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.

  • Wasted Dandelions

    It feels like a punch to my gut when I realize the pictures that hold so many good memories, are the same ones that have become my newfound enemies. Like they only exist to cause me heartache. I thought I figured this out. I’d cry once a day and then I would go about my way. Recently my schedule has been a little off, not to mention my old character is completely lost. I haven’t even developed a new one to fit my current mind frame. I think once I figure that out, I can again compartmentalize all my pain. I won’t waste anymore dandelion wishes for you to come back, Because the little girl in me still doesn’t understand after death that’s that. I won’t blow anymore prayers on hoping that I will turn around and you’d be there. I will just learn to live with this new gained pain. I will work on trying not to find an escape, in a prayer or a wish that the universe just can’t grant me today. I won’t count the minutes I don’t get with you anymore. I will learn to embrace all the hours I was gifted with you before. No more dandelions wasted on the floor.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Batter Up

    Stop blocking all the opportunities that make it your way. Don’t let your fear dictate your fate. That, you should be the one to create. You have made plenty of unwise decisions, some that caused you pain. So, one day you decided to build a shield that practices keep away. In batting off the “bad” and protecting your heart, you somewhere along the way managed to push anything worth a damn from getting closer to your, deep parts. You thought you had it covered; you truly had no doubt. I see you had one thing covered; your ego and let me tell you ouch. You now see the damage you caused trying to be safe. You actually thought what you dodged would not come back and try to have its day? I never meant to block our long-awaited amends, my stupid ego had feelings, and some were just too bent. I now have learned a lesson, and this one truly stings. I guess I have to show up and face whatever the universe flings. Keep in mind just because it pitches you don’t always have to bat. I sometimes watch the bs, as it blows over and then that’s that.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Loud Silence

    One thing after another. My hands are tired knees bruised Sometimes I’m ok. When I don’t pay attention to signs and spirits at play. Other times, I want to scream. I want to rip my skin from its connective tissues, clean off me. I want to play in traffic and play chicken with oncoming cars. With thoughts not mine of what’s the worst that could happen if I tried. Or if I was the superhero I dreamed about when I was a kid with nothing to dream, surely I’d save me from this. But no cape. Just another skin puppet, just a pissed miss. There, where I wanted to run. Where to. I’m trapped. No one cares. Whose thoughts are these? They aren’t fun I want to scream why the heck am I here Just great. I confessed my sins first thing today. There goes that confession. I repented. Wasted away. Faith, we pray so I did the same thing again today. I sat on the pew knees bent boogers dripping down from my chin. Crying to him, if you loved us why allow me to constantly give in to sin My arms are sore from this prayer position. I’ve got lock jaw from counting all these blessings. Yet I’m still dragging my spirit face down through sharp glass, or as you call them lessons, with no fail or passing. Tap tap, uhem lord forgive me if I speak out of turn, but you made me in your image, remember? You created the good the bad the right the wrong, yet you tell us manipulation is wrong and temptation is not a sin If a sin is something that goes against what you believe in and I am in your image is your idea of a sin the same as a simple skin breeds belief on what that definition is I want to scream but you hear me best silent. You never say a word, still my faith growing that you preach inside me.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Chipped and Perfect Sand dollar

    It’s amazing where we find ourselves. As she walks along the shore, you see her staring endlessly at the sands floor. Why would someone come to a place filled with so much beauty around, only to embrace what was below that she kept reaching for on the ground.Maybe there is beauty her eyes met upon that floor.It was far overlooked since most individuals are focused on the oceans waves crashing to shore. I would be remise to suggest her serene bliss, every time she found another without any chips. She suddenly reached and this bend took some time to realign her spine, but when she did you seen the sun hit a tear rolling down her cheek, I watched her lips read, chipped enough and beautiful like me. It was the beauty of the ocean that allowed her to see that her pain, and her heart were a little imperfect, but God made her perfect, like all her sand dollars collected, would be.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Timeout

    Just because I’m working on my mental health, doesn’t mean I think I’m better than a person who chooses to stay unwell. It just means I’m working on my internal dialog daily, and I’m not perfect. At the very least well.I’m working on making myself content with knowing the past versions of myself. For instance today I had to set a 5-minute timer to allow myself to wallow in my own guilt surrounding yesterday’s choices. This my sweet little psyche always chooses to think and ruminate on during the worst times and hours of the following day 90% dramatized, I guess I should say. Apparently, I really need to feel that sharp impale during the 5 minutes of living today’s moments, with yesterday’s guilt and shame during that timeout period I chose to take today with yesterday’s pain. Which is actually 10% real, This I realize when I am out of my anxiety driven panic state. Because let’s face it, when we’re in it time’s just an illusion. The world is ending and the sky is falling. Yet still I am stopping to focus on Yesterday’s spilled milk? Haha Guilt… I hate you. You make me lose moments in days. Focusing on hours you already claimed. Just to re-live feelings that were derived from False impersonations of the characters those past versions of me played. Why the heck am I still walking onto this unappealing, applaud lacking stage. Only to draw center to all things I wished I could reclaim. Guilt, you are the main villain in this play. Still, you too have a significant role to play. So yeah, I’m working daily on myself. The thing is guilt, regret, and shame are just reoccurring roles I sometimes get in costume to play and recreate, for those 5-minute timeouts I need to take. In those moments, I feel unwell. I think it’s a way to keep me regulated and on the forever path to improving wellness within myself It’s more a timed woe is me opportunity. I still have to take a bow out and do a few oh hell no’s to save my sanity.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Your Glow

