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.

  • Please, set me free.

    Sickness: a state of being unwell.
    A sickness that you can’t see.
    So it’s easy for most to believe. That there is something painfully happening behind the skin scenes.
    See, my sickness doesn’t have a permanent fix.
    No treatment.
    No chemo regimen.
    Radiation appointments or dialysis requirements.
    No.
    My sickness is an array of scheduled beatings of me spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically.
    My sickness has no cure, it’s forever mine and forever with me.
    A sickness you can’t see.
    But one that can be felt just as bad as any visible disease.
    A sickness you can’t see.
    Most times, they cut the Infected part out of bodies.
    What if I am the infected in its entirety?
    And life is the body I am ruining.
    Then what do you do?
    Still remove the diseased piece?
    I’ve caused enough pain onto them and me.
    Sometimes the best thing anyone can do is leave, permanently.
    Its gotten to the point where I am in so much pain, its numbing almost like self made Novocain.
    I am breaking through layers just to wake up and move.
    Some days I scream, why was I picked to hold this disease for you?
    To break myself and others down, because the anger in me is now oozing out?
    To hold me hostage while my mind spins about?
    Reminding me, that you can see and you are not happy with me?
    Please, just tell me.
    I don’t want to feel this wicked energy.
    I want to be a calming presence, like ocean waves pulled back out to the rippling sea.
    So if you would, please set me free.
    Sincerely, me.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Not a handout

    He asked if I could spare any change, as I walked by.
    I immediately looked into my purse to see what I could find.
    I turned around and approached him.
    This time from behind.
    I watched him for a second, before I actually said hi.
    In return Pain, desperation, hunger, loneliness, and shame.
    Were the emotions from that mans eyes, in which I felt.
    They were all too Familiar.
    Almost like I was looking back at myself.
    My measly money won’t save, or medicate the spiritually unwell.
    Only faith, can keep our stomachs and spirits fed beyond good health.
    But I know firsthand what its like to not have a pot to piss in.
    A fridge with the light on, but the food is missing.
    A pantry with shelves that have never reached the capacity of the weight that can be held.
    A sleeping bag that’s itchy, on a cold dirty rug.
    A coffee pot with no coffee, just bugs.
    A bank account overdrawn and no way to pay it up.
    Sometimes you have to do things you are not proud of.
    To get the damn bare minimum!!!!
    Jumping through hoops, some rich dude requires from you.
    So you can collect millions, while I wait in line for government food.
    Joining waiting list after waiting list to be told there are needier than you.
    Waiting at the county building, begging them to approve papers that eventually come back to collect their dues.
    Nothing is free.
    Not even free food.
    So yeah, money wont fix the broken.
    Wont feed the poor.
    Institutionalize the needy.
    But, it may help someone more than the value of the currency.
    Sometimes it just takes one person, and their kind generosity.
    For the spirit to be free from the idea that anyone who has more, is better than any he or she.
    Ive been there.
    That mindset is hard to not explore, when day after day you wake up on dirty floor. Wondering, what kind of pain your body, and mind have in store.
    And poor, it’s a mentality you fight to abhor.
    Even the richest humans have the ability to be poor.
    But, I want to believe the ones who suffer now, will have golden gate entries to their new palace, that has been waiting.
    Pain-free.
    Hunger aches, lonely days are never to be felt when in his kingdom of grace.
    That man looked at me, his eyes welled up with tears and said thank you for noticing I am here.
    I replied most people are petrified of the reality outside there little filtered lives.
    So, unless you have gone without, and know emptiness inside out.
    Begging for services you are entitled to, but no one will help you out.
    You will never understand how it feels to need to have to ask for a fucking handout.
    I consider it paying it forward, not charity not for clout.
    I do it, for all of those who saw me at my fucking lowest and actually helped me out.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Painting in the lobby

    I’m not one to remember my dreams.
    But the other day, I was hardly asleep.
    Convincing my eyelids to remain pressed together, avoiding opening.
    I seen you.

