Posted in letters, life, Poems, thoughts

@ Charlie’s 

splintered- spine



shuddering shoulders.

your words

suspended above

my words

solid ice in my veins.

daring to dare


to place



a lie.

left to sulk,

to beg:

Still love me, my love,

in memory

remember me,

tucked away in your top shelf.

– Eva M.M.

Thank you all for reading and sharing your thoughts with me. I know I announced this post a while back on Instagram and am finally getting around to it so my apologies for the delay. 

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow “

Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

All my little scars.

All my little scars

still blind

me to you,

Still bind me

to go through

with the jaggedness of living.
I thought I could forget

the taste of rising bile

pushing at the back of my throat;

But I forgot that every time we kissed

The walls of my stomach would clench,

would warn me of impending 


passion posioned,

romance rotten,

rank flesh sweating against swindled skin.
All my little stains

still sour to my eyes.

For life is the reminder

that you lived and you listed

and look what you did,

you left me stained

with all my little scars

to tuck in, trembling at night .
– Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in letters, life, Poems


The poster is peeling off the wall

as the cars shoot past on the slick pavement and

I am sitting, staring at the slant

of the ceiling

creating a triangle with my chest.

The novel next to me

is wafting its earthy wisdom towards me

and all my thoughts are ticking

about to exsplode

a mirage of held hands and spoken word.


The rhythm overtakes me

the pulse of painfully relived moments.



He is probably gazing out the window

thinking of thinking


reading with the sunlight streaming in

reflecting against his pale skin


as I fade softly


the page.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in letters, life, Poems, thoughts

Your lungs Rewrite

Paper-mache worlds caged by lonesome bone,

lined with the smoke of your impermanence.

Faded pink,they breathe in words, wisdom

like the wispy clouds above.


World can only hold so much pain

and humanity cannot refrain

from billowing clouds of thought pollution;

The allure of dancing on life’s deflated lungs.


Melanized like my contaminated  heart,

your lungs

like clay that has yet to be molded.

Vast oceans of air

that are oceans from mine,

tiny capsules of loss.
He says, if “Death is the mirror in which the entire meaning of life is reflected.”

let me fall into it’s crystalline surface.


And I : Vacancy of breath upon breath

haunted by your lungs

writhing beneath a cloud of stubbornness.

-Eva M.M.

Note that the quote on death being a mirror is from,  “The Tibetian book of living and dying “.

Thank you all for reading and sharing your feedback and thoughts with me.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, Poems, thoughts


I wanted to be your little godess

so I tore off my skin

and bore holes in my bones

building portals to better world


where I dared to escape

from your arms ,

branches that grew

around my birch bark breaths,

raspy from the effort of being

something I had grown to loathe.


I wanted to be your entire world

so I melted my heart

and crusified my soul,

bearing the weight

of toxic words and stained palms
that curl and uncurl

in the heat of your acidity

against my tarnished cellophane,

restless from the intensity

of gutting myself for a stone.

-Eva M.M.

Thanks for stopping by and checking what 1withthepen is all about. Glad to hear from newcomers and regulars as always

“Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in letters, life, Poems

Reduced ( to My Bookworm)

Reduced to discreet poetic titles as my means of telling you I miss keeping you awake talking about Dostoevsky and damn ereaders. I mean who wants to feel fake when they are reading things so real ? I forgive you though because you are handsome and your mind keeps luring me into the belief that I am somewhat angelic. Honestly, have you still not perceived I’m kind of a mess. My mind is like the coils of cords under your desk that you feverishly unwind in the dim light of your reading lamp… That is if you used a fucking reading lamp instead of an ereader. I digress, I was saying I kind of miss your facial hair… All of them really. I get so lonely thinking that you just might be reading your way into enternity without me, forever stretching on apart from your pale arms. I used logic or I tried to though it is probably really flawed. I thought you might be moved now; Moving across the world but still so far from mine because I saw that somebody in Saudi Arabia was reading my post and if it wasn’t you, cheers to whoever it was because as a writer I live on knowing eyes see what I see,but if it was you then my heart will be forever illuminated because I know I got my message across to you. Day three,or something like that I told you in a similar rant technology hates me but I am innovative. And fuck it I won’t let some shaky internet connection keep me from telling you to get rid of your ereader. If you get this message you have to let me know somehow because I have become the woman who has reduced herself to using obscure poetic titles to not so discreetly tell you that I’m short and I will need you here to get a lot of books off the top shelf for me. 


Your bookworm.

-Eva M.M.

Posted in fragments, letters, life, Poems, thoughts, travel

The man with the red boots.

Remember when we talked about Romeo and Juliet ?

You said , ” Hopefully our story ends better than theirs.”

I say, ” If it’s going to end then I don’t care how it ends. ”

The truth is, they are overrated. I would want us to be remembered as something better.

Tell me what you think of these :

Bone and bone.

Blood and blood.

 You were the water

but I was the flood.

The ignorant American and the bilingual Irishman.

Fuck it, this list sucks,

the rosy cheecked girl

and the man with the red boots.

– Eva M.M.

” The pen and I, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Thanks for stopping by in addition I had a question for you though I would also love to still hear from you about this poem. I was wondering if anybody would be interested in a Q & A type post. If so let me know below or on any of my posts with any questions you have for me. Anything is fair game and if it seems enough people are interested I will consider tossing together a small Q and A post. Thanks.