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.

  • 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

  • A better version of me

    You asked me how I was, and I responded great.

    Then you proceeded to bring up a version of me, I don’t know today.

    I’ve changed significantly since you last seen me.

    Back then, my wounds were still very open.

    A bit oozing.

    While I was closed off internally for anything, I was also bruised and they were starting to show externally.

    You wouldn’t have even known.

    Because, I played pretend like I was unaware of what was happening.

    Such a great actress.

    it was easy for you to believe that I was just a girl who was young and naïve.

    With no demons or cuts that still bleed.

    I knew parts of me were rotting from the inside out, all casually.

    Leaking into my every day relations; invisibly.

    They were no doubt tricky sores to manage and navigate for just me.

    My egos idea regarding self esteem, progressively worsened and infected good things.

    with its defeatist ideations and grip of my processing.

    I would find different ways to mask and bandage the pain temporarily, just so no one could see the damage being made by me.

    I couldn’t fathom anyone assuming I was weak or broken.

    So I stayed alone and away from any attachments exclusively.

    I knew if anyone got close, something painful was sure to happen to them or me.

    So the beating of myself continued for many years of hell

    that followed after many years of feeling self-defeat.

    I just wanted to love.

    I wanted someone to love me.

    No strings.

    No blood contract DNA assigned to me.

    I never let anyone close enough to allow my “lion of love”, to be set free.

    I kept my most valuable seeds locked away.

    With the hope I could plant them one day.

    Without passing along the infections of old wounds.

    that identified as different versions, this me has played.

    So when you ask me how I am doing, you most likely are still assuming, I am the version you last saw of me.

    But I have news for you.

    She changed.

    No one to point blame.

    as I realized all the pain I was feeling was caused by ego and esteem, that needed rebuilding.

    Back then when I would get my heart broken, Id keep a little anger from each time.

    Eventually it grew, and it became the monster I tried to hide.

    The one I created because I couldn’t understand it was never me.

    Some things happen in life, not to me as I once would claimed.

    They were just happening.

    Now I take care of cuts immediately.

    Because if left unattended they will start to rot all the good parts of me.

    The ones I have been tending to, methodically.

    I deserve to love, and people deserve to be loved by me.

    Life has been lifing.

    But I am doing better than that one version you knew of me.

    So here is to all new introductions, that will foster love, growth and new memories.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Sheep Publishers

    (Warning use of profanity)

    It all feels pointless.

    I should just write less.

    Only three people read, and maybe 2 like it.

    I should go back to keeping it all inside.

    It seems less painful then to hang all these feelings, out on the line.

    Writing has been an outlet, that used to bring some internal peace of mind.

    But there seems to be no point anymore.

    I just get enraged.

    I feel the heat building up inside.

    Until one day I explode, and it will be from one more stupid email subject: DENIED.

    Do I have to take off my clothes, recite a poem in the nude?

    Set my camera up at angle and read some bs love poem to you?

    with so much excitement!

    no life experience, because they are only 22!!

    But they win, and I lose.

    I’m not a hater, but what do I have to do?

    I thought people liked real words that actually have meaning.

    Like that send a message, one worth receiving.

    Everytime I get denied, I always look at the pieces that beat me.

    You’d be surprised the work people consider, “good reading”.

    I want to quit sharing my f@#$:^% pieces.

    Sharing pieces of myself, with people who choose not to see me.

    I wish I was a quitter, but I don’t give up easily.

    So, Screw you palette, your colors are weak!

    You keep choosing pieces that reflect your bad taste in poetry.

    I will dedicate the next piece to Saving my grace.

    I hate that as a society people choose to follow like sheep.

    The more surface, young, romantically repetitive the piece, the more likely someone will earn a huge following.

    I’ve always been more comfortable outside of what society expects of as the norm for me.

    So it makes sense why my pieces get rejected, by the sheep publishing companies.

    I quack, when I should bleat.

    I don’t conform.

    and won’t to a broken, unpleasable society.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • The Performance

    I used to hate that you chose me.

    To be a spirit that powers this human body.

    Who you knew was broken, before you sent for me.

    You saw everything that was gonna happen to and for me.

    Yet you still said I was your favorite, you lied.

    But why to me?

    I thought that was a sin, or is that just a human quality?

    I am tired of being silent, I have questions and I need you to answer me.

    I feel like your court jester.

    Constantly performing, just for your amusement with me.

    If you are who they say you are, then why do you standby and watch us break apart?

    If you created it, can’t you change a few parts?

    I’ve never been scared of dying.

    It’s the living that is terrifying.

    I’ve tried to escape this life countless times, but something kept protecting me every time.

    I don’t know why, because I have been known to request an early exit or three throughout my life.

    I would beg it to stop my air, let me be.

    I say how is this living, if I don’t feel like breathing?

    Answers and signs never came in letters, for easy reading.

    It’s the next breath I unconsciously forget, yet somehow I keep receiving.

    It’s the heater I use that blew a fuse, and almost set fire to my place.

    If I didn’t spill my coffee, I would have went up in a blaze.

    Something keeps me safe.

    Still I curse the skies because I don’t know why I have never felt safe from my own mind.

    You made it, and you knew exactly what you created.

    And you kept this unwavering faith in someone who lost hope, in you most days.

    I was so angry for so long.

    I had one point of view, because I was looking at it all wrong.

    I was praying for answers, when I had them all along.

    I lost faith when things didn’t go my way, then id look to you for some guidance and grace.

    Even, after I just tried to take your place.

    And, you already know what I am about to say.

    I am grateful for my past, for my life, for your faith.

    To be a Spirit powering this human body and mind, you actually made.

    I am imperfect and still sometimes question the present, and gift it is supposed to be.

    Though, now I don’t hate that you chose me.

    I just know hurdles will be taller and harder for me.

    Obstacles will become longer and more challenging to complete.

    But I know it’s not because you want to scorn or punish me.

    No.

    It’s because you know I too, believe in my own abilities.

    My worth and desire to see myself the way you have always seen me.

    WORTHY.

    Sierra Mazzucca