I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
bare branches on the christmas tree made of wire
Waiting for mami to adorn them with ornament
bought and homemade
it was a bittersweet christmas
The last navidad spent in the homeland
Before the chaos of our immigration journey
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wonder who you are-
Will you magically appear one day?
Or are you already in my atmosphere?
somewhere hidden, someone I hadn’t thought of
someone I never would have looked at-
do you stalk me on social media?
do I blow you away or scare you with my poetry?
do you think twice about sliding into my DMs?
do you fantasize about me before you go to sleep?
or maybe you don’t exist and this is one of my fantasies
I just want a hint whether or not you’ll be part my near future
I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
tucked behind twinkling lights is the magic of a child’s eyes
so full of joy and excitement for the holiday season
at 4, nothing bad has happened to taint his view of life
at 4, he dreams of Santa Claus, hot chocolate, and polar express
at 4, he still holds a heart full of wonder and awe of the world
at 4, he’s still innocent
I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
Try to touch the ache of alienation with my pen
writing poems to find
a find a sense of belonging
a sense of community
something beyond the platter of nonsense reality serves
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
until we meet again, Peru
i’ll hold you in my heart and dream about the warmth of my tia
and remember the taste of ceviche and carapulcra
and the smell of the busy city streets with too much traffic
America can never compare to your rich history or the warmth of your people
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
my roots are locked in a this land
that calls me an other, a forever foreigner
a land where I’ve never felt welcomed
and yet this is what I call home
this is where I went to school
this is where my children were born and raised
this is the only other place I’ve called home
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in the dark shadows of the earth
lies the outliers and outcasts
the ones we many times ignore
or only talk about in quiet whispers
we pity them, we’re afraid of them, we avoid them
we don’t want to catch their disease of poverty or insanity
we don’t know how to see their humanity
and honestly it makes us, and not them, the real monsters
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
drove towards the moon, full of uncertainty and ambiguity
Wondering what’s next for me, tired of being the foundation
tired of acting like I don’t crash out
Drove towards the moon full of uncertainty and ambiguity
trying to manifest something softer and calmer for myself
where I’m not fighting for survival
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
I don’t want to work that extra shift but my discover statement
tells me otherwise-
it tells me that once again I’m falling into a world of debt-
for daring to live a life above my means, above my class
and if I’m not careful I can slip back into poverty status
so I’ll work that extra shift and stop trying to live
a higher class life that’s not meant for me yet-
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
let’s take a midnight flight to Tokyo and get lost in Japan
like that Shawn Mendes song
let’s eat great sushi if there is such a thing
and pretend we’re 15 again
and so free spirited and carefree
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in 1821, my homeland gained independence from the Spanish crown
who subjugated my people to their whims of supremacy and colonizing ways
200 years later,they celebrated their independence
while, I, their daughter gained my independence from society’s chains
wrapped up in patriarchal and sexist good intentions
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
as the leaves turn crisp, I find myself reminiscent of the many women I’ve been
excited for the version of me that’s to come
understanding I was always right
to continue on and trust the process
understanding this heroine’s journey of mine
was indeed worth it
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
pumpkin patches, fairy costumes, scary movies-
leaves falling, trees dying-
october is here
another damn season of my life is here
another transformation I’m not ready for
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
the sunflower longs for the warmth of summer
where it feels loved and comfort-
but summer has to end every year and fall comes in to kill her
and she dies every autumn waiting for almost a year to be reborn
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in the land of exhaustion, I silently pray for a burst of energy
to get me through the last 4 hours of the work day
to make me fake perky and be productive at my job
