destroying us.

I miss us.
I miss the love
that was more attachment
and dependence
than anything else,
but still—
it was something.
It was family.

When I was little
I wanted to write romance novels
It was all I read
But my heart won’t let me
No matter how many love stories I start
My soulmate is poetry

I don’t want money!
How many times do I have to say it?
I know my verses will lead to nothing
But at least I’m whole
Isn’t that what we needed?
A purpose
I’ve found mine: writing cheap poetry
that only sells to crazy hearts longing to understand
Understand what?
I have no idea
I only know that art is this—being ecstatic
Not trapped in some rule because someone said so
Do it differently
Put that dot outside the curve and
Tada! Art!
Only there does the magic make sense
Sorry, babe, you tried so hard to make me rich
But I found my wealth elsewhere
I know, you’ll tell me that money can’t buy happiness
But it can buy many other things
Still, without it
I found peace

I feel betrayed.
You wanted me back
and used faith to lure me in.

And I,
searching for answers in God,
fell for it—
like a fool.

So I came back to you.

I’m going to live
in a small apartment,
letting go of everything
we built together.

And it hurts—
it’s not easy.
It stings like running a marathon
and, just as I thought
I was near the finish line,
realizing I’d taken the wrong exit
and now have to go
all the way back.

I’m too tired
to start over with someone else.

But I shouldn’t think about that now.
I should start over
for me.

I was never addicted.
I was always starved for affection—
That pleasure I tried to find
Here, in my core,
Was only an attempt to rescue
The girl in her old bed
In that house filled with
Violence,
Neglect.

Where no one ever told her a story
Before she fell asleep,
Where no one ever said
“Good night,
Sleep with God.”

Today,
She’s feeling her way along the walls
Of her cold house,
Trying to find
The path back home.

—It was always about
Feeling loved.