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.

  • C’est la vie

    I took a few steps forward.

    Then I stepped aside.

    I turned around to look back.

    At all the mountains I’ve climbed.

    All the obstacles I overcame.

    Skills I’ve gained.

    All of which helped me survive to date.

    A life. With many characters I’ve played.

    From a very young age.

    In a house built of hate and rage.

    I realized nothing would be easy for me.

    Not in this lifetime.

    Not for any version I was, or will be.

    Which is the reason why.

    For many years any future, I was unable to picture with that mind.

    Not even in my imagination.

    As I believed easy, was no adjective of mine.

    Now the higher I ascend, the more I find.

    Healing isn’t in a pill that can be prescribed.

    Or by unloading pain, in Monday session before 5.

    As nothing will make everything feel alright.

    Even with therapy participation 1x weekly.

    For 365 days plus, consistently.

    I don’t know why I believed that, I could put a timer on healing.

    Reminder, self- work is never ending.

    Part of evolving, is forgiving.

    Coming face to faith.

    With monsters that are waiting to feast on any hope they taste.

    Same ones you shoved into compartments for a latter day.

    And when will that be?

    This body’s aging with haste.

    These mountains are getting harder for my spirit and mind to overtake.

    My white hairs keep coming by the 100s every day.

    They don’t leave me with wisdom, as some would otherwise say.

    Death’s knock is low.

    But it stalks me like prey.

    Eventually it’ll show its unforgiving face.

    When it comes to collect me and the memories I won’t get to make.

    Until then I will step forward and keep in mind

    Another peak may be ahead.

    But another trial I survived

    C’est la vie

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • I need my dad

    I hate your addiction.

    Wish you would listen.

    But it always comes first.

    I pray you’d hate it enough to dismiss and kick it.

    So you can live, maybe feel without altering your mind.

    Which I see is protecting you from your trauma.

    That blasts loud music tirelessly all the time.

    I never understood who you were and why.

    So I never seen you as a broken child, in an adult mind.

    I just seen my dad.

    Now when I look back.

    I see, you never expressed emotions with kind words.

    They were usually volatile and sometimes physically hurt.

    You were supposed to be the man that your child loves first.

    And the best thing you gave us, was up.

    No words.

    That used to hurt.

    You gave up.

    You left us.

    Started Over.

    Cali new.

    Kept us close.

    Yet for years, we seldom seen or heard from you.

    I was supposed to be daddy’s girl.

    I waited in cold places where you told me to.

    Waiting for you to show up.

    You still never do.

    I put you above everyone in this world.

    But you always left me hanging.

    Some, “daddy’s little girl”.

    This is what made me.

    This was the part in my life, that I believed warped and misshaped me.

    I had to find that comfort other ways indeed.

    Thanks to you I grew thick skin.

    You taught me.

    no one is coming.

    No one will save me.

    My First lesson.

    I past unscathed.

    Or so I keep saying.

    I learned to stop waiting.

    I can admit for a long time, I was ashamed to get involved with conversations where fathers were the topic.

    Because that’s one subject, I can’t vividly recall.

    But I can feel and see the damage it has made and caused.

    So my opinion may be a little more jaded is all.

    You never showed up for me as a kid.

    Even now, I sometimes question myself like why do you choose to show up for him?

    Because, You’re my dad?

    But I owe you nothing.

    You taught me everything, without giving me anything.

    If only you could use your intelligence for the good of something.

    I hate your obsession.

    I wish you would listen.

    I need my dad.

    Not his addiction.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Lust me or Love me not

    I Wonder why your system doesn’t want our chords twisted.

    I say trust the science.

    Or at least keep faith as a close mistress.

    Remember the system Inside of you will take care of your needs.

    Like the hypothalamus produces lust out of security.

    Its not love, it’s a mental urge to reproduce with me.

    We simply share testosterone and estrogen, you see.

    But its my fantasy.

    So we should be romantically running off of Oxytocin and Dopamine.

    Though, you couldn’t love me.

    You are only focused on two things.

    How to get it and is it worth the time you spend on me.

    Because I don’t make you money.

    You ask to hang out, but do you even enjoy my company?

    Is their profit with interest after we are done… running.

    No need for assigning it a title for nothing.

    Its necessary for evolution, or something. The mating drive in all humans assures reproduction.

    So the race continues producing.

    Little humans capable of mass destruction.

    Oh old internal security and childhood memories.