    If the moon stopped glowing and guiding nightlife and the sun decided it would not wake up to brighten a sunrise. Worry not for a presence is had as I’m sure you alone could lighten the day and night with the energy your spirit casts. Exuding an effulgence that alone sparks dark corners, igniting peace promoting a radiant brightness that darkness has envy to be. As a spirit like yours, comforts, and is made of light, but only once in a lifetime is another gifted with your warm invite

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Need to Love me to Love you

    Sometimes it’s more painful to stay and watch someone you love who had so much light just dim out and fade away. It’s the reminder that they once danced but no longer footprints made with a joyous prance. The bed is molded by a body in the shape of defeat, where feet once embarked upon miles of opportunit. Now they lay movement free in rivers of tears that drown, what’s no longer here. Cleansing of the inner Devine. Like an abolishment of what’s wrong in our eyes of blurry fright. Yet we need not forget to seek light in the darkest of holes. Creating a space allowing faith rays to brighten your soul. Uncovering corners of black deceit. Removing the spirit of fear and insanity. There is no vacancy for them here. You can cast away spirits if they show no mercy and bring you fear. You have the power, but you have to know You have to be aware when to hold on and when to let go.It starts with us. I can’t love you more than I do me, if I can’t even see reasons I am worthy of loving you. Let alone me. Every hair was made with care.Like every crack is not a mistake. Every bit of you is whole. We can’t save another unless we have a pure soul, with intentions of love for thy neighbor and self. But love thyself first, or you can’t love anyone else.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Imposter me not syndrome

    I just write. Sure, I have pieces in several books just scattered all around. Probably have written over 999 Poems by now. Still, My accolades are hard for me to gather and jot down. Let alone celebrate any milestone of accomplishment that I won’t remember when you ask what I have been up to anyhow. Imposter syndrome is the persistent inability to believe that one’s success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved… I almost thought they were defining me when I came across that word on Webster MD. I’ve never felt worthy of anything, not even things I worked at relentlessly, exhaustedly, tirelessly with every piece of me out of breath until the end result was perfection nothing less than, and still, I couldn’t see why anyone would want to fall in love with me. I wished and prayed but that imposter pushed any hope for love away, reiterating the false dialogue I kept on repeat day to day. It’s strange because I believe it’s only when my spirit is in a weakened state. Even so, this cloud of doubt will dissipate the more I follow and he leads the way. Clearing my vision and the swindlers at play, who are working hard to keep me alone and afraid. I don’t claim that phenomenon and this inability to see what I have achieved, these ungodly feelings are something I now recognize as old patterned thinking. I was supposed to be this statistic, a druggie, crazy, out of my mind; ballistic. Someone kept me cloaked. Someone helped me miss it, the bomb society unintentionally attached to me because of the producers of my Limbic system. Reminded I’m not a stranger in my skin, I am just now learning how to settle in. Sometimes fraudsters sneak false thoughts but I don’t ride their beliefs as my own because today, they are not me. Now, I rely on the outcome of my actions as my “ imposter me not”, insurance policy.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Wilted

    The end. Like the roses you got me, which wilted away. Even though I tried, and I stored them in a vase for my eyes to later be graced with their pretty petals and warm embrace. Then one night in the dark, in the passenger seat of your car, you said, “this is it”, because your immaturity couldn’t allow you to see far. When those roses wilted in a vase, dresser top, I tore them from their wicked stems. I ripped them all apart. I promised my heart some moon past, I would never allow a man to drape and cast his delusional shadow over me before I chose to react. You can’t assume I can read your mind and feel your emotions at the same time. I am not whoever you created in your mind, I am nothing you defined. That’s probably what got you mad and caused the reaction you pursued that night. You only knew the version I allowed you to meet. I’m not gonna deny it wasn’t the best one, not by far definitely. I know that and I don’t say otherwise. I never claim to know everything because that is a lie. I will say I knew this wouldn’t last. I told you why. You called me not understanding, I believe that’s the lie. I tried and tried to see from your side but I have no reason except immaturity and the years between you and me. So this I take as a sign, sometimes it’s better to just be alone, instead of trying to fit two opposite pieces that don’t go. So it’s a cat’s game for this tic tac toe.

    By Sierra Mazzucca

  • Unity

    Together with or within proximity to people or a person. Community, unity. The invisible thread that attaches from you to me. Wherever you may be, recently I’m manifesting that place is next to me. Where our forever dialogue exchanged releases a type of ecstasy. Our bodies attach like magnets whose attraction unapologetically fuses our souls together into one spirits sleeve. Forever sewing a line of cosmic communication between soul notes, that play tunes of elevation on a bar everlasting. A connection of love chords created outside a wish or prayer. No human power can birth this communion; soul-traction love affair. Joyful flutes sound off when one another draws near. Ten strings play hypnotic music. A melodic heavenly tune our bond conceives when the holy unity of two flesh bodies connecting destined to meet. Pulled from his rib I am his missing connecting piece. Designed to link all of his dis to my connection creating our Unity.

    By Sierra Mazzucca