Hi, I’m Sierra Mazzucca. I want to welcome to my little corner of the internet—where words find their way through the heart’s tangled paths. This blog is home to poetry born from the quiet and loud moments of life. I write to give shape to what we often struggle to say—grief, love, healing, hope, faith, and the simple weight of everyday experience. Whether you’re navigating mental health challenges, processing loss, celebrating love, or searching for something deeper, I hope my words meet you where you are. Each poem is a reflection, a release, a reminder that you’re not alone. Thank you for being here.

  • Keeping Score

    The body keeps the score.

    I understand that statement more and more.

    All the self beatings I endured, but never said a word.

    My body was keeping the score.

    I was keeping tally of the bruises, and wounds I tried to hide.

    This score was gathered from the trauma in my body, which I supplied.

    I never thought it would come back and haunt me.

    to steal my dreams and replace them with sleepless nights.

    The body is weak, and spirit everlasting.

    So I have to tend to the pain, I usually brush off.

    Because I believe my body will eventually send out the Trojan horse.

    To attack my body, in the name of pain keeping a high score.

    Meditate and pray.

    Eat healthy, drink water.

    The sleepless nights from the pain, will eventually go away.

    And remember because of the self work and progress you’ve made, deep wounds will resurface not to torture you.

    But to finally receive aid.

    It is best to not forget the body holds the score.

    So don’t think you got away from pain, just because it didn’t come right away.

    It will wait until you forget.

    Till one day you awake, and you cant breathe or move comfortably.

    You learn pain is patient, and ornery.

    So when you try to resolve it, it will fight for the space it thinks it ought to be.

    Just for today, Phantom pain is the only anguish from my body that I will receive.

    The body keeps the score.

    But I wont let it get beaten down, like I have done many times before.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Pain to black hearse

    Pain is physical suffering or discomfort caused by injury.

    Currently every nerve in my body is firing off aggressively.

    I can barely keep my thoughts functioning.

    I keep trying to find peace for this pain ridden body.

    But something greater appears to enjoy watching me.

    Listening to me cry.

    Squirm in discomfort for nearly a week, unable to get one wink of sleep.

    Only to realize the pain is being caused by me, not he.

    Stressing over someone else’s everything.

    While they are vacationing, I am desperate to find even the smallest bit of release.

    From this inconceivable pain.

    Because I worried too much about someone else’s needs, and this is the gift I received.

    There is no position I can put my body in currently, that will make it all feel ok.

    And just enough to be able to breathe comfortably let alone sleep one day.

    I’m so mad at myself for causing this trauma to my body unconsciously.

    I thought I was getting better at managing my innate need to do everything hard, or else it doesn’t count for me.

    A very dangerous way of living.

    I don’t want to have a heart attack, worrying.

    My body is obviously trying to tell me to slow down, give that back.

    we can’t process their stress, this skin sack will wreck.

    Stop when I feel over extended instead of, pushing myself to near death.

    This is the only skin sack I get.

    So if it breaks down, that’s the end.

    I need to stop trying to please the unpleasable, with their insatiable appetites and the me me me quartets.

    Inevitably causing my body more anguish and stress.

    I have to learn to help, without forgetting about my self health.

    It’s not worth it to be in pain over someone else’s poor decisions that they made.

    I am practicing putting my oxygen mask on first, before I end up in a black hearse.

    Sierra Mazzucca

    Black hearse with blood streaks and barbed wire, ghost faces in dark smoke above, rainy and stormy scene

  • Moment of Release

    When my anxiety goes into override, I’ve been known to zone out and misplace time.

    Like I fall into a vortex somewhere in my mind.

    I couldn’t even draw a map to this place, for you to find.

    I appear there, and I feel like I am floating on cloud 9.

    Weightless, painless.

    Yet my body hasn’t left the place, where it was physically left behind.

    I wanted to keep this power as mine.

    It was a gift to myself, to escape this hell.

    I believed I found a way to travel without pausing time.

    A taxing retreat from the relentless, and self sabotaging mind.

    But this bliss has become dangerous at this present point in my life.

    Even knowing this, my brain craves the short respite and jump it gives to my insides.

    Recently my auto pilot has been malfunctioning.

    I feel like I might be losing communication with the Ventral Tegmental region, where dopamine neurons get released.

    Cloud 9 seems unreachable, since the reward center has no messages to transmit to the Nucleus Accumbens.

    My Amygdala could care less, as it has been unable to regulate or process its own perceived threats.

    I need to recreate a euphoric space.

