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The Dalema

Finding The Woman I'm Meant To Be

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Your Way

The way you make me coffee

And take the dogs outside

The way you wake me up

When you turn on our light

The way you give me shit

When I talk about my feelings

The way you resist

When I say to tell me sweet things


The way you tell me no

When I’m asking for too much

The way you calm my nerves

With just a single touch

The way you fall asleep

Even if I’m still talking

The way you say “what now”

When I ask how much you love me


The way you late night snack

When you think that I don’t notice

The way you change the subject

By pretending to lose focus

The way you tell a story

Without getting to the point

The way you don’t forget

To say “love you, goodnight”


The way you make me mad

But then you make me laugh

The way you buy me lobster

And end up eating half

The way you let me know

You’ll catch me when I fall

I love the way you love me

It’s my favorite love of all


– The Dalema. March 13, 2020.

Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.”

– Maya Angelou –

Purposefully misspelled, I created ‘The Dalema’ from letters in my name. It’s a safe place for me to breathe. A place to unload the built-up and untold opinions, emotions, situations and short stories – the baggage I’ve been carrying around with me every day of my life.

I started writing when I was seven. I was on a plane for the first time, traveling from New York to Oregon with my grandma to visit my uncle. She gave me the gift of paper and my uncle gave me the gift of poetry. Together they gave me the gift of writing.

Escaping my body through the pen in my hand and camouflaging themselves as ink on stationary, I realized words had become my tears, my laughter – my screams. Only then did I realize I could start to understand my emotions if I wrote them down. Every day since, my life story has been accumulating on paper.

I’ve learned I’m a hopelessly romantic cynic, a realistic dreamer – a millennial with an old soul. I’m an outgoing introvert who’s insecurely confident. I’m a woman trying to be better than the girl I was meant to be.

Writing is the only way I know to lift the weight of the world off of my chest so I can breathe. The Dalema is my life. The Dalema is my story, untold. Follow along as I get through it – one post at a time.

  • The Dalema

Part II 

You were like a fine wine
I couldn’t afford
And every time I saw the bottle
It made me want it more

I could see you in my glass
The mood set by candlelight
Scared of what I knew was coming
I told myself ‘afford it tonight’

Tell the server to leave the cork
Then swirl, inhale – take a sip
Close my eyes and let them rest
Indulging in the lusciousness

Getting lost in the shades of grape
Tracing the rim with my fingertips
Before I knew it the bottle was empty –
Leaving purple stains on my lips

  • The Dalema. November 6, 2016

To The Someone I Used To Know

I want to say something
and I probably shouldn’t –
but I’m gonna

One day I woke up
I found myself wanting –
to be someone’s

I wanted to try something
because they told me –
‘you never know’

So I tried my best
I gave my all –
I held hope

I didn’t expect to feel
so much, so soon –
anything for anyone

Yet there I was hoping
he would heal me –
mend my broken

I thought it was something
or should I say –
I was someone’s

He made me trust him
think we were different –
like we belonged

Somehow he made it stop
my fear of heartbreak –
fear of loss

Somehow I found the strength
to be only myself –
because of ‘us’

I’ve wanted to say more
and I probably shouldn’t –
so I don’t

But I found myself praying
I woke up wishing –
there was hope

Although he decided to leave
and I’m still hurting –
I’m not afraid

I found myself missing him
and he should know –
it is ok

I need to say something
I’ve kept a secret –
but I’ll share

I once woke up smiling
thinking he might stop –
thinking of her

I may have some regrets
and I won’t mention –
he should’ve stayed

Of course I’d be lying
if I denied wishing –
somewhere, somehow, someday

I will tell you something
and I probably shouldn’t –
but I’m gonna

Today I woke up thinking
I found myself wanting –
to be someone’s

Someone who could love me
somewhere safe and warm –
sometime very soon

But the somehow was missing
the somewhere was missing –
He. Someone. You.

  • The Dalema. October 31, 2016.

A Spoonful Of Missing You

Five words. You said them once and you’ve never meant them more.
It was a Monday night turning into Tuesday.
Tuesday – the last day I’d ever see you.
They meant so much to me. I didn’t know they could mean so much more.
I didn’t know until now.

You said the words, “I really do miss you”.
I knew you meant it.
I was missing you too, of course. Like always.
I was always the one to miss you – you could be in the other room and I’d crave your touch.
I’d crave your kisses. I’d miss your presence.

But for the first time, you said those five words.
I felt missed by you. Wanted by you.
I finally earned a place in your thoughts.
I took up a small corner of your mind.
A corner she no longer kept.

The next day was the best day I’d ever have with you.
So simple. So normal. For me, it was perfect.
Nothing extravagant. Grocery shopping.
We cooked together.
Fooled around in the kitchen.
We enjoyed each other’s company and then fell asleep in each other’s arms.
I’ll never forget what you said when we woke up, “You’re so addicting.”

I’ve held on to those words.
Those last moments – our last cuddles.
Had I known that was our last kiss, I would have held it longer.
Had I known that was our last embrace, I would have left a trail of kisses on your jawline.
An extra squeeze around your waste.
An extra gaze into your eyes.

I can’t hold on to your kiss.
Time won’t let me hold the corner of your mind – the one I know she’s reclaimed.
Your memory might not remember the way our hands and lips fit or the way I cooked for you.
Your amusement when I kept the produce bag next to the cutting board as a garbage –
the same thing you did.
You’ve moved on from the addiction of our embrace – the perfect spoon.
How my head fit on your chest.
The deep sleep we fell into together.

So here I am, on a Monday night turning into Tuesday.
I didn’t know it then, but I know now.
There are five words you said that will always mean the most to me.
I realize I’ll never hear you say them to me again.

You said, “I really do miss you”.

  • The Dalema. October 24, 2016. 

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