    How you play a large part.

    When it comes to the attraction between two human beings.

    And the chords of their heart.

    So pay attention.

    Because there is a difference between what lust and love are expecting you to bring.

    Though Is it even Love if it comes down to one thing.

    The physical attraction for the preservation of the human being?

    Your system is protecting you from becoming attached to me.

    I’ll just take it as a compliment.

    Your striatum and amygdala light up When our energies mix.

    so it seems.

    Don’t take my word for it.

    Ask the scientist or neuropsychologist.

    I’m just your reward…

    Well that’s what your brain insists.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Dinner used to be

    Anxiety used to paralyze me.

    For many years, I allowed it to set my table and sit head of seat.

    I would have anger prepare the cuisine, with recipes straight from regrets book of suffering.

    Resentment help make the dessert and coffee, both made from sadness; bitter sweet.

    I never could get through a dinner without a toast full of depression and self defeat.

    But after rearranging the seating with grace and care, there is only one chair and I sit there.

    Thanks to self- worth I changed the service and entrees to be prepared.

    I loaded them with joy, peace and love, and plenty to share.

    I now make a toast with hope, to endless meals.

    with happiness as the host.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Overcrowded lobby

    I’m sure there is a strike going on inside of me.

    My subconscious is keeping my feelings and thoughts locked in my minds lobby.

    This must be a self-safety precaution or something.

    But it’s getting a little overcrowded.

    All my thoughts are touching.

    I see them enter, but they never seem to make it to the conscious part of me.

    Which might be why writers block has become ever so comfortable with me.

    I had given all those thoughts very comfy seats.

    Not to stay permanently.

    But to be processed comfortably, into a reality.

    I was doing so well with my new processing routine.

    I even felt like wow, I am making progress that I could read.

    Then I woke up one morning and tried to write.

    I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

    But nothing would come outside.

    A prisoner with thoughts for cellmates, in my mind.

    I’m done.

    I am reverting back to someone I don’t recognize.

    Those past versions held feelings hostage in the cells of her mind.

    I’m practicing to process anything, especially detrimental thoughts I can find.

    I just know, I need to write.

    It’s the only way I feel free from the grip of the critics inside.

    Poetry is my tool, and Its helping me to bridge gaps within my timeline.

    Allowing my conscious state enough time to process unheard feelings and thoughts.

    from the lobby of my mind.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Worth in me

    You see me when you want to

    Hear me when you choose to

    Only like me when convenient for you

    But my heart isn’t a convenience thrift store

    You get to rummage through

    Funny little men

    So you picked me up and

    Thought if you’d treat me to a dinner then, My body you’d get to bend

    Oh sweet little dense sheep

    I paid for my own dinner and coffee

    But I will pay twice the bill to excuse your company

    How shallow these recycled boys claim themselves not to be

    But I have messages

    I keep all the receipts

    You want to catch up

    Talk about past memories

    Thinking you will warm up my heart

    So I could take off my clothes willingly?

    I’m done breaking off pieces of me

    Sharing myself with the undeserving

    No, I don’t want to catch up little dude

    You can save it for the girls who fall for your sales pitch for fools

    I just wish one day a real man will find worth in me

    More than just my body

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Fixing the system

    Fix the system not the symptoms. I thought that’s what I was doing when I would attend my sessions with Mr. M. at 1pm. Take the dosage as Mr. F. recommends. Meditate then write, read and say positive affirmations, daily. Journal about fears, regrets and hesitations. I thought I was rewiring the program, resetting the system, enabling change. I was under the impression I was making a difference. But yet the symptoms usually persist and by Wednesday, the work seems worth a shit . My system can’t be forever damaged, can it? No, jeeez . Stop thinking please. I admit this part needs some practicing. You manage to work us up for nothing, because the change isn’t apparent and loud, like purple to green? That doesn’t mean our system is unable to produce more than how we choose to see, through that straw like vision, which is limiting. Change is obvious, but for us it won’t be, until I stop trying to use the old systems chaos to make sense of new wiring. So in 2026 I am aware of anxiety, not I am anxious. I welcome all inside, but I do not offer my old symptoms food or water to thrive. I show them the door and I no longer hold them up inside. These symptoms I created, in a faithless, hopeless and helpless state of mind. Running off that program that was never broken, but its design no longer serves purpose. So no, the system wasn’t damaged , so it cant remain as such. You just elevated, and made some internal enhancements to a program that was installed without a manual or self empowerment directions. We get to reinstall and rewire with our own free will. Maybe with the help of outside sources, but still we can prevent old behaviors from trying to hurt what we’ve healed.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Jolly Protein

