I'm the girl who obeys
Who does what she's told
I never run or fight
My brain always controlled
Sleek brown coat
Big doe eyes
Prancing through the forest
I was caught by surprise
You were beautiful
Controlled by emotion
I was mesmerized
I didn't see the corrosion
I don't struggle against you
I think I want to live
I know you're angry
And I hope you'll forgive
I stare into the lights
I stare at an escape
I do what you ask
And never make a mistake
Your car barrels towards me
I stay where I am
Maybe in the next life
I won't be as ******
I cant run away
I'll stand there frozen
With my chest on display
I'll lay on my back
With my heart exposed
It's like I'm already dead
Like my body's decomposed
The road rumbles beneath me
I see a better life
A way to finally please you
So l lean into the knife

The Poems I Wasn’t Meant to Read

I found the page tucked in a book,
Its fold too neat, like care it took.
A poem, simple—sharp and cold,
A story inked but never told.

“I never loved him,” the first line read,
And something in me quietly bled.
Not anger, not a bitter tone—
Just a truth that stood there, all alone.

No fire, no fight—just frozen air,
A silence shaped like no one there.
Not a trace of me inside the frame,
Not even shadow tied to name.

Elsewhere, a hidden file—other notes,
One more poem that she wrote.
A man unknown, his presence far,
Drawn in lines too bold, too clear.

A laugh, a touch, a night of stars,
A place where nothing broke or scarred.
“So much between us left unsaid,”
“Now he’s married and a dad”
That final line just rang and bled.

And it was then I felt the sting—
Not just of him, but everything.
The weight of all we never voiced,
Of moments passed, of silent choice.

The dreams we named but never chased,
The goals that time and fear erased.
The plans we whispered half-awake,
Too fragile for the light to take.

The things we needed, never asked,
Desires buried, faces masked.
The nights we held but didn’t feel,
The love we wanted to be real.

And maybe that’s the cruelest cut—
Not lies, not lust, not breaking trust—
But words we held and never freed,
And poems I was never meant to read.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

More Than Enough

I see you when you think I don’t—
When shame creeps in between each bite.
When food becomes a kind of shield,
A way to feel just something right.

I hear the silence after meals,
The self-blame soft beneath your breath.
You smile through it, but I can feel
The ache that lingers underneath.

It’s not about the food alone—
It’s comfort, pain, escape, regret.
It’s every wound you’ve never named,
And every need you’ve never met.

And I won’t shame the way you cope,
Or say you’re weak, or make you hide.
I know how loud the darkness speaks
When you’re alone with what’s inside.

I’m not here to count or fix—
I’m here to see and stay and care.
To hold you when the numbness hits,
To love you through the wear and tear.

You are not broken by your hunger,
Not unworthy when you fall.
You are human, needing healing—
And you don’t have to have it all.

Let’s talk when you are ready, love.
Or sit in quiet if that’s best.
Let’s cry, or laugh, or walk, or rest—
Together, not a single test.

You don’t have to earn this love.
It isn’t measured, weighed, or scored.
You are more than all your battles.
You are someone I adore.

So when it hurts, and when it swells—
The craving, guilt, the heavy air—
Just take my hand, and breathe again.
You’re not alone. I’m always there.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Not Your Students

In classrooms cold where chalk once sang, A silence fell that bruised, then rang—Not with words, but with the stare, The kind that strips you standing there.

You raised your hand, a hopeful reach,
But hope was not what they would teach. Instead, a smirk, a cutting tone—
You left that room more skin than bone.

Then home, where love should be a balm, became a storm disguised as calm.
A voice that picked at every seam,
Till you forgot your right to dream.

“You call that clean?” “You think that’s smart?” “I’ll do it myself” was the remark. Each word a dagger masked as art. Too loud, too soft, too much, too thin— No place outside, no peace within.

Their love was weighed in harsh critique, A scorecard life, a twisted streak. You shrank to fit their brittle mold, While they stood proud, and you grew cold.

And still you moved through every day,
A ghost in roles you couldn’t play.
The teacher, spouse—they wore their masks—While you were buried under tasks.

But here you are, still breathing deep,
Though night has stolen countless sleep.
Your truth is not a whispered lie—It grows each time you dare to cry.

One day, the mirrors will not lie,
And you will see the reason why
The ones who break us hide their shame— Because you carry all their flame.

