Pecola is a two-year unraveling.
It begins with the kind of love that feels certain - the kind that makes promises in quiet rooms and builds futures out of fragile hope. It moves through hairline cracks: the lies you excuse, the manipulation you rename as passion, the cheating you sense before you see.
And then it breaks.
These poems sit inside betrayal, inside grief, inside the unbearable silence of child loss. They wander through spirals of anxiety, depression, and the war between what you felt and what was real. They trace the moment you realize love can bruise. That trust can erode. That some apologies are only echoes.
Pecola is not polished. It is jagged.
It is about loving someone who was never who they said they were.
It is about losing more than a relationship.
It is about losing parts of yourself - and searching for them in the dark.
This book does not offer clean endings.
It offers truth.
Sharp, uneven, and honest.