    You looked right through me.
    I don’t know what was harder, realizing it was a dream.
    Or knowing that even in my dreams you, don’t see me.
    I’m just the tilted painting in the lobby before you get on the elevator, to your Penthouse suite.

    Painted by some unknown artist.
    Every day you walk right past me.
    I’m invisible.
    My paint is nicked and fading.
    Today you leaned on me, but you never even looked back at me.

    I just want to be seen.
    Why won’t you acknowledge me?
    Do you practice ignoring me?
    It seems you perfected, the avoidance of my esteem.
    If only you took a minute to appreciate me.

    I understand I am just one painting.
    There are many near perfect pieces to be seen.
    You have no use for creative imperfections, like me.
    Different taste in art, clearly.
    To you, I’m just another hanging canvas in a lobby.

    Not unique.
    All while I am forcing my eyelids to stay shut long enough, so I can catch a glimpse of you possibly looking at me.
    And you looked past my framed section.
    A collection of bold and vibrant scenes.
    Each one brighter than the previous colors dimensions reached.

    Intentional.
    But someone who is mindless, lacking life, creativity, self centered, and selfish, will only ever see a plain painting.
    Regardless of he or she.
    So I practice being present, here in reality.

    I am speaking to day dreamers specifically.
    And in doing so subconsciously, we allow the night to keep all those pointless nights dreams.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • My minds high ceilings

    I want to describe how I feel inside.
    And I want to try to explain existing in the workplace of my mind.
    The closest comparison that I can find is, it’s like sitting at a table in a restaurant of marvelous architectural design.
    With exaggerated high ceilings.
    Where one individual’s voice gets lost, and is impossible to find.
    Traveling thoughts made of loud notes, that find their seats.
    Watching the show they star in ,as pieces of me, collectively.
    No breaks. Unpaid understudy.
    The role I am to take.
    If I don’t find a way out of this place.
    No pause for the moon or sun to take.
    The clinking of the dishes in the background.
    Glass hitting the ground.
    The waiters frequently coming around.
    The people coming in and out.
    Conversations closing me in, going on and about.
    It’s a symphony of loud vibrating mouths.
    The only silence that can be found, is within the space between you and the ground.
    Not between my two temples, where a home for my mind is bound.
    It thrives in these kinds of environments.
    Because it utilizes the noise, to muffle my cries to escape its vindictiveness.
    While it continues to berate my human condition, it helped create.
    The ego and critic are also part of their team.
    Loud places are playgrounds for the curses we just throw around, carelessly. Unknowingly.
    I’ve casted so many spells out
    under tall ceilings.
    Just by thoughtlessly speaking aloud.
    Escapees.
    Words I thought encouraged others and me.
    Have secrets hidden between the lettering.
    BeLIEve, Believe, is to accept something as true.
    This word has casted many spells.
    And right in front of, and over me and you.
    There is always a gathering of these negatives in this space.
    My minds workplace has no pause.
    Just a big red switch.
    Labeled, Last date.
    I guess that’s the best description of my minds workplace, that I can paint.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Gunpoint

    Good grief.
    I’m sick of these early am chats with those two vindictive creeps.
    Seriously, do any of us even sleep?
    These talks are getting old.
    So let me take your word for it, little critic and ego.
    Shame on you for saying just go, she wouldn’t find me.
    Yeah, that may be so.
    But my mother would have to identify the body after my autopsy.
    How do you think that would go, for her to see?
    And what a selfish and sad last image of me, to leave her with to keep.
    Right after the one where her oldest daughter is burning.
    So now I make it a must to hold little critic and ego at gunpoint for breakfast tea.
    Before they can whisper Bullshit to me.
    I force them to apologize for trying to bribe my life away from me.
    Say it louder Motherfucker!
    I command you to speak!
    Still aware they have an important role within the ecosystem of me.
    They whisper never ending.
    I learned to respond, but only when their chatter becomes an action made by my body unconsciously.
    Like the pushing anyone away to affirm their lie, that nobody stands with me.
    Or that this is the closest to peace I can achieve, while cohabitating the same space as those two damn thieves.
    No breaks.
    Just beat, steal, beat.
    So today at breakfast tea, right as I was metaphorically racking the slide, thinking it could put an end to their mocking of my life.
    Silence.
    I chose to drown them out, with positive affirmations this time, thankfully.
    At first I was thinking this is not going to work for me.
    Until I noticed they stopped taunting.
    And I was now just saying those things for me. To me.
    This is a reminder all the work isnt for nothing.
    I am changing old ways. Slowly.
    Stronger than those two pieces of my existence have manipulated my conscious to once believe.
    I won’t leave until I am called.
    On his timing.
    The last thing I ever want to do is be the cause of someone else’s grief.
    That’s the worst punishment a living loved one can receive.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Happy Mother Anchors Day

