I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
your lips on mine taste like happiness on steroids
is this what they call joy
is this what they call euphoria
are you the happy ending I’ve searching for
since the age of 15
are you the reason that I want to burn down every poem
inspired by lovers that aren’t yo
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
one last hit before we have to call it quits
before we have to move on to new love stories
before we have to grow up and forget
our Alice and Peter personas
and try to find something mature, something healthy,
something long lasting
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
your love is pure and evergreen and I’m surprised by it
never had anything like it and part of me wants to sabotage it
start a stupid fight where you end up as another catastrophe
I add to my tome of my lust and love
but something tells me, it’s my anxiety doing a number on me
and I’m deathly afraid of how close we are getting
and for now I pause, I breathe, I tell myself this time
it’s different this time, i’m not some hidden secret kept in your pocket
this time, both of us have done the work and gone to therapy
this time, we both have eyes open and have shown most of our cards
this time, it could work out
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
I was supposed to have been born in Cuzco
but drama kept me away until I was two
cusco saw me walk for the first time
cusco saw me blossom with the attention and affection
of my family and everyone else
I learned to be happy with the new freedom my legs gave me
but one day that changed when I was four
when the baby sitter hurt me -hurt me for being spoiled
hurt me for having la tez clara
and she gave me a phobia of water
and my resilience created an imaginary friend Calinchia
to help me face and process what happened to me
and eventually blocked my trauma
What’s the best way to deal with negative thoughts?
On the days when I feel like a complete failure cause I got like 3 or 4 rejection emails for my poems and my bank account is almost in the negative. I do a couple of things.
Or I write a list of new goals and manifestations.
I also remind myself that bad days are inevitable and temporary. Try to remind myself how much progress I’ve had the past 10 years and I’ve been through worst times and made it through the other side. Also, at the very least, I will have gotten inspiration for a new poem so, technically I still win. I also remind myself that rejection and failure are part of the process and have also been my greatest lessons.
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
My humble beginnings make men want to play savior with me
as I tell them about my childhood drenched in poverty and chaos
they try to act like white knights trying to rescue from the cinderella trauma
I suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to protect me
but what they understand is that it’s not how they will earn my heart
because all I want is to be heard, to bee seen as an equal
and not a poor victim of my tragic life circumstances
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
When I’m 54, I want some things to stay the same and others to change
I want to love freely unafraid and unashamed and without apologies
without the anxiety I have right now that one day he’ll leave
I want to have the same creative energy that motivates me,
and continue to share mine and my family’s stories
that will continually be seen and make me succeed
I want to not worry so much if it’s a matter of when this epidemic
of violence and madness reaches someone in my family
or live with the fear one of my loved ones will be detained
I want to have hope for the future of my children and descendents
that when I leave this earth things will be better for them
because I did the work so they didn’t suffer and can enjoy life a bit more
also , I want to be filled with financial stability where I’m not doing financial gymnastics
to pay my bills on time and an no longer a slave to my debt
but mostly when I’m 54, I want to have evolved as a healer
who continues to share her light in this world as a poet, writer, and storyteller
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
Hold onto joy and magic in times like these
pause, breathe, drink water
Remember your existence is resistance
all of that pain, sorrow and grief felt in your body
Alchemized it into poetry, art,a story
or you could just scream and allow it to exist
understand that the oppressors want to overwhelm you
And make you crazy and over react
using it as an excuse to frame you as the enemy
protect your peace at all costs
if someone threatens it, it’s a sign they’ve
handed you a match to light up
and burn their bridge to you
and finally,
Remember, the distress, the exhaustion is intentional
to burn out your light
Don’t let them
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Is this a new kind of avoidance?
Blocking and escaping any new love possibility-
or maybe I finally understand
How much I value my solitude
Maybe I’m finally enjoying an inner peace and calm
that comes with being alone
Maybe I’ve finally learned I really am enough on my own
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
women’s empowerment is sold and neatly packaged with sabrina carpenter’s new album
always the heroine for this consumerist society even if the intentions feel a bit icky,
feel a bit 1950s, with a man pulling her hair like a bitch giving off sub energy
that feeds into the handmaiden narrative of America is trying to write for women
and with the shitstorm of the past 2 weeks, I don’t feel sane enough to form an opinion yet,
except that this feels like a weirdly perverse distraction from the rise of fascism
taking place in our country
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
consent is honesty and respect
it doesn’t matter how many time I’ve kissed you
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve slept with you
Always ask me if I’m okay with whatever you wanna do
Instead of pressuring me, instead of harassing me
with your supposed admiration for me
with your stupid pet names for me
I’m not dear, hottie, beautiful, girl or princess
Call me by my god given name
and maybe then I would take you seriously
instead of ignoring you, pretending you’re a mosquito
Impossible to get rid off
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
putting in bold letters I support ICE in your facebook profile pic
I quickly unfriended yours and your husband’s joint facebook account
the one created after he stepped out on you
and karma was served to you for being a homewrecker
several years ago
the one created to keep tabs on him so he wouldn’t do it again
and as I write this, I almost laugh hysterically
because of course it makes sense that you support Trump, ICE,
and everyone who wants to destroy and rips rights away from everyone
who’s not white and straight
After all, didn’t you yourself tear a family apart?
so it makes perfect sense
also I always wondered who the other woman was
from your hateful vitriol of immigrants and latinas
she must be one hell of a Latina who almost took your man
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’ll leave an emotional stain on your life that will be hard to get rid of
You’ll curse the day I was born
You’ll regret the day you ever meet me
because I demand respect, because I’ll never be your safe place
because I’ll say “no” to being relegated to the role of mistress
and you’ll accuse me of being crazy and narcissist
just because I wanted to be treated with dignity
just because I want to be seen as more than another girl to pass the time with
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
it’s not romance, it’s harassment
placing me on your dream girl altar
and telling me about your boner
Even after I told you no
But then you still threw me your delusional love
and when I was honest right away
and I told you “I’m sorry but no”
somehow now I’m a crazy bitch,
a stranger
who’s letting her mental illness talk for her
after calling out your misogynistic behavior
All I said was no to you and the insults come on cue
I warned you, didn’t I and now foul, you cry
I told you I wasn’t ready for what you had to offer
but you kept playing the part of my great admirer
and maybe I’m fucked up in the head
but your fantasies I needed to behead
I needed to keep myself safe from men like you
who try to bully me into loving them
into giving in because your endless attention
and compliments
haven’t you read my story?
I’m not no longer a woman who bends and bends
to man’s thirst for me
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
my rage comes in like a bright orange burst and it explodes in social media posts,
my notebooks, and journal
it’s my inner child scared and anxious who feels threatened
and take it upon herself to call on middle age me
to defend her, to protect her from the cruelty and abuse happening in front of her
so many families like mine torn apart
so many immigrant children like me many years ago crying for their parents
not understanding why this is happening
and I feel the heavy weight of impotence not knowing how I can help
or what to do to stop all of this needless pain and suffering happening in front of me
and all I see is a bright orange burst of rage ready to punch walls
because my empathetic and soft heart feels the cries, the whimpers, the screams
of the parents and kids whose only crime was to leave their country
in search for a better life
Life on the BPD 