    I woke up in excruciating pain, drenched in sadness the other day. So as one would I tried to locate the cause of this hurt, that I could not claim. It was not a familiar feeling, so I could not give it a name. I took 5 deep breaths and on the 5th exhale I screamed exhaustedly. A sound came straight from my core. A scream expressed and said when will sleep produce a quiet space for ease and rest. All that happens when I lay my head, is this wicked game of hide and seek with random thoughts in my bed. I’m always it. no respite for my spirit. Protein motors must be on a break. or ignoring me and my call for a ride to take. Because they usually transport endorphins down filaments, to give me some needed relief from pain experienced by me. Though the microtubules must be blocked off currently. This could be why happiness has been missing. I have to find what keeps preventing euphoria and I from meeting, at the handover dock for androgen receiving. At times it feels like genuine joy and happiness are always going to be the treat hanging in front of me. Just dangling right out of reach. I can see them vividly, but they don’t feel like they belong to me. I need the motor proteins to come back from break early. This is not a drill, this time I actually want relief from my hurting. and not just temporarily with a prescription pill but forever, with only faith and will. So locating the cause might be a battle, uphill. I decided instead, I’m gonna focus on that little sucker delivering endorphins naturally, without persuasion of western medications temporary bandaging. I mean if we all started out happy, then there must be a way to find that again within me without the need for external Intervening.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • The pruning

    There have been moments in my life where the lights are on but, I’m not home.

    And most the time you’d never know.

    As the landscaping is manicured to the T.

    So no one questions regarding my internal upkeep.

    Which is why external beauty is an essential need for me to further deceive.

    Because if the outside looks pretty, they wont focus on the occupant, this skin sack keeps.

    They are blinded by the bedazzled image their eyes meet.

    They assume the inside is just as shiny prim, and neat.

    Oh boy what a lie most of us keep.

    So close to the soul windows, past where vision and creativity meet.

    Having beauty on the outside, still doesn’t make the inside a warm and pretty place to be.

    I have got years of ugly lies rotting and waiting to be pruned from my mind. Before I can get comfortable enough in my skin to actually invite someone else in.

    So I am working on pruning and remodeling my insides.

    I knocked down a few walls to reduce corners for ugliness to hide. Reminder, this isn’t a self help project that has a near end or foreseeable deadline.

    Mending the mind takes time.

    Changing behaviors, and patterns, doesn’t happen overnight.

    Remember, even if you have the best looking lawn, your insides may still be a wretched and vile swamp.

    Sierra Mazzucca

  • Thought escapee

    Most times I can’t process a thought quick enough when I am up, and that’s when things start to build up.

    They conveniently pop up when I am in bed, trying to close my eyes for a night’s rest.

    They are all up, congregating ,smoking cigs in a circle, all in full conversation.

    While Working on more ways to stock pile useless thoughts in an already overcrowded space.

    But I am running low in this place.

    Now, I am up with these thoughts’ day after day.

    I stay up late while they take turns to sit on my couch individually.

    Because at night is the only time they seem to come from the dark and scream at me.

    It feels like they are on silent mode, all day collecting Until I am in a vulnerable state.

    Then they turn on the neon sign, which welcomes every single thought I can gather from the day.

    And one by one they come from a line, to express their ideas and opinions of mine.

    I listen, take notes, and give advice most of the time.

    But it doesn’t seem to stick, because they keep making appointments, and none of them skip.

    I have labeled these sessions the daytime confessions of little thought escapees.

    Even though they show up every night, it’s my choice to open that door and welcome them inside.

    But I know if I ignore them, they will stack up in size.

    Then one day, they leak out and into my everyday life.

    Causing friction in places I now need to wear slip grip slides.

    I think the face to thought process at night, has been making progress in certain areas.

    Specifically with sleep, where I have been deprived.

    I won’t complain today, because instead of 8, I get 5-6 hours a night.

    Now when I wake up, I feel a little lighter every time.

    I now try to process and address what I am able to without losing sleep or getting stressed, and then I say goodnight.

    Though a lie would be that this process is easy and I get it right every time, but I don’t.

    Today, I just acknowledge what I can, without losing more sleep and my mind.

    Sierra Mazzucca