    An anchor is a strong weighted device, used to connect an object from drifting away, due to unpredictable environments.
    You have always been the force that keeps us from straying too far away.
    It was hard, but you learned to extend your line with each of us, for a fear that the whole ship would have sank.
    And that was not going to happen, if you had it your way.


    You had to make many heartbreaking decisions, what seemed like over and over again.
    But still you remained an anchor. Even though your heart ached for the love and support you gave.
    You showed up, because you knew what it felt like to be a child with a mother who couldn’t participate.
    As a mom, it kills me to know you felt that way.


    I wish someone would’ve showed up for you. Sat in the audience, clapped for you. I now understand you were just a child trying to mother with the limited knowledge provided to you.
    Like your mom, just a child trying to raise you, with nothing to mirror. She did what she knew, and her best to protect you.

    This is probably why you never give up, because that’s what you would’ve wanted your own mother to do.
    So I am beyond honored to be part of you,I love you mom.
    Happy Mother Anchors day to you.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Coffee break

    There have been many days where I have prayed for my closed eyelids, to stay that way.
    Waking up dreading knowing I have so many things to do, all in one day.
    It all became too daunting for me to even think or say.
    So I decided why not use the tools I’ve learned and have inconsistently been practicing.

    I put my phone on silent and started to simply breathe.

    Turns out most of my anxiety is caused by a useless and imaginary need.
    I am so used to being in a panic driven state.
    That I’m programmed to automatically cause chaos, right at the start of every day.
    Chaos with coffee, before sun break. It became routine For years.

    To wake up hating everyone, and everything. Especially me. It was so easy for me to throw a pity party.
    And I was sad I was always the only invitee.
    Though not enough that I’d drag anyone else down with me.
    People Pleaser.
    This misery hates company.

    I’ve been choosing better habits.
    Which actually was the trigger, causing a physical reaction. My entire system believed it was under attack. and it tried to do anythig to fight back.
    Since I changed the program with the help of a guiding MD.
    I started to feel and it hurt me.

    I kept blaming myself for trying relentlessly and feeling like I am failing.
    This was huge. I had been hiding for 30 plus years, away from me and those things.
    Finally I stopped running and hiding from my feelings.
    Still no matter how long I closed my eyes.

    or played pretend like I wasn’t dying inside, that old program just wouldn’t rewire the thinking of a broken mind. But not irreparable.
    That thought alone shows hope.
    Finally, I’m starting to heal, it’s going to take time.
    So I just have to prepare myself for mornings where I feel like, I would rather hide inside.

    Believing turmoil awaits at every blink of an eye.
    That’s ok, as long as I continue to swap out the old behaviors actively.
    And replace them with new truths, instead of lies that want to hurt me. Practice being grateful the minute I open my eyes and realize he has woken me up for another sunrise.
    This is proof I’m not broken, just a little disconnected from the faith he won’t allow me to deny.

