I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
take slow breaths and wash your hands
you’re fine, you’re okay
in fact you’re more than okay
you’re fucking wonderful darling
this moment of intense grief and anxiety
reminds you that you’re human
and you can’t always play the role
of strong and resilient Queen in front of the world
sometimes you have to pause, calm down, breathe
and let everything out
be vulnerable, be soft
this is how you start to feel integrated and whole
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
erotic stories from my ancestors are still seen in the caves
and uncovered in archaeological digs
people intertwined in every imaginable position-
showing their sexual pleasure shamelessly-
it makes the American and Colonizer catholic girl in me blush and say,
damn, the Incas were some kinky people
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I swipe and swipe on anyone who looks appetizing,
on anyone who looks interesting
and then the messages swarm in-
I must be honey to the bees who buzz and buzz around me
and I’m not impressed
Hey, beautiful says the guy with his catch of day
in his profile pic –
Are you DTF? Says the zoomer almost young enough
to be my son-ew-blocked
insert a pretentious line with a quote
From a Wallace Stevens poem , it’s the Genxer
who’s gross-ethically non monogamous-
I must not have been paying attention
while I was swiping
And the messages keep coming
And I’m overwhelmed by the amount of them
and underwhelmed by quality of them
and I’m nauseated and want to vomit
at the thought of giving any of these men
an ounce of my energy
maybe a past version of me
would have given them a chance
but this new and empowered version of me
Nah, none of them seem worthy
so I deactivate my profile
and uninstall the app
Understand I’m too evolved to find love online
and put my trust in the universe that one day
The right guy will find me
and I won’t even have to try
and until that time comes,
I’ll keep being an independent Peruvian Queen
Focusing on myself and my kids
without any mediocre energy
trying to intervene
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
It’s time to say goodbye to the notion of love
I know I’ve said this more times than I can count
but this time, I really mean it
lately, I prefer my life of solitude
the one where I’m my own hero, my own savior
And I don’t wait for anyone to validate my worth
it’s so calm, it’s so peaceful
it’s actually bullshit
the romantic girl in me can’t be cured
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I listen to the universe without a hint of defiance
I listen carefully and with intention
to understand my next blessing
and the message is, continue to be vulnerable
with the world
you’re leaving a blueprint for the next one
keep leaning into your craziest and most authentic self
there’s someone somewhere who’s paying attention
and may be falling in love with you one poem at a time
but too scared to make a confession
The Duartes
my family is quiet about their sorrows
they put up a mask of strength and resilience
its not that they hide their tragedies
they talk about it openly
but heal with energy from the trees,
with their busy and monotonous routines
on their farm
with the understanding that terrible things happen
in their lives and finding resilience
in the most extenuating of tragedies
in order to move forward
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
my culture is not up for appropriation, my culture is not up for colonizers to profit off from it
I can hear my ancestors cursing in their graves
haunting white people in their dreams over the atrocity they’re committing
it’s blasphemous to use their most sacred ceremony for the business of “healing”
why must white people in 2023 continue to steal from the indigenous community?
it’s the same white people who forced assimilation on us
the same white people who made us give up our religion and traditions
the same white people who shamed us for our indigenous traits
and the reason I don’t know how to speak quechua today
why can’t the white man stay in his lane instead of trying to profit from our culture
and the insecurities of others
how is it possible that in this day and age
these so called enlightened and elitist whites are still fucking over the indigenous community?
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
even the spambot body shames me
and I hate my body all over again
wanting to eviscerate that pudge
that’s been there since after my first son
hiding the flappy wings of my upper arms
wondering why God gave me my stupid curves
I’m constantly trying to hide
and every excess of skin I see in the mirror
That makes me wish I’d cease to exist
why can’t I be a skinny white girl?
instead of this pudgy mess of a woman
with body dysmorphia
who still uses the scale to determine
her WORTH
Do you ever see wild animals?
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I have a bad habit of making poetry out of almost anything
it’s annoying, it’s cringe, and downright embarrassing at times
how shameless I can be
it teethers between the line of genius and insanity
This monster of creativity of mine
from trauma to my kids to childhood memories
To the latest villain in my story to office supplies
To my dreams to the trees to the clouds
To my kroger apron to energy drinks
To that ex from my 20s
No one and nothing is saved from being used
as a fountain of inspiration for my creativity
Sometimes it’s a curse, sometimes it’s a blessing
Most of the time, it’s just downright entertaining
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is tell my story, my truth
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
abandonment wounds run deep in my bloodline
I’ve lost count of how many woman in my family
whose lovers absconded, who’s lovers left them
for their own version of Heather-
maybe this explains my epic overreaction every time a lover absconded
their departure triggers trauma in my DNA
from the abandoned women ancestors before me
Are you more of a night or morning person?
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
in my island of solitude, I drift further
and further away from romantic love
when I’ve tried to invite others to my island
they always left, and it drove me into hysterics
making a catastrophic emotional mess of me
so now I float alone on my island of solitude
and have erected walls of strength and confidence around it
I will not allow another soul to break them down
only to later leave on a whim, leaving me in pieces once again
Life on the BPD 