Let it burn, and light your name.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

I came across
A stray
Snarling dog
About 6 years ago
While I was living in an abusive home
Matted and scared

It was battered and bruised
And so was I

I fed the dog everything I would catch
Gave it my trust
And my loyalty
While it was visiting other people
Still coming running to me
As if it were starving

A month later I left my home
Finally out but now on my own
And nowhere to go
I left the ravaging beast
That owned me
Moved into the snarling dogs den
Where it kept me isolated
And used
Never free to express myself for fear of its bark
But the dog never bit so I forgave it
For it was bruised and hurt
So I tended to its wounds
As I licked them clean

Seven months later I learned the dog was being fed by other people
All of my hunting was for nothing
I didn't hurt the dog
Just hissed and yowled and scratched myself
Because the dog didn't deserve that
It was just hungry
You can't help hunger
So I moved us somwhere where the yards had fences so that the dog couldn't feed from others

Two more months later the dog had dug a hole under them
I found it and broke down again
All while filling the hole in with all the strength I could find in my small paws

The dog learned how to jump the fence
So I moved us somewhere where they were taller
And finally he was my dog
Even tho he still hungered for food from others
But my loyalty no longer lied with him
So I'd leave the dog alone in it's den
Well fed while I'd go out to hunt for others

After awhile I forgave his hunger
And gave in to those puppy dog eyes
Gave him my loyalty once more
Stayed in the den
But then a wolf moved in
And drove me out

I moved into a house again but was still loyal to the dog
To it's den
Until the dog snarled and barked
Until I was scared away from my loyalty
As it drove me away

The dog would now just roam my home
And visit here and there
Presenting itself as my therapy
As it wrapped is body around me
And let me use its fur for warmth
Being at my service
Grooming my fur
Leaving it clean
Trimming my claws
Leaving them cared for
My dog

Years later the dog still barked
Snarled
Growled
But it still never bit
So I always forgave it
I gave it my loyalty again
I let the dog into my home for a few days at a time
Before it went back to it's den

I lost my memory
No longer knew the dog
But the dog said I was loyal to him
And he was loyal
My dog
But then I found out that the dog had another home that he'd visit
My dog wasn't my dog
So I tried to leave it all
Because nothing is mine
Nothing is for me

The dog came crawling back
Whimpering and howling
Giving me its puppy dog eyes
So I let it be at my service again
Let it be my therapy dog again
The dog cleaned my fur
Trimmed my claws

Time flies by and the dog starts snarling
Growling
Teeth bared
Back arched
Everytime I'm sad or hurt
It can't be my therapy dog anymore
But I still beg it for comfort
I still try to nuzzle up to its fur
Hoping I can calm the anger within its body
With mine

But I am no longer this dogs cat
I am no longer loyal
And I don't care for its loyalty
I only care that it doesn't prey on another
So I obsess over keeping that dog mine
Keeping it away from another stray

I prowl around trying to find other homes
Until I do find one
This home is nice
But I only visit him sometimes
Wary of being his pet

The dog grows distant
Hiding away in the dark corners of our home
The dog is no longer there for me
Emotionally or physically
It doesn't curl itself around me or groom my fur
It doesn't lick my head when it's lowered
Or trim my claws when they grow too long
It only snarles
Barks
Bares its teeth
And finally it

BITES

The dog bit me
But the bite didn't draw blood
So I hiss and I swat
I curl up in a corner
And I keep the site of the bite away from my potential new owner
But that owner didn't want me
I'm not the right cat
I'm not the right temperament or personality that he was looking for so he closes his doors

I let the dog come back into our home
It must've been an accident
Because the wound
Didn't
Draw
Blood

One of my old owners comes back
The dog is still distant
Still snarling
And growling
So I hiss
And yowl back

The dog begins to calm back down
But it is still not my dog
I don't want it to be my dog
My previous owner only wants a cat and not a dog
And I'd like to be his pet again
So I need to leave the dog back in the den

The dog still cares for me
But only physically
All is well
And visiting my old owners home
Has me happy

But then
The dog
Bites me
Draws blood
Leaves a gaping wound
In my beautiful fur coat
My fur was stained red
And I was bleeding out dead
So I dragged myself to my old owners home
And he opened the door for me

The dog still wants me back
He couldn't fulfill his hunger
So he took his fill
Right out of me
Yet he still hungers further
Still howls and whimpers
Still tries to fool me with his puppy dog eyes
But I can now see through the lies
And everytime I look down I still see the wound that was left
In my beautiful fur coat
I can't get that wound clean
So I make sure that the dog cannot get to me

I’m putting on my perfume
as you enter the bathroom
“Smells like cancer,”
was your answer

Wish I’d been fearless
against your meanness
instead of hurt and speechless

“I never hit you”
That’s true
That’s not what you do

Words, not fists, you use
to lie,
to confuse
to strike
and abuse
Words don’t leave a bruise

