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.

  • 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

  • Love starts within

    I wish I could have loved you.

    Every time you needed me to.

    I really do.

    I wish that I always loved who I was, when I was with you.

    But that’s the thing, around you I had to lose me.

    Just so you could make others comfy.

    I lost entire identities, within you to be this version of me.

    All for people who already came and took their leave.

    Whatever she was, whoever she was to me.

    I just let her faze out like old news, no longer trending.

    All for the sake of hopefully being loved or validated by someone who couldn’t stand me.

    You couldn’t love me, even if you tried.

    You didn’t even know who I was , she had to hide.

    Didn’t think about me as a human being with feelings.

    You only seen me as an easy opportunity.

    One you could control and conquer.

    always another way to use me.

    Just a holder of a space, you never could clear for me.

    Never once did you care to care about me.

    My heart was just a trampoline, a punching bag for your any release.

    I was your any need.

    Not your everything.

    Over time I learned love was not something I could outsource.

    Because I never had access to the initial power source.

    I never knew self-love was needed before love could be received.

    I just wanted to show you, we’re healing.

    But, we’re also still hurting truthfully.

    The you, the me, and all those identities.

    It was hard to find, but I found my hearts power line.

    I am working on revising the old messages that travel from heart to mind.

    I am validating the parts of me that never felt worthy.

    I feel like I am starting to breathe, and relax in the skin my spirit has chosen to rest in.

    I love who I am with you, because I am falling in love with you.

    It has been challenging.

    I admit self-love has been the hardest love to prove, to me.

    Especially, when growing up in an environment where loving yourself and validating your own feelings, was not the normal thing to do.

    Practice will never make perfect.

    but repetition will eventually become ones new truth.

    Now, I don’t wish. I DO.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • A living goodbye

    The hardest goodbyes, are the ones where the person is still alive.

    I already prepared and said my farewell to you in my mind.

    Because by the time you take your leave, you will just be a shell of the man I once looked to for guidance with everything.

    A father figure by chance, the universe supplied me.

    You never judged me.

    You never told me I was making a mistake.

    You listened.

    You’d give me advice if I asked.

    And you’d hold your breath hoping the pain for me would pass.

    Not even my own dad did that.

    When I seen you in that bed, Most of you was gone by then.

    A once jolly vibrant man, who now just occupied the skeleton of him.

    It broke me.

    It destroyed the healing I’d been doing.

    You used to sing everywhere we went.

    You never knew a stranger.

    You always made new friends.

    You serenaded people, who you didn’t know.

    They’d look at you like you were crazy, but that is the man I used to know.

    You always were the more the merrier, and there were times I wished you weren’t.

    Oh but now I look back, and I understand God supplied you to teach me how be kind and generous.

    How to love without conditions.

    How to give with no limits.

    How to listen intently.

    Give advice, but only when someone solicits it from me.

    I’m working on the making new relations part currently.

    You’d be proud.

    I just wish it didn’t take your memory for me to finally listen, and open up my heart like you said, I would know how.

    I miss our talks.

    I don’t have anyone like you, and I am afraid I never will.

    You were a pillar when I had trouble standing tall and still.

    You reassured me I will find love, because I am worthy.

    You gave me so much, and sometimes I felt undeserving.

    But you’d remind me of all my good qualities.

    some I never even knew I had.

    So this goodbye is so much harder, then the ones after one has passed.

    Because I know I will say hi to you again, before you physically descend…

    And that’s the hardest part of a goodbye to a loved one or living dear friend.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Stranger in me

    I’ve been feeling like a stranger in my skin.

    The last thing I remember is an argument with that jerk, inner critic.

    We both went to bed with many words left unsaid.

    The next day to my regret, it woke up earlier than me.

    I guess peace couldn’t stand its company.

    Started off with an earful of negativity.

    Of course, it was about who I could never be.

    Because I have only one worth, for you to destroy me.

    And why this rant so early?

    Oh, yeah all because I wanted to sleep in past 417.

    You called me lazy.

    Said the greats never sleep.

    Critic, you couldn’t pick a more convenient time to be a dick to me?

    Yeah, this sounds about right.

    All You ever do is wake me up, or keep me up at night.

    Just to tear down the parts of me, that are starting to feel alright.

    Nothing positive, nope not from you or I.

    Only ruminating thoughts of yours, that I do not claim as mine.

    Always only about how much I suck.

    Yet you never can give me a real reason why.

    Also, please come up with better lines.

    I’m tired of taking your words for mine.

    We are literally in the same body, you and I.

    You do realize if I quit, we both die?

