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  • Writer: m.decapua
    m.decapua
  • Apr 10, 2018
  • 1 min read

My first full-length book, a fear of the dark, is now available for purchase or pre-order!


This book is a collection of 70 original poems, the first of which were written almost ten years ago. Some familiar, some never-before-released -- all of these poems have been freshly revised and are ready for the real world! The poems tell a story of trauma, adolescence, and overcoming mental health issues. The book, along with a game that follows the same story, is my senior capstone (thesis) project at Champlain.


To buy the book, please visit this link.

If you would like to pre-order a signed copy, please fill out this form. It will take the book a little longer to get to you this way, as I am ordering the books in bundles of twenty.



  • Writer: m.decapua
    m.decapua
  • Feb 20, 2018
  • 1 min read

Updated: Nov 1, 2018

I want to live

in a bright pink house,

with gardens on the sides.

With bay windows

and great skylights to

fill my space with light.


She shook her head, assured me

that pink houses are just

not the way the world works,

that maybe my shutters

can be dipped in violet

and maybe ivy

will wind its way up the walls,

but a bright pink building?

People will stare.


Fast-forward fifteen

years and I

think back on these words,

pulling a brush through

magenta hair. This body

is the only home I have

but the dye

that stains my skull like

strawberry syrup, the ink

planted like vines

crawling up my arms,

paint me

a bubblegum building,

gardens on the sides.


  • Writer: m.decapua
    m.decapua
  • Feb 6, 2018
  • 1 min read

Updated: Nov 1, 2018

At two weeks

before twenty-two I feel

like I’m living in

a different body,

my face softer,

my mother in the mirror.

I go through all the motions,

my tallest five foot three reaching

to pull a pasta box

from the kitchen cupboard,

my numbest human form

pouring hard noodles

into a burbling pot.

I delight in the music

of tumbling pieces splashing

into the water.

I stir the starch away,

smile in front of the stove.


I thought I’d know

by now

who I am,

but here,

stirring steam,

I have transformed

into something else entirely,

softened

by the damp heat.


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