Category Archives: poetry

Social Media -a poem-

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I’m taking a break from fake –
I mean – Facebook.

It is fake though,
full of smiling faces,
pictures of places people go
to escape what goes on behind the scenes.

We scroll mindlessly every night,
think of how good everyone else has it
while we sit and suffer
because our life sucks in comparison.

A couple in love,
a friend thriving in their career;
we think we want what they have
because we can’t see
the bickering,
the late nights,
the feeling of being alone,
the endless debt,
the texts from another lover,
the fear of losing it all with one mistake.

Social media makes us want
what we can’t have
when in reality,
no one has it in the first place.

We can’t base our feelings
on what we see online.
I’m not going to keep making this mistake.
I’m taking a fucking Facebook break.

when was the last time you were happy? -a poem-

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When the students weren’t the only ones
taking home new knowledge everyday.

When he brought home a candy bar
from the gas station
even though I said, “nah I’m good.”

When I didn’t rely on others
to validate me, affirm me –
because I knew what I was doing
was my best and it was good enough –
great, even.

When I stopped sabotaging myself,
selling myself short,
stuck on the worst case scenario,
always wondering when it would all fall
apart – as though I was just summoning
those bad vibes to join me in bed
every damn night until they took control
and now –

happiness is just a memory.
stuffed to the basement
with everything else I forgot I needed.

Please Listen -a poem-

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“Please get on meds.”
“Do you need more attention?”
Never before
have I felt such rejection.

People I’ve leaned on
have made me feel so small.
Maybe I’d be better off
saying nothing at all.

Suffering in silence:
that’s the strong thing to do
in a society that thrives
on loudly judging you.

It feels like everyday
more energy is depleted
and honestly I feel
so sad and defeated.

Who do you call
when those who are closest
think it’s okay
to say things so atrocious?

Saying “that’s the meanest thing
you’ve ever said to me”
with tears on my face,
they still refuse to see

that I’m just in need
of someone to listen.
I never attempted
to ask for permission

to be anxious,
frustrated, sad, and depressed.
The lack of support
just makes me more stressed.

I’m falling farther down
than I ever have before.
I just don’t know how
I can do this anymore.

Good Enough -a poem-

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What is good enough?
Who sets the bar?
How do we know how much,
how big, or how far?

If I create the line,
then where does it stop?
Because I have so much trouble
with needing to be on top.

I struggle with lowering
the expectations I have set,
and if I miss out on something,
I’ll be stuck with the regret.

Everyday I find myself
more and more stressed out.
Everyday I’m closer and closer
to a full breakdown.

I never feel I’m good enough
for all the praise I get,
but I’m recognizing more
that it’s a flaw in my mindset.

I have to find a goal
that I can strive to achieve,
then NOT move the bar up again.
Only then, will I believe:

I am good enough.

If Your Mind Was A Mansion -a poem-

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If your mind was a mansion,
who would you allow to rent the rooms?

Sadness? As you process
the latest loss in your life:
another family member gone too soon.

Anger? You’re mad at the world
for constantly cutting and cutting
you down until you’re two feet tall
and can’t take anymore.

Fear? That things will never get better
no matter what you do or try or
change.

Anxiety? The constant thoughts
taking over your mind, shouting,
“worthless; unworthy of love;
how can we make this worse?”

Depression? Because all of the other
roommates drag you down until
there is no more sunlight peeking
through the windows.

Happiness? Bullied into the basement
by the rest, wondering when
they can come back upstairs
to turn on the lights
and show you that

you –

you get to choose who rents the rooms
in the mansion of your mind.

Feelings Buffet -a poem-

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I’m not a poet, but when the urge strikes, you follow it. First draft, enjoy.

Feelings Buffet
They say you can’t pour from an empty cup.
Well – you also can’t overload a full plate.

I mean, you can try,
but you will pile and pile
and pray the plate holds

until a plop, crack, crash to the floor,
food strewn for dogs to lick
until they’re sick and you –
broken into pieces like the plate
you thought could hold it all.

It couldn’t,
and neither can you.

Empty the plate first.
Ask yourself – is there room for more
inside? Do I need more? Why?
Isn’t one plate enough?
You’re stuffed.
Stop acting so tough.

Full plate, empty cup
enough is enough.
Wake up –
stand up straight.

And for the last time,
stop overloading your plate.

Have I Made a Mistake? -a poem-

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–this is rough but I found this in my journal dated November 2019; wanted to share–

Have I Made a Mistake?
Why else would I feel this way?
Years of trying, deciding,
this felt satisfying – like a cool breeze on a warm day.

And yet, lately, it’s felt like a slow fall into a volcano.
Hot, panicked, awaiting doom.

Have I made a mistake?

At home, I’m so calm.
Here, I’m so not.

Heart racing, mind chasing thoughts and fears,
face full of tears as I hide
in the bathroom once more
to avoid the weakness I carry in my soul.

I thought this was it.
I thought this was where I’m meant to be.
My thoughts instead say:

“Hey, have you made a mistake?”