    One to replicate the same kind of escape.

    Down the mesolimbic pathways.

    Where axons purposely release dopamine.

    Encouraging communication, between everything.

    No more losing time mentally traveling.

    Even if it feels like you can finally breathe easily and painlessly.

    Now I am aware, and practicing healthier ways to release the pressure of the chokehold from life and my anxiety.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Little Strides

    Today I didn’t want to get out of bed.

    I wanted to stay in the sadness.

    wrap myself up in guilt.

    Roll around with depression, while my anxiety winds up for the kill.

    It’s hard to find peace when your heart skips a beat.

    I close my eyes and the pain is my lullaby.

    I want to get up, but some days it’s hard to find the fight.

    I’m not saying I want to give up and die.

    All I’m saying is I just need to feel less sometimes.

    Otherwise I feel like a hostage in my own body and mind.

    For a long time I tried to be stoic, so my pain was hard to find.

    I preferred beating myself up in private, instead of giving anyone else the opportunity to try.

    I didn’t talk about the wars I was battling inside.

    I would just refrain from communicating with anyone on the outside.

    I made a really toxic home within my own mind.

    I fought off healthy emotions because I wasn’t prepared for the rotten parts of me they would find.

    I started talking to someone about the troubles I had inside.

    Instead of letting unfitting thoughts tailor my life.

    That was when this journey of healing started for me.

    Still nothing is perfect so hard times I will still find.

    The only difference is how I process, and respect my healing in real time.

    Today I didn’t want to get out of bed, and that’s fine.

    Just don’t make a routine out of wants when your needs are not being satisfied.

    Beating myself up is no longer a pass time of mine.

    I am human though so flawed things about me are not hard to find.

    I just use more kind words towards myself, well at least I try.

    That’s a lot more than I used to do.

    Making progress, in little strides.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Exit stage left

    Pressure, is a force applied.

    I feel it getting heavier, with every blink of an eye.

    I make it out of one nightmare, only to still not feel alive.

    Sleep has been causing chaos, burning down sets, built in that fantastical part of my mind.

    It’s the only place where things come true.

    There is this stage, lets call it life.

    Where I am to perform, until its off with the lights.

    Just to exit stage left.

    Who knows what’s on the other side.

    As the curtains close.

    I resume my tolerable existence.

    What purpose was I?

    In this flesh bag of whys.

    How is it still so hard to role play this little life?

    Nothing spectacular ever happens to me, I cry.

    They are pretty basic lines, as I am not the main character in this play of mine.

    Just a stand-in, with no significance to the cast I have assigned.

    I hold space, for the deserving.

    But I refuse to throw myself a fucking line.

    I feel like I am slowly fading.

    Soon none of me will be left to find.

    The pressure of living seems pointless to me.

    So much so, sometimes I still just want to delete the story entirely.

    Honestly.

    I don’t feel like audience would miss me.

    They wouldn’t even recognize my character is missing.

    Feeling insignificant, knowing its just a part of living.

    Second guessing WHO I am, is actually proof I’m healing.

    Because I want to be admired by me.

    I want to want my own autograph signed ,by yours truly.

    I want to rewrite my story, I want to make a new script

    Trash the old one.

    No use for it.

    The pressure will come and go forever, that is inevitable

    But I created a new role, and she doesn’t feel the pressure to pop, or explode.

    She waits for you to finish before she reads what she wrote.

    She made her part the role lead.

    No more standing in the shadows while others are seen.

    She uses her own magic, to create the perfect scene.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • You showed me

    Is this funny to you?

    Dangle a carrot in front of me, when I am without food?

    Rain down on me when I am already cold, wet, and shivering?

    Make good men appear, just to take them away from me.

    Maybe I should just submit.

    Wonder if you’d find anyone else to tease me with.

    I’ve been good.

    At least I’ve tried.

    But you still leave me with all my whys.

    I’ve begged and pleaded with you, day and night.

    I’ve prayed until the circulation in my hands turned white.

    Why is it so hard for me to find, someone worth a damn, someone to call mine.

    Do I go through this life wishing and hoping to be his wife.

    Only to come back as an ant, to be squished by a man.

    Is that your plan?

    Tease me until I cant take it no more.

    Until I scream wtf is wrong with me?

    And you reply, nothing.

    Silence is defeating when it come to conversations about my love life, between you and me.

    You are a comedian, I’m just a set, you are rehearsing.

    You watch me, and you don’t even regret the tone you set, when you deny me of love.

    Some days I fear I may never get.

