by my self

a poem by Destiny Padilla

I don’t have people,

they are not mine.

They come but never stay

even if they say

they will never leave,

they do.

I don’t have my own lover.

they come,


and always come back again.

When will the come and goers

stop coming?

alone all of the time.

most of the time

alone with thoughts

more dangerous than people.

A woman.

not prim nor proper

loud and sometimes sassy

direct and independent.

a product of a single mother.

hard, cold and bitter

lied to and cheated on.

a church people visit

with their fingers crossed.

be quiet, more.

ladies don’t talk so loud.

that’s not how to attract a man,

they like the quiet ones.

I tried,

alone again

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