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poetry: nothing taste as good as skinny feels-Kate Moss

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

at least I can now wear corsets and look good in them

I’ve starved myself to make my mom, lovers, and even myself
so they’ll love and accept me
I’d go on extreme diets, skip meals,
over exercise until throwing up
and getting excited when the number on the scale
went down
and hating myself when it went up
never quite understanding there’s much more to me
than some arbitrary and unrealistic standard of beauty
I’ll never be able to attain
there’s much more to me than how I fill out a tight dress
and yet, I still check the scale every once in a while
to measure my worth

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poetry: I need you now

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

“it’s a quarter after one, I’m all alone and I need you now”- Lady A

I hope that when you hear that song, you think of that moment
when you sat across from me in that restaurant
and you saw my inner conflict residing inside of me
And you gave me permission to leave
and then you touched my hand as that song played
our spark was ignited, and it was too late
I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave
I needed to continue our chaotic whatevership

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poetry: shame

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

this little girl deserved better

my past is clouded in shame over secrets
that were never my responsibilities
or a burden to bear
and all to keep up appearances
that we were a normal and happy family
and normal and happy families
don’t talk about addiction or mental illness

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poetry: my favorite memory

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

“still I think of all the bloodshed somehow bittersweet”- Conan Gray

My favorite memory of us will be of us falling in your bathtub
and the laughter and love that ensued after-
it was almost a tragedy that ended as comedy
and it was one of our last memories
before we both decided that it was better to block each other
from each other’s universe
and while I still think of you from time to time-
it’s no longer with resentment or anger I once had
it’s with only fondness in my heart of the mess
we were together

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poetry: chains

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

I always manage to find a way to survive

The invisible chains of my mental illness try to take away my joy
and enthusiasm but I shake off my chains
and live as fully as I can
Despite my anxiety,
Despite my depression,
Despite my BPD trying to grab hold of me
I no longer allow my inner demons rob me
of the goodness that universe has to offer me

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poetry: distraction

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

“I’m not sorry, I wouldn’t change a thing” -Conan Gray

I never loved you, you were a distraction
an escape from my suburban mommy life
I wanted to feel sexy, still young and fun
so I used you to make me feel alive
to awaken the sexy vixen in me
the one I had sacrificed when I fell in the stability
of a relationship
and now I look back on it
You did nothing wrong, you were just a scapegoat
a villain I need in my story of love and lust
to not feel shame and guilt

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poetry: death to the season of fuckbois

I wrote this poem in November of 2019.

“psychopathic, don’t be so dramatic, we had magic, but you made it tragic”- Conan Gray

He comes with false promises of respect
and easy and uncomplicated lust
He promises never to hurt you
but it’s all a game to get for him to get laid
He just wants to use you for a hit and run
Once he’s done with you
He’ll discard you like trash
He’ll never see you as a person
He’ll only see you was a receptacle for his cum
He’ll only see you as an object of lust
and at times he’ll even claim to love you
when he sees he’s losing the toxic spell he’s placed on you
but once he’s got you in his bed
He’ll forget about you the next day
So it’s best to stop his emotionally poisonous game
that leaves you always feeling worthless in the end
and delete and block his number
and forget about the fuckboy once and for all

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poetry: the thin veil

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

so much strength passed on to me

today I feel the presence of my ancestors more than ever
they praise me for breaking through the bullshit
that society tried to sell about what it means
to be a woman and mother-
they love me despite my many sins and that mistakes I’ve made
they scold me when I call myself a monster or an atrocity
they encourage me to continue on my path
they tell me to trust my intuition more
and to take more risks with my art and in my life
it’s a disservice to myself to doubt my creativity
this only hinders me from fully expressing myself
and keeps me from being authentic and honest
when I share mine and their stories

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poetry: it ends with me

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

me at night of spite in October of 2023

I come from a line of women who were never afforded
the privilege of telling their stories and speaking out their truths
they simply accommodated and according to the expectations
from their parents and husbands
they had no choice but to shut up, obey, breed, and stay
like docile animals whose spirits are beaten out of them
and with each poem, each blog post, each social media post
I feel a part of them heal because I will be the last in my lineage
to have followed suit and the first one to break out of the toxic narrative
where women should only be seen and not heard
where women should be limited by their gender
where women are only good for one thing
I’m the red herring, the hair out of place,
la malcriada-
who’ll scream as much and as loud as I have to
to tell mine and their stories
even as my family cringes
and accuses me of being dramatic and crazy
because to not do so would be a disservice to them,
to me, and to future generations

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inner child

summer child
Daily writing prompt
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
View all responses

lean into your inner child, let your spirit once again
be filled with awe and wonder
forget society’s rules that tells you to act your age
to control yourself,
who determines these stupid conventions and norms
anyways
sing out loud at the table, dance in your office
tell a stranger you’re glad they exist,
run in a field of flowers and giggle
lean into your inner child, let your spirit once again
be filled with awe and wonder

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poetry: nonsense

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

me planning blog content in October

honest nonsense is spilled across my blog
honoring who I have been, am, and will be
a former chaotic mess who’s tried her best
to turn her victim story into a narrative
of empowerment owning everything
that’s happened to me,
not caring what anyone else thinks-
if some people are offended,
they should have acted better

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

poetry: I don’t care

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

if I’m too much for you, go find less

I’m not for the tender and meek
and because of that I might end up
lonely for the rest of my life
and before, it used to bother me
but lately I don’t care
I’d rather be alone facing the world
and my fears without anyone
who’ll judge me or give me
his unsolicited opinion on my life
I finally hold the reins of my autonomy
and I’m not giving that up for anybody

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poetry: bleak and rainy days

I wrote this poem in October of 2021.

live in the present
live in the present

Bleak and rainy days
used to make me sad
and squeeze the life out of me
But now
I think of all the
sunshines and rainbows
in my life
three souls I gave birth to
the friends who accept me
my parents who continue
to be loving and nurturing
my coworkers whom I’ve
Shared a pandemic war with
But mostly, the new version
of myself who might feel
despair and sadness on some
days but keeps going
This new version
that loves herself fully
for once is enough

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poetry: breaking the vow

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

ready to break this vow

this time I’ll give myself permission
to let my body explore pleasure
with someone else
telling myself,
“This time I’m keeping it casual,
it’s nothing serious, it’s not a big deal”
I’m just ready to once again
share my sexual magic
write erotic poems about a human
and not my vibrator
it’s time to break my vow of celibacy
and let someone in on my sexual energy