    You force me to look inside of me, for the comfort I seek.

    I get mad.

    but now I see, what you have been doing for me.

    Protecting or least guarding my heart from being, an unnecessary target.

    You were just looking out for me.

    Unlike most of our conversations, this one really hurt to speak.

    I just know I deserve love, and that’s because you showed me.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • The 1st Link

    What is this, my almighty?

    What is what?

    My existence.

    This fertile womb.

    The curse of blood that you gave us.

    Oh, that’s proof I am and was.

    Got it, so a woman’s period serves as an example of punishment one may face.

    if you don’t listen to the rules you made?

    Yes, now you’re getting the gist of it!

    I see.

    So, we’re still suffering for someone else’s poor judgment are we? Noted.

    But doesn’t seem relevant any longer, or conducive for me or other she’s.

    Well, I’m the word!

    Yeah, well What does that mean?

    You know, the beginning and end of human beings.

    Before when it was just me, I found myself lonely and needed entertaining.

    I started with one, who quickly became two.

    From two they grew, and grew.

    And I’m sure you know the rest.

    as there are many books that can attest.

    But let’s get back to why you cant just accept.

    There is no exact answer for the questions you seek.

    So, no need to shout my name in vain at me.

    Answers you want don’t exist, and that’s just it.

    I created a magical world and planted you in it.

    The end.

    Well, until your weak flesh gives in.

    Then its back to the soil for all my little creations.

    I hear what you’re saying.

    But do you regret it?

    What?

    Punishing the first she for feeling humility, after being tricked by a serpent in the garden you made for Adam and eve?

    You created the tempting.

    Cursing us to have the wombs, to forever bear mans baby.

    9 Months we wait, while our insides are rearranging.

    In the name of eves lack of faith.

    women will forever carry her pain, bravely.

    Am I just an after affect mistake who inherited guilt from a careless daughter you made?

    Tell me, please.

    These chains are getting too long and, she started the first link of trauma that quietly crept on.

    We just picked up the chains, without questioning to whom they actually belonged.

    Never thought to ask why they were already so heavy.

    So we continued to pick them up, to pass down for the next of kin to carry.

    Well, It stops with me.

    Don’t hold grudges, is that not what you say to me?

    Yet here we are 6 thousand years later and 7 days a month, we still bleed.

    as a reminder of a mistake, made by Eve.

    Making us the only ones who can bear mans seed.

    Even though, man is mentioned more than she in every book I read.

    Women grow limbs in these wombs.

    We build life.

    But still I feel empty inside.

    Lost.

    Purposeless.

    Please almighty tell me that my existence isn’t only to be, a mere vessel for a new skin sacks earth delivery.

    Sierra Mazzucca

    This piece is kind of a fun take, or a pov on how I picture a conversation with my Higher Power would look. I have questions ♥️

  • Not your chains

    Some days it’s very apparent and I can see a change.

    All the work I put into this journey.

    The path I continue to walk, even when every part of me is hurting.

    The scars don’t go away.

    They whisper words of wisdom, lessons that will remain.

    Knowing my flesh is weak, but my spirit is subservient.

    I follow rules I cannot see, because I feel something greater is pushing me.

    Still some days I agree with everything that little voice makes up about me.

    I find truth in the messages it screams into my ear gallery.

    And then I get stuck listening to all the lies it paints of me.

    I do think things I shouldn’t repeat, Spells that don’t belong to me.

    These are the same words that find happiness in destroying everything.

    There is still a room internally, that assists in the breaking down of me.

    and that’s where these words and beliefs are hiding.

    Stealing many good days.

    Using negative affirmations to disrupt my meditative state.

    So this is when you decide to recite the 100s of things about me you hate?

    I want to so badly stay in bed today.

    But that’s that little voice trying to convince me I’m not ok.

    and that’s not ok.

    Because I know, I’m not ok.

    And that is OK.

    Change is not always noticeable or in your face.

    Nor is it immediate.

    More days then not, you will feel like its all been just talk.

    So hold your ground.

    Feel uncomfortable now, but know it will pass.

    And the trauma you wont pass down.

    So they don’t need to break chains that were attached to you.

    from generations you couldn’t break the link that kept trauma which grew.

    Be the change you allowed fear to keep you from receiving.

    keeping you confused and in pain.

    Some days a little voice may try to advise you to stop, give up, walk away.

    That’s when you know something far bigger than you can imagine, is taking place.

    One day years from today someone is going to look back at our lines and say, how grateful to you they are for breaking the chains.

