I am a wife, mother and a self published author. My two poetry chapbooks are available on amazon. My fiction novels are available on Kindle Vella. I am currently editing a novel and a poetry book. I am on instagram @poemsbyalejandra
To Grandmother's House We Go
The apartment sat empty, the dust particles floating in the air like sparkling memories of life that had been long gone, but still linger, imprinted on the walls and echoing in the heartbeat of what used to be her home. The three cousins were meeting there, for a night on the town. They’d spent the day getting themselves dolled up and ready to let off some steam and dance the night away. They intended to meet at the old apartment and once together they would leave to head off into the night. Yet a deep fog began to surround them as they arrived. The empty streets were of an eerie comfort as they approached the emptiness beyond the basement door.
The Love Destination
I have dated more guys than I care to admit. Anyone on the outside looking in would have looked at my escapades and wondered about my values. Yet, I was always searching for love. So, for those that know me, whenever you saw me in any type of situation that seemed casual or seemed like it could never go anywhere, just know that love was always the destination I had in mind. I met someone once that had an entire child while we dated on and off, and I didn’t know. And I mean someone was pregnant, someone gave birth, a child was born. There I was, the side chick unaware, believing every story, any lie accepting any form of attention and making it bigger in my own head because again, love was my destination.
Look around you and see who’s in your circle. Family and friends and acquaintances that you communicate with and see on a daily basis, those that are there for you and you for them...
She Saves Herself
a dream-like apparition yielding a sword materializes on a horse arriving to save the day. he is the knight in shining armor
Anxiety-The Second Time Around
I was diagnosed with clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder in my early 20s. I’d been dealing with the aftermath of trauma and then infidelity in my long term relationship sent me over the edge.
That Fake Kind of Happy
my sad poetry was always misunderstood by him by the doorway he stood begging me to be his bed partner come and do the missionary thing
Dreaming to Hold You
Here i sit waiting to hold you there is an emptiness in my arms that ache to wrap themselves around your tiny body why can’t I caress your face
Reclaiming Your Voice With Vocal
I have always been a writer. It started around age ten when I wrote poetry in a little yellow notebook about the mean girls. Then the poems grew in meaning, and soon all my thoughts held a direct line to the pen, to the paper, to the world. Even if that world was just words freely sitting on the page, out of my head and the only eyes seeing them my own, it didn’t matter, because I was a writer.