out of fucks to give

I’m not sure if the tears have run dry

or if it’s just the love

either way I’m straight out of fucks to give

maybe it’s anger’s turn to take a swing

at this whole heartbreak thing

have its way with another page boy

who couldn’t keep up with this Queen.



he reminds me when I need to slow down-

he stands and waits

heart in hand

trying his best to trade love

for my words

but sometimes I don’t have any

so I gift him I-don’t-knows instead

and wait in silence

for logic to clue me in.

Isn’t it strange

the way life can be so blurry

but sobering,

so logical and real

and borderline boring

and how I can still wish

for storms.

Stability unknown

I crave the comfort of chaos

while I seek magic in the small moments-

while brushing my teeth

or during our daily dances in the kitchen

I have it all

and still some part of me

wants more.

it is never enough.

Guess I’m just a glutton

for love.

after goodbye

I move the furniture around and buy a new plant to replace the one he left with.

I decorate the coffee table he built and think of the day when he sat down on the couch and with my hands in his, committed to starting a home with me.

“I’ll build us a coffee table” he said.

looking back now it all seemed so promising,

the singular becoming plural, our lives merging.

Now the plural reverts to the singular

because this home is again

just mine.


I have put thought into every corner of this place. I manifested a home and I love it in a way I’ve never loved four walls before.

I just hate having to see him around here these days.

No matter how much palo santo I burn to cleanse him out of my space, he is still holding me naked against that wall, our lips tasting of mezcal, my hand pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck as we both give in to sin.

he is still sitting beside me on the couch

talking nonstop about this thing or the other

And I’m still cooking him dinner with only an apron on,

still lighting the candles and serenading him as I dance around,

still looking over at him with awe,

still giving away

so much love.


it’s sickening.


I’m still sitting here

waiting for him to come home

just like I always did

Back when there was a we.


onwards and upwards

“You’re so comfortable,” he says after inhaling my skin in the dark.  And we both know that not too long from now, he’ll walk right out the door because he can’t give me enough.

When you deserve the best and the best isn’t him, turns out you get left a lot.

It’s a bit tragic, really.

At least I’ve learned quite a bit from getting left, the most important lesson being this:

Walk away as they do, too.

Why bother staying and why bother trying to stop someone from moving on?

Moving on isn’t the same as moving forwards, after all. I know this because I’m definitely nobody’s backwards. But they do move on- most likely to another soul who is still asleep and unaware of just how much love they deserve.

You have learned your worth. You have studied it, dissected it, turned it inside out to admire the stitching pattern. This is why you’re able to say I love you to his face one last time, ask for the extra set of keys, and close the door on the past.

Now when the next one comes around, you’ll need to be convinced to stay. You’ll search his hands and heart for true treasures and not just shiny fantasies. And he won’t say things like “you’re so comfortable” because your fire will set him aflame, your storms wash any indecision away.

He’ll see in your eyes the enormous amount of love that you  have learned to gift yourself and his challenge then will be

to love you








He pulled her out into the street and with his arm around her waist, he started to sway both their bodies back and forth, a crooked smile on his face giving away his intentions.

Her feet fumbled to follow along, which made her feel grateful that their only audience then were the rows of bushes lit up in Christmas lights. It was 2 a.m. and they were drunk, but the thrill of sharing a silent dance in the middle of the street with a stranger  was far more intoxicating than all the alcohol ingested in the last couple of hours. And lucky for him, she had always been a sucker for magic and romance. For silent nights and all the possibilities in life that leads one to connect with a total stranger.

So she let him hold her small palms in his rough hands and inched herself closer to get high off his suffering, moving her body right along to his unbalanced feet as she breathed in his pain and breathed out comfort. Tonglen. A lion’s roar could’ve been heard coming from her heart then- it you had been around and were connected enough to listen.

She understood how darkness felt.

She knew he needed saving.

And as luck would have it, sometimes she liked to switch parts and become someone else’s savior for a change. Every now and then she needed to be the one who was seen as strong.

Playing Damsel in Distress was starting to get old.

all that and the kitchen sink

I’ve taken the lessons

poured what’s left of my heart

onto blank pages soaked in tears

how could sorry now be enough?

One word for the thousands I gave away

One sentiment to justify

all the pain of the end.


I’ve taken the lessons

put hopes and dreams on paper

just to set it on fire later and

let it burn.

I watched the flames die,

one by one, the embers

turned off

and what was once enchanting

transformed into ashes

and was washed right down

the drain of the kitchen sink,

never to be seen again-

like spoiled food.

I winced at the sight that night

when I finally disposed

of the last few scraps of our rotten love

that I still had left.


endless possibilities

Maybe I’ll move to Mexico.

Maybe I’ll find myself

just to lose myself

and then find myself again.


Maybe this is the time to pursue destiny

and not stay stuck in the comfortable.

Maybe this is when I start a whole new chapter, or

maybe it’s an entire book.


Maybe endings are actually beginnings

and heartbreaks chances for healing.

Maybe I’m not walking away

but walking towards,


moving closer to happiness

than I’ve ever been.


Maybe mind can remind heart of reality

and maybe the only way to move on

is to move through it.



new year’s eve 2017

I’m not expecting that it’ll be easy, but I’m already proud of you because I know you’ll try your hardest.

already proud.

My eyes read the words again, my body crouched in front of the fridge, balancing on the tip of my 10 toes as if I were a prima ballerina, my chest filling with pride over the words I wrote myself this time last year. New Year’s Eve 2017.

I hold in my breath and for a moment I become hyper aware of the achy dull pain between my shoulders. The tension on the right side of my neck that I can’t just snap away. I let the air out of a heavy chest without feeling the need to question whether I was right to guess, at the end of 2017,  that I was taking 2018 for all it got.

Abundance comes at a price. I realize that now.

When I asked for growth, I also should’ve asked for more hands.