Tired of listening

Myths exist because someone saw something happen that inspired them to write. Or maybe before the age of technology, monsters really existed and they were real beast that we could see and feel, and be eaten alive by instead of words on paper. One eyed, fire breathing, real actual fucking beasts. But then it changed. Time changed. We were stripped and cracked open as so was mother Earth. Violence became wilder and crueler and advanced. No chance against the monsters. And they became a thing of the past. But womxn’s voices? And our stories? Testimonies and secrets we kept. Before they transformed in to the nasty shadows they’ve evolved into. They were real. Real live fucking monsters.

Whatever the truth may be, it was recorded by men. And monsters defeated, by men. Fought off and saved whole ass villages because of these monsters. But what’s happening now? The more and more I let this sink in to my mind, let it seep in to my bones the more I realize how much the womxn’s narrative has been silenced. Shadowed. Misconstrued and turned on it’s head. If the hero isn’t a man they aren’t considered heroes. Our monsters don’t exist/ They are seen as myth itself. Trauma and uprooted memories from childhood are not real monsters. Because apparently, if the man doesn’t see the monster himself, it does not exist.

If they do not recognized the monster in the mirror. It never happened. What’s left with of our reflection? Why aren’t we considered heroins?



Naked eye

I want you to fall in love with my soul.

I wish you would see me past my physical form.

There was a look in the beginning I thought you had for me.

The kind that others see

and say,

“he looks at you in a certain way”

Where did it go? Did the mystery disappear? Did the flame blow out? Did I mistake that look for something else? Is it because I’m always around that you don’t look at me with those eyes anymore?

I’m confused by everything. Lost in some cryptic annoying translation of what I think love is.

Maybe you were just thinking about undressing me.

and the only way I know how to respond is by doing you no favors, and getting off when you’re gone.

The clutter

I take deep breaths in only to find my throat clench up before the breath drops down

I say what comes to mind out loud unless I’m not sure who’s speaking,

My heart or my head

Since I was a little girl I wrote poetry

Or words that matched up and lined up next to each other

like stanzas to look like poetry

an illusion for how they ought to be


There’s something more appealing about symmetry

But these are just my thoughts.

breaks in between

a string of mismatched rocks

and crystals pretending to be pearls

I haven’t found the cure to my sadness

Maybe this is just who I’ve become

Maybe I need to imagine a different world

Blinded binding.

I’ve kept a planner consistently for every year I’ve been out of school-Real people school- Working towards a grade school. For a while I thought I’d use them as a daily log for reminders and tasks, set goals and a step by step list of how to achieve them. Over the years they became food diaries, physical activity logs, I tracked my every move. With the hope that one day something amazing would happen and my biggest fear was I’d fail to record it.

All my waiting seemed to be wasted with,

“Home for the weekend. Saw him. Slept with him. Made me cry. Phone call. Bullshit story. Ate Taco Bell. Got drunk. Went home. Didn’t see him” type physical activity , food diary, emotional reminders.

I held on to these planners. For years. Mementos of moments. The same tired moments. Maybe I thought I’d be able to crack a code if I looked at them closely. And I admit I tried. Tried to decipher his patterns. But there was nothing of any significance. Because there was nothing there. One thing was clear, I was always in control. I could’ve stopped at any time. But familiar is always better than uncharted territory for our hearts.

We are after all, creatures of habit.

After the flame blew out I held on. I became obsessed with the idea that if I looked back on my lists it would spark some time of inspiration to write a story, to retell a story and it would rekindle the flame.

I was delusional. And thought these bound pages would somehow be the key to my mental block and quite frankly fear of love. I’m looking at this stack of books now. Dusty and falling apart. Not filled with stories but potential. All that time I wasted trying to be someone I didn’t know how to be. All those pages wasted on trying to capture real life experiences and turning them in to fantasy. How foolish I was to think that I was truly in the moment. When it was those blank pages that I was really living.

what I wanted was a perfect love story. And maybe it is..But not with the person who I thought.

With myself. With perspective.

7 years of self doubt, insecurity, fickleness.

Good bye to the paper records of broken records.

Good riddance to the old me.

We’re more sure about who we are these days.

Where are we

They say love and fear live next to each other. Or is it hate and love..


love cannot exist without another force.

It is nature after all of course.

Love needs fear to challenge it.

& Hate, to reckon with.

And in the end if it is true,

love reveals itself & prevails to the happy few.