    We wont get to witness what we did.

    But to know no one after me will carry unnecessary pain as I did, is encouraging.

    Encouraging enough to continue the journey I am on, presently.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • I’m tired

    I’m tired.

    I just want to stop faking it.

    because, when am I gonna make it?

    Currently, I am Spiritually spent.

    Emotionally bent.

    Physically over extended.

    Mentally discontent.

    I’ve tried countless things.

    Yet here I am feeling like this again.

    Like I have over exerted my spirit to its final end.

    I wonder if they notice.

    Who?

    I don’t have friends.

    No one knows me.

    I’m disappearing slowly, well at least the parts of me I have been unconsciously holding.

    No one probably can see.

    because ive worked hard for my appearance to fit the description you named as my identity.

    Shes strong, wise, she can handle anything.

    Yet, here I am dancing like the flailing man.

    Under this mask, trying to scotch tape pieces back together again.

    I only am as strong as your eyes allow me to be,Your heart to believe and your mind thinks of me.

    She got that super glue acting tape.

    It’s a lifetime warranty.

    Perfected this whole thing.

    canceling, hiding, disguising effortlessly.

    But im tired.

    And recently sleep hasn’t been feeling restful for me.

    I wake up like I already fought 3 wars instead of sleep.

    I now grind my teeth, my jaw is always aching.

    Must also be from all the boogie men I fight when I should be resting.

    My spirit has been on this “journey” to find why my heart prefers me to be alone or hurting.

    My body found peace in the pain, before it threw in the white flag of Mercy.

    Which I seem to be doing a lot these days.

    I’m tired and my body, mind, and spirit are hurting.

    My blood feels like it’s on fire.

    Showing myself grace even when I don’t believe.

    It still feels very unnatural.

    but I am worth it.

    I’m worthy.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Conversations with my heart

    You made me feel weak.

    No, I didn’t.

    Yes, you did!

    You tried to think a way out of everything.

    That wasn’t your responsibility.

    All because you felt my other parts couldn’t handle things.

    You even made me run, when an escape wasn’t necessary.

    Well, I thought I was being supportive.

    No. I felt anything but comforted.

    I actually felt targeted.

    You only ever worked me up.

    Preferred my panties in a bunch.

    Played pretend, like it was me.

    Convinced me that I had bad luck.

    But it was you!

    Your beliefs, casted spells over us.

    Yes I was bound, but you’re the one who tied me up.

    I had to always compete with the ideas you made up.

    Convincing me to believe I had no room for love.

    Not to give or receive.

    You were all the negative parts that bombarded me.

    You never had anything decent to say about the changes I pushed for us to make.

    You claimed they were never of any benefit for you.

    Funny cause, you are I , and I am you and this is we.

    But I digress.

    Why do you prefer me on my knees?

    With rivers of regret rolling down my face uncontrollably?

    Why can’t I release your grip of control over me?

    I don’t want to feel weak because I know, I’m stronger than you’ve convinced me to believe.

    I don’t need your negative nonsense.

    Off key tuning.

    I am prepared for change.

    But you can keep your two cents.

    Your opinion is loud and broke.. now no one listens.

    You have been an infection, no help to me.

    Your existence doesn’t make me feel well.

    You have a tendency to cripple me and convince me I am better off alone, than with anyone else.

    Which is where the lie started that I began to tell myself.

    I would stare in the mirror and still couldn’t see past the distorted image you programed my eyes to retrieve.

    You resembled a black hole, just kept taking.

    But, I’m your heart.

    Yeah, you are.

    But instead of beating to live, you choose to beat me.

    Stopped me from many moments I could have been happy.

    No, I protected you.

    Wrong, you exploited me to see what would happen.

    Took my yearning to be loved, just to form a weapon against me.

    I think I can handle things from here, indefinitely.

    You are not my physician, so stop trying to diagnose and prescribe useless prescriptions.

    You are assigned systemic circulation. Pressure Maintenance.

    Not the doom seeker of every situation.

    Do you hear me?

    You made me feel weak.

    Opposite of your assigned duty to me.

    Your responses were never clearly received.

    They just kept me reliant on the poison you chose to pump through my body.

    I was upset that my own heart could be so deceiving.

    Ultimately, it was my choice to run with your plays.

    I gave you so much control over this domain.

    and look at the mess you made out of my faith, in your name.

    I am not weak.

    You are not all of me.

    But you will always be an important piece of me.

    I just don’t need your unnecessary commentary.

    I got it, and you got me.

    Sierra Mazzucca