    Is that what you want?

    Just tell me why.

    I am the only brain, and you are only in my mind.

    So why can’t your message project positivity instead of that, sermon critic preaches in your head?

    They both support a stream of energy, only one is better equipped for success.

    While the other keeps you reliant on trauma, your critic won’t let you forget.

    So how can we evict that squatter from our mind, from our head?

    We can’t, it’s forever.

    But tools to live amicably together well, those shouldn’t be hard to find.

    First things first, I’m Sierra and this skin sacks mine.

    Reclaiming and taking control over my life!

    Deleting one little lie at a time.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Awake and Venting

    Better out then in.

    So here it is.

    I’m tired.

    I want to just sleep.

    My spirit is exhausted.

    My mind has taken me hostage.

    My flesh is weak.

    The universe is generous with each new problem it gifts me.

    My thoughts feel cold.

    My body is losing heat.

    I feel like I’m dying.

    But that would be too easy.

    Alone inside.

    Stoic outside.

    My wants I hide.

    Still empty come sunrise .

    And all those bent knee sessions Feel like wasted confessions.

    So I decided to ask myself a question..

    Do you have faith?

    Honestly, I was baffled I’d even suggest it.

    The truth is, I felt like I was losing it.

    Not because it proved to be worthless.

    But no matter how much faith I had, bad things happened.

    And just as bad.

    I used to believe a man listened when I spoke to him silently.

    I trusted a book that detailed how one ought to be.

    I shunned myself when I went against the rules you made for me.

    I repented, but harsh punishment you still gave me.

    But you say I am your favorite?

    I’m no dirt bag.

    But the mud on my face, you caused that.

    I did as you said.

    And why was that?

    I attended masses.

    Praising your name.

    Going blind, for some invisible mans sake.

    I am still fighting demons you made.

    Not to destroy me right, but to strengthen me.

    I lost count of the penance your messengers delegated to me.

    I once believed they actually did anything for me.

    I only confessed, since the bread and wine were free.

    But I never understood how the human in a robe could clear me, with a blessing, some prayers and counting beads.

    I thought to act as a god was a sin of pride? Unholy?

    But what do I know, Im still trying to define I.

    This creation you made, is tired.

    Faith wants retire.

    But then you wake me up again, and again.

    And sometimes I curse because, I just wish it would end.

    But my eyelids open, and a new day begins.

    So it would seem, I haven’t lost my faith.

    Though I will admit, this practice of being conscious has been causing lots of pain.

    I am now aware of the damage I once unconsciously saved.

    So this feeling of exhaustion, is my proof

    I am finally awake.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Define “I”

    I’ve kind of always felt like a fraud.

    But I didn’t know why.

    Until I began the journey to find me, myself and I.

    Who am I without the descriptions from others I stored in my mind?

    Say, “I think” a lot.

    But, “I” who? Who is, “me”?

    And how does one think, if thinking comes to you?

    Its not something you can have or be.

    We are told who we are before we can even speak.

    Always heard others defining qualities, whenever someone made their introduction for me.

    So who is this person?

    and why doesn’t, me, myself and I, feel like the same being?

    From the beginning, ego-consciousness relied on me to be “asleep”.

    to collect false identifying traits for this me.

    The mind just kept storing beliefs that assisted in the building of this personality you see.

    Listening to the old narrative which was intrusively loud and endlessly looping.

    Until one day the noise stops.

    The loop doesn’t repeat and you feel peace, something awakening.

    It’s the silence and space your ego has been preventing you from creating.

    Your conscious mind craves this quiet place.

    Its amazing how a single experience can change the trajectory of someone’s life, entirely.

    Setting free the child who was imprisoned in me.

    Shifting my perception of reality through the soul windowed eyes, that connect my human to its being.

    Before now, I couldn’t comprehend, I was being used by my own mind, it was not my friend.

    Attached to me, but it craved ownership of my entire body.

    Even though I kept resetting, ego kept collecting.

    Sooner than later, I became just your idea of me.

    Who unknowingly held onto your thoughts, and kept them as my identity.

    Seriously, Who is this me?

    And how is ego-system still operating successfully?

    I am practicing how to gain freedom from thoughts as the end of thinking is the end of ego, or at least that’s what Mr. T believes.

    He said you no longer will identify with the descriptions or content your ego collected.

    You will feel a sense of Internal peace.

    The world may be on fire externally, but you have found transcendence, awareness of the space in the background of your life.

    Here you are awake, aware and alive.

    Who am I? This moment is me. Now, is I.

    Sierra Mazzucca