I wrote this poem in May of 2023.

My son giggled as he fell in the pumpkin patch
his laughter brought back the reason
for my existence and purpose
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.

My son is blossoming and becoming the man
I always knew he could be
Heβs ambitious, heβs kind,heβs a hard worker
Heβs a motherβs dream come true
And while at times he may still stumble and occasionally
Heβs inherited strength and resilience from me
It keeps him from giving up
It keeps him moving towards a life full of success and happiness
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

I keep trying to write my next chapter of love and find my next ex
but this time itβs difficult and tricky
since Iβm not desperate, Iβm not crazy and I have standards
and I donβt automatically swipe right on 10 out of 10 face card,
I really observe where they stand on important issues
like will they make the main and only romantic protagonist
in their life?
will they fetichize me like Iβm some cute, sexy, and exotic little thing?
are they the kind of person to cheer if anyone in my family gets deported
so many things to ponder about as I try to find my next ex
perhaps, Iβm overthinking this and should try to not be so picky
then again, I know how quickly the romantic in me cling to someone
the minute I feel chemistry, the minute they feel like home to me
only for me to break apart catastrophically when it all comes crashing down
nah, I canβt let that happen ever again
so this time around, itβs best to be strategic and think logically to myself
rule with my head instead of my heart
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

horace and betty flaunt 77 years of matrimony on the front page of the local newspaper
and Iβm both awestruck and jealous at their achievement
because I couldnβt even get past year 11 of my marriage
because now I canβt even get past a talking stage on any of the dating apps
because I canβt imagine the kind of saintly patience, understanding and loyalty
required for that kind of commitment
horace and betty flaunt 77 years of matrimony on the front page of the local newspaper
and I wonder the fuck they did it
what was the magic key to unlock both their doors to a lifetime of shared love,respect
and vulnerability
I wrote this poem in April of 2022:

I saw a cross written in the sky
and I wondered,
βIs that you God?
Is that your sign that I shouldnβt lose
faith or hope
and I need to keep going,to keep living?
Is that you God ?
Telling me everything will be fine
and one day peace will be mine
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.

Faith found me one day
and told me to keep going when I didnβt want to
Faith made me believe in GOD when I wanted to fall
into the abyss of depression
Faith held me as I cried endless tears of my about
my latest life’s catastrophe
Faith loved me when I couldnβt love myself
Faith brought me people who believed in me
When I couldnβt believe in myself
Faith decided to one day bring itβs accomplice
HOPE
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

my first lesson in forgetting spanish came at age 6,
that first week in first grade at holy spirit
when Spanish came out of my mouth and sister Loretto screamed at tme
and threatened me with the ruler
I donβt remember what she said bu t I was deeply impacted
learned to be good, to be obedient was to forget who I was
and quickly I made my brain believe English was better,
English was the language for survival in my adopted homeland
and like a sponge, I absorbed it
I didnβt lose heart when I was placed in the lowest reading group,
didnβt cry when I mispronounced a word, and my classmates laugh
I just kept on going
understood that my parents sacrifice in coming here needed to be worth it
there was so much pressure on my shoulders to succeed at age 6
instead of playing make believe and getting lost in disney fantasies
my priority was to learn English and become my parents american dream
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.

we lie to ourselves continuously about our needs
to save face, to avoid conquering our fears
to not feel insecure
weβll tell ourselves we are better off alone and independent
when in reality as humans
we are meant to be social
we are meant to share ourselves with others
but itβs cooler to say, βIβm good with my solitude,
Iβm my own best friendβ
because deep down inside we donβt want to get hurt again
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.

subtitles jump from my phone screen violently
one of the few films from 1950βs mexico
that address domestic violence
one of the few films to portray the man
as the crazy one
but instead of him going to prison
for his many crimes against his wife
he ends up locked up in a monastery
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.

one day in bed and my son acts like its the end of the world
demands I get up and act like an adult
like the mother heβs used to seeing
but in defiance, I stay in bed
reading poetry and allow the muse to come and allow me
to pour out of me and land on paper
for once I wonβt allow the patriarchy define how I should act,
who I should be
for once I allow the poet me to be my first priority