    Just keep going.
    Even if you feel like it’s all a waste of time.
    And remember every time you awake, to thank your Higher power for your peace and another coffee break.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Another lifetime

    Is this my retribution?
    And does it fit the crime?
    I must’ve been some kind of mass murderer, in a past life.
    I mean, was I?
    What did I do?
    No really, I’m asking you.
    How could I have messed up so egregiously, for your endless cooperation to punish me?
    Knowing my picker is broken.
    You still don’t step in to stop me, from seeking unavailability within the male vicinities.
    Or stop me from me finding someone, who can abuse me better than me.
    By these copy paste guys who are inaccessible, mentally, and emotionally.
    You send them my way skipping and whistling.
    Knowing their only mission is to break me down mentally and spiritually.
    You grew a tree, that dangles the poison fruit in front of me.
    Knowing I’m hungry.
    I want love, desperately.
    And you’re bored.
    So you play with me.
    Your personal Polly pocket dolly.
    And misery is certainty, after eating poison you made from part of your creation of “everything”.
    Causing me to be some sort of magnet for guys who will never love me.
    I’m just a fun time. A pass time. A short time.
    They have no time, to put in us time.
    So what I have gathered is you want me to play witness this lifetime.
    And watch others fall in love, even ones that I wished were mine.
    Just feels like I will never able to experience the same kind of bliss in this life.
    I am genuinely curious what your plan is with me, and why?
    Because I am tired of being the backup, and runner up.
    While you build the love of their life.
    When will you prepare mine?
    And Do I have to wait another lifetime?

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Chaos to exist

    Always want what we don’t have.
    Then we wish for what we had.
    When conscious we become aware or realize at one point or another, I wished for this exact version in life and this place in time.
    Yet still guess what, I don’t feel satisfied.
    Humans have an insatiable appetite.
    And I am but a flawed human, who is not aware or I’m unconscious most of the time.
    As ego auto pilots my mind.
    Suffering check.
    Pain, you bet.
    We will be challenged from time to time.
    And unless you are conscious you will suffer, but you won’t die.
    It’s an opportunity for awakening within your mind.
    Many are too consumed to make sense of this at the time.
    Humans don’t awaken when they are in their comfort zones.
    And lazy people wonder why they don’t thrive.
    Discomfort and suffering are how we evolve and survive.
    That is the healthy growth that you want to water all the time.
    I can attest from firsthand experience that after some time of suffering, I felt like I was a stronger version.
    A wiser person.
    More faith driven human.
    Alive.
    As I know I can survive many challenging times and come out on the other side.
    Stronger and more conscious, then when fear blanketed my mind.
    We need to manifest our gifts, make purpose of what it is.
    But no matter what, we will always need chaos to exist.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • This is not Blasphemy

    I hate that you knew.
    I dislike that you did things to make me fall harder for you.
    But I can’t blame this all on you.
    I was foolish for easily trusting you.
    I for once let my guard down and opened up to you.
    But you used it as a weapon to beat me and bruise.
    I wanted to find out if this love thing was true.
    I just picked the wrong person to put my faith into.
    And how could I believe someone like you?
    You may have money, but your spirt and soul are poor fools.
    I begged God to send me someone I could give my all to.
    And he sent me you, as a reminder that I don’t get to pick or choose.
    I just have to play by someones imaginary rules.
    What’s the difference between loving someone conscious and loving a poor fool?
    Afterall the conscious were once the fools who became aware with their new set of rules.
    Why do you continue to make me a magnet for a fools attraction.
    I’m just trying to understand why I keep getting the short hand.
    You like to bait me.
    To get my reaction.
    What if I turned the tables on you?
    Would that make me unconscious, or sinful through and through?
    This is not Blasphemy.
    I have already confessed my sins to you.
    I am just collecting my words, that you gave to me use.
    I am aware of my mental capacity and the limit
    at my patience table, which is currently lacking.
    And I ran over the limit for my time capacity.
    Mr. G., please help me turn off my attraction for the highly distracted, it’s a bit too much for me.
    I know you want what’s best for me, but have you ever considered, yourself changing?
    How are you perfect, not that I disagree.
    Just seems like this is all there is ever going to be for me.
    Rotten apples that fall from the cursed and poisoned tree.
    That I keep biting into, as you sit by and watch me.
    You seem to love me dangerously, unconditionally.
    And you expect the same from me.
    Though I wonder why did you make me, if you only want to break me?
    Or is this really strengthening, and future preparing?
    I guess I have to be patient and see.

    Sierra Mazzucca