mami dressed me up in ruffles and pastels whenever she could I’d swirled and twirled in my dress until I got dizzy loved when everyone told me, “ay que bonita te miras” and I awkwardly bowed, smiled, and hid sashayed to every single one of my relatives and did the same thing it’s one of the few times I remembered being vain as a child one of the few times I didn’t feel weird and like an outcast external validation learned at the tender age of 8
It’s April again and it’s not only spring that is in bloom but also the creativity that goes along with it. And of course, it’s national Poetry month and every year since 2022 I try to participate in NaPoWrimo which is an activity where I write a poem a day and post it on my blog. I use prompts from this website for inspiration: https://www.napowrimo.net/ and as always I’m excited to see what crazy poems I come up with. Last year my favorite poem was a spicy one I wrote about Yung Gravy that I ended up performing at open mic.
my forever muse
Also, this year, I decided to give y’all my own original prompts to inspire y’all. Feel free to send me your poem and I’ll post it on my blog or you can just keep it in between the pages of your journal. I had a goal last year that I would post my own prompts for National Poetry Month and here we are. So here are prompts that I wrote sometime in early 2022. Here’s my contact info where you can email me or dm me your poem.
can’t blend in with this privileged world wrong age, wrong last name, wrong ethnicity I stand destined for failure on this institutions steps as the pressure to succeeds hang around me like a noose around my neck and yet I still keep going and show up every day if only to teach my kids a lesson in how to keep going when you want to quit
for almost three years I’ve been waiting for the next guy to appear as some kind of hero, as some kind of reward for all of my effort I’ve put into myself and the life I’ve built Subconsciously I did this Even as I publicly roared about being empowered on my own I still wanted someone to be my sanctuary to lay my love in And I wrote, manifested, schemed, flirted got obsessed with men were just meant to be friends Thinking, gosh, if I hang on long enough, he’ll come around this might work out but today I discovered the only hero for me is the woman in the mirror who still manages to get out of bed even on the bad days when she’s too tired to function when she’s exhausted by all of it
last time I had my last first kiss it was wasted on a middle age scorpio I wore a cute summer dress with red lipstick along with my feminine charm I didn’t have to lay it on thick for him to desire me for him to want to kiss me he would’ve fuck me I hadn’t been on my period his hands roamed almost every inch of my body as if it belong to him for the 5 minutes we made out while I dissociated and pretended I was somewhere else I was numb and devoid of feeling anything Am I even a person? He said things about how I was so hot and sexy and how sad it was that couldn’t screw me And I laughed flirtatiously following the script I’ve had since I could remember and I felt no desire or any pleasure if anything I was repulsed by him, by myself hating how even at 40, I was still pulling the same bullshit since I was 16 making myself an object of desire for me to play with and then something snapped in me that day a couple of hours after that date I sent him a snap along with all the other 7 dudes I was entertaining and keeping as options the same message, “I’m sorry, I’m not in a place to date or even to have men as friends, I wish you the best” it was hard as I had always been addicted to men’s attention and validation but something told me it was time to switch the narrative even though I knew it would be lonely
Happy World Poetry day! Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot about how my relationship with poetry has changed the past few years. I’ve always said poetry-reading and writing it has been a type of therapy for me. And while, this is still true, this relationship has evolved in me finding community with other poets online and in real life. I’m actually really lucky that I’m able to call a few of them my friends. This community has also helped me become a better poet in many ways. With all that being said, I wanted to share a few poems I’ve written about this community and how it’s impacted me.
tonight
we gather here tonight to share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves through poems written on a whim, in cars, inspired by dreams and tragedies and everything in between some of it will be meaningful some of it will be nonsense most of the time, it will be someone trying to make sense of the world with a few phrases and sentences clumsily strung together and calling it poetry
1/2/24
me at the open mic in May
finding community in athens
when I finally took myself seriously as a poet and writer, I was 40 before that I thought I was some cute and crazy girl who used poetry and stories to express on paper whatever she couldn’t burden loved ones with but now at 40, between the july heat and mental health diagnosis I had a nervous breakdown and I used my creativity to get through it so I started blogging and used my poetry as content I had no idea anyone would like it, resonate with it and subscribe to it and after a year, I went back to open mic and keep going and bared my most vulnerable and intimate thoughts this lead to me finding community with the local poets of Athens and it’s what I had always wanted but was always too scared, too insecure to seek out and also too busy with everything else in my life but one day I got tired and finally embraced the fire of my creativity and decided to share the artist in me with the world once I did that, I created a community and eventually found a community of writers and poets who accept me, encourage me, and inspire me
2/20/24
me at the open mic in September
safe harbor
I landed in my safe harbor after I almost drowned and I’m greeted by strangers who welcome me with open arms they don’t turn away or tell me I’m too much when I tell them my lore of trauma through poetry they applaud me, they accept me, they encourage me they’re the sanctuary I’ve been searching for since I can remember these strangers who call themselves poets have now become my chosen family
I hate it when I catch myself being unintentionally sweet It makes me feel vulnerable and weak It’s almost as if my armor of empowered Queen is breaking and I can’t allow that to happen I’ve come too far in my heroine’s journey to allow romantic daydreams to disrupt it And I’m tempted to erase his messages And block him It’s not his fault or mine It’s the faulty wiring in my brain it causes the logic in me to short circuit every time I talk to him
you were a dead end street that I didn’t see until it unraveled me Until it was too late and I didn’t want to turn around and kept going and eventually I crashed in the most magnificent and catastrophic of ways and I burned and burned until I was ashes and rose up in the most spectacular rebirth anyone had witnessed since Jesus
era tiempo de convertimos en extraños y esta vez para siempre No había más vueltas que dar o mas capítulos de nuestra historia que escribir Aceptar que ya nunca más seremos fue el favor más grande que nos hicimos Ojala que esta vez seamos extraños para siempre porque siendo algo más siempre nos causa un daño y conflicto interno Ojala que esta vez seamos como el fin del cuento que mi papá me contaba cuando era niña, “Colorin colorado nuestro cuento se ha acabado”
being with you was a form of self harm it was another symptom of my mental illness It was me living with my unhealed alcoholic daddy issues it was the worst version of me trying to find some kind of semblance of love to fill the void with whatever, even if that love looked toxic, brought out the worst in me, berated and assaulted me still stupidly I went back to you and accepted you in my life over and over again even with delusional daydreams in the back of my mind that if I kept you in my life long enough eventually you’d change and one day we’d get it right but all you ever did was disappoint me over and over again but this last undoing of us is the one and good riddance for that because at 43, i’m too fucking old to waste my time on fuck bois who can’t show an ounce of respect and dignity
I pay tribute to the women who came before me women who sacrificed so my parents could exist my mami who had to leave behind her culture, traditions, and language to give me a better life to make sure I grow up safe and well educated and taught me what strength and resilience means as she worked long days to make ends meet as she showed initiative to move our family forward and with her example I was able to follow it except I change it up some to live a life full of love, community and creativity