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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
Being happy scares me. The thought that at any moment something can just wipe it all away. So happiness has always been a playmate I never invited over when playing Red Rover. It’s always been this thing that was a stop sign away. The sun is high but too far to brighten my day. Like if I turned just a little to the right depression would be there, smiling waiting to say hi. Always welcomed me, which is probably why I can only get so far away as my GPS has had it marked as home since I was about 8. This familiar place. It sheltered me during a time when I felt displaced. Ignored. Forgotten wanting to be erased. It fit the plot of my life that was being fed to my psyche with oppressive thoughts day to day. Child from a broken home, consumed by sadness she felt unhealed and alone. If I was ever happy surely everyone would know. It would be hard to explain without anger which is my past M O. But Even so, happy was a stranger I never got to know. So as an adult when this unfamiliar feeling causes me to choke, I somehow manage to get a glimmer of hope, because happiness has made a way back to me it wasn’t smooth it was rocky. It’s like it was just waiting for me to see I deserve to smile. I shouldn’t be afraid to be happy because it will come and it will go. It’s being OK when it’s gone and embracing it when it comes back, which can sometimes be slow. Because one of the wonderful things about living is, you never really know and you need to be ok with that. So don’t be scared to let your smile out, be kind to everyone even when kindness you feel without. Happiness is the best medicine, it’s free. We just have to let our guard down long enough, to let happiness into you and me.
Death is always my reminder that living is Temporary, existing or lasting for a limited time; not permanent. That answers many questions of mine. Somewhat like a loan. Something given with the intent of getting it back, usually with interest we are taxed. What happens after we retire our spirits from these skin caves that hold the past the present, and moments in between. Where lost thoughts ruminate around corners beneath? Do our spirits take the beating for our human skin sacks’ deceitful dealings during moments of conditioned freedom we had while living? I wonder if taking away our gift of choice, is the interest to be paid. While all along here we were fighting, living in this flesh-draped cape, trying desperately to live before the grand escape. Could this be the victory to which we were too close-minded to accept as fate? Yes, maybe this was the righteous ones’ reward unto us, and the womb was the golden gate. We keep wishing and wishing to know what’s after this faze, but maybe this is the after that. Maybe this is the royal place. See it’s all temporary which is the role he intended for “time”, to play. A holder of minutes before you walk through the souls’ reclaiming gates. Past the millions of seconds rented, of memories you made. The journey is silent as faith has no speech it’s an invisible state. Living is temporary in this physical place, as we all see when we sit at another wake. We are unaware of what comes after today, however, it’s promised that death is the only escape and entrance for these mere human estates.
I don’t have to remind you. Yesterday is behind you. Temporary is the time these bodies will hold the spirit inside you. Whether you are a millionaire or broke and in debt. Life has a beginning middle and end. It’s those three points that we try to make our friend. Since our timer starts when we exit the womb and enter the earth’s play pen. We must take heed and protect our time, with prayer and faith, before the end of our body’s last sigh. It may not be as long as an end, wrinkled and gray, as everyone’s timeline is different not everyone gets to meet old age. Each being has their exit date, some sooner than we anticipate. Nonetheless, we all will leave this place in the same state, and not with these loaned bodies not that I have seen to date. Though if you have faith your spirit will be returned to its maker to recreate. We never end completely, we just get repurposed for the next version he sees a need. So, Temporary is the time in this vessel with a clock that just ticks and tocks until the arms one day just stop.
Sierra Mazzucca's Poetry site 