… … …

I’ve been trying to articulate what it is that is going on with me, with us, with love.

Our first encounters were tense.

Fights were breaking out. Literally. And for a while I was fearful. Terrified that our energies together brought some type of unknown force to this world. This lifetime.

I have a theory that the 2 of us shifted the course of something in history. An earthquake happened the first time we faced it. Whatever it was.

The beginning: an earthquake

I woke up in the middle of the night and felt a release. The kind of release that validates all unexpected tension. For the first time in a long time I was breathing again. I no longer felt that I had to hold my breath for fear that the person next to me didn’t accept what they saw. And in all my nakedness, you seemed to take me in.




So it’s no surprise that in the beginning I was coming over and over and over again.

I looked over and saw how peaceful you were and couldn’t help but think, when you are reincarnated your final state would be a gem stone. Precious. And undiscovered. A diamond in the rough. But you’re more of an emerald.

Powerful in its rawest and purest form. The earth will need to be shaken up to see you. And there we were.

Middle ground: more than like, less than love, but if there’s nothing above it must be hate.

I battled in my mind for a while since the moment you blurted you loved me. On accident. Although I truly believe there is no such thing. Behind the drunkenness of the night, I believed that you meant it. But I was too afraid to say it back. Fear won that night.

Love/fear. Hate or..love? It seems that the odds are in our favor. Or have we broke even. And have we found the middle ground? Earth.

Maybe heaven isn’t a place but a state of mind.

And we’re put on this Earth on a mission to find our person.

Or people.

Because I am certain that’s what this is..the middle.

… … …

A meeting

A moment.

We’re healing.

And redefining.


That’s what you are– and because of who and what and where, and how.. I’ll put it simply now.

I love you.

And here we are.

My head isn’t in the clouds.

My feet are on solid ground.


I love you.

… … …

In the past I’ve forced it. Tried to control it. Every aspect, down to the way I did my hair. Wasn’t sure what it was. What Love really looked like. What they wanted with me. Because who would love me? If I couldn’t love me.

And then I learned.

To fucking love me.

Each crease and crevice, nook and cranny, I love me so much I didn’t care for outside validation.. and then I met you.

Perhaps a reflection. Confident & in control.

but then I met your soul…and I’ve never been so ready. So prepared. To take on this war that is the world with Love as my sword..

And if I’m wrong I want to fail

in the biggest way

shape and form,

Medium. Movies.

Motive? Show them.

We’re capable of it.

Maybe put it up/ in front of other people to reckon with themselves.

Love is a force of a nature you can’t control it. I can’t control it. I can’t control you. And I trust whatever the fuck that means.

And .. here we are.

in love.

I accept it.

I am here.

With you.

I’ve accepted defeat.

Not tapping out

But jumping


A letter to the Sun from the Moon

What is it with me and not being able to accept love?

What is it with me and refusing to let something good affect me?

What is it with me not letting kindness interfere with my daily routines?

What is it with me and negating any hope for something positive to grow in my world?

What is it?

Why am I so cold?

Why do I only understand what goes on in darkness?

Why can’t I interpret what those actions mean in your light?

Help me understand

And maybe we can be close again.

– Luna


Pain locks memories.

Tension builds up inside

Blue is red sometimes purple

But it not white

We bleed to feel familiarity

We scar our canvas to

Unlock the pain

We summon the warrior inside of us

To feel whole again

Green is everywhere

We cultivated this planet

The knowledge was ours to tame …

Ancestors hear me roar

From this planet far away

Sand to bone

Spirit to stone

Eat clean

Breathe deep

Travel through time

Explore your mind

Open your eyes

Spiritual journey to kill the ego–

Balance your center

Finish the rhyme. #goodtrip

Buy. Sell. Trade. Wheel of Fortune

My heart is a consignment shop. It almost feels as if I spent my teenage years buying.

Buying all the bullshit that I thought I needed. Filling the void for acceptance with meaningless letters.

A good grade

B for basic

C for cheetoes. I was have cheetoes for breakfast lunch and dinner. It’s no wonder I’m paying for all that damage now.

D for damage..

E for…. emotional exhaustion and effortless empathy for a guy who’s name ironically starts with the letter E

F for fucks. I collected all the fucks/ every single one/ if no one cared I made sure I did. Cause misery loves company and my middle name is Paz, that’s peace for those of you who didn’t pass Spanish

G is for …well God. Still working on that one..