“*****” is not my name
“****,” more of the same
But you have no shame
“Just a fight,” you claim

“You’re just sensitive”
You told me
And I accept that excuse
for years of emotional abuse

I stay
until one day
I’m brushing my teeth
as our son enters the bathroom,
“Why is dad always mean to you?”
Those words became the straw
that broke the camel’s back

And now me and my perfume
are never coming back


© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.

choose your mirrors carefully

what those mirrors reflect will cling to you like perfume
tint your vision like sunglasses

don’t let a broken mirror trick you into thinking you, too, are broken

look carefully
look long
look with eyes wide open

a mirror will always reveal it’s true nature in times of stress

Be vigilant!

here’s the secret
when you realize the ugliness
is a reflection of the broken mirror
not you
you can walk away

walk away
into the light
into the freedom

walk into the loving embrace of those who show you your true self

I know
because I did

© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.

To be a woman:

To be a woman is to bleed.
From between our legs, as young as nine, when the only worry in our young minds should be about scraped knees from riding bikes and scooters, the visceral meaning of womanhood begins to leak through the soft cotton amour of childhood.
The impending doom of what could be warded off by a child's imagination has cracked and no longer can be repaired.
This is the fate of a woman.
From that day we bleed.
Shoving gauze of soft smiles and politeness into bullet holes bore into our bodies by men.
Anything to stop the bleeding and remain a fragment of the person we once were.
We’re blithe in the presence of grown men that become aroused to the notion of humiliating us.
We try to feign ignorance and keep a straight face in times of turbulence to maintain modesty.
Our nails embedded into our palms, we bleed.
And a storm has formed.
Through the storm we seek the same refugee we watched our mothers seek. Always thinking that the outcome will be different.
This one is not the same.
We’re not our mothers.
Our love is different.
It’s respected.
It’s mutual…
as long as you’re the one doing the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning and you pay your half and you look after the child that you nearly bled out for.  
Nurturing, tending, cooking and cleaning and ‘whoops’ watch the knife…

bleeding.
Always bleeding.
It’s equal love though, isn’t it?
It’s what you wanted, right?
When you bore two children and you’re raising three, that’s what you wanted. That’s what you bled for.
That’s what you bled for?

Who has he bled for?


He walks into the kitchen, boots scuffing the linoleum on the way.
Dumping the scrapped leftovers of love you gave him in the early out of the morning into the trash and tossing the containers into the sink.
He pats the heads of the people he pretends make him whole and goes to the shower to rinse off the 10 hour shift of hard labor that didn't involve his family.

You don’t expect a kiss at this point because you learned that asking for what you deserve could come with a broken orbital socket.
So you let your heart bleed.
You bleed it into your kids.
You let them know that they are loved.
You pretend that everything is okay.
You go to work, you come home, you bleed and you bleed and you bleed.

Hopeful that your daughter doesn’t see.

She is The One That Got Away
This is who she is to him now
Who she is to herself

It is newly tattooed on her soul
This new identity
She became this despite his best efforts
Countless words to trick her into believing she was The One That Stayed
Clever words, to confuse her and cloud reality
Soft words, to flatter and ******
Sharp words, to cut, to make her bleed out her resolve

She used to be The One That Stayed
She played that part for many years
Until the stars aligned illuminating the path to a new role
A role many have died trying to get

She made it out and got away
Not all at once
Slowly
Piece by piece

First, her heart
Until she was numb
She felt nothing during his declarations of love,
Emotionless during his promises of change
All his tearful pleading simply echoed in her hollowed out chest

Then her body
Fleeing to the strong arms of her sisters
To the safe house of a friend
Then to a new home among long grasses and tall trees

Finally, her head got away
Like sand from an hourglass, his lies emptied out
Making room for beauty,
the healing wisdom of her helpers,
the power of her truth

Yes, she is The One That Got Away
The judge issued an order to legally make it so
The officers took him away when he refused to believe it
Another judge declared it again
And her new last name tells it to the world

For all new tomorrows
and all of today
She is and will remain
The One That Got Away

© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.

I did not run away
I ran to

To the end of angry criticisms masquerading as love
To freedom from the dark cloud of your untreated mental illness
To standing on solid ground instead of walking on eggshells
To the time and space to discover my strength, my skills, my autonomy
To doing everything you taught me I needed you to do
To seeing my sincere happiness reflected on my son’s face
To the luxurious solitude of a queen bed all to myself
To waking up with a smile
To waking up

I did not run away from you
I ran
to me


© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.