this is an updated version of the 2006 poem, “nachos and cheese”
nachos and cheese makes my tummy oh so happy
satisfies my craving for something salty
my taste buds are greatly aroused
as the cheese melts in my mouth
and I grow dizzy with glee
becoming a victim to my gluttony
my taste buds grow greedy for more
even my blood pressure soars
this poem is inspired by the 2006, “let’s go to your store”
take me on a tour of your utopia
the one you always talk about
the one where mental illness doesn’t exist
and we all go to sleep without the need
of meds and sleepytime tea
the one where everyone is respected
and being different is celebrated
and not used as fodder for insults or war
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
you donate to endless non profits, sit on boards of organizations
that want to bridge communities together,
you volunteer at the soup kitchen or as a mentor
for underprivileged at risk kids
you share your stories of trauma
and you do all of this telling yourself
I want to help others
I want to be a healing light
this cesspool of a world desperately needs
and despite dozens of explanations
I’ll ask you
are you doing it to help others
or are you doing it to fuel your ego?
are you doing out of the purest of intentions
to make a difference
or to make yourself feel better
about your mediocre first world privilege existence?
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
Reddit wants to make sure I’m real and not a spam bot
and even I ask myself this today
as I feel completely numb
as I feel like my emotions are turned off
And I’m a new kind of mellow
the kind of mellow that’s a zombie
functioning and existing with a stoic demeanor
feeling completely detached from who I truly am
over medicated and toned down
to barely subtle static and white noise
Is this what it’s like to be normal?
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem, “the horsefly stood on her shrug”.
blankness spills across her pretty face
no distinction between her and the marble
her hands and feet are still
watches herself say the right words
and make the appropriate gestures
nothing makes sense in this moment
rage burns inside of her
she smiles and nods politely
as they talk about the weather
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
the downpour from this morning made me uber emotional
driving through a flood, trying to not lose control of my car
and with God by my side and Olivia Rodrigo on the radio I made it to work
the downpour didn’t stop
and my coworker mentioned it was an upside world when the morning
looks like evening
and the dreadful weather triggered the on switch to my depression
and out pours the thoughts about grief and death
the downpour of my emotions started and nothing could stop it
I wrote this poem in January of 2024 for my friend Rosie who died in 2023.
it was a wintry and rainy day in Georgia when last goodbyes were exchanged
between you and and your boys
you were thousands of miles away in Texas, in your hospice bed
I imagine you were full of peace in your last conscious moments
finding comfort in your faith and accepting this was part of God’s plan
but I-I carried rage that you were leaving everyone behind
rage your husband would become a widower, rage your sons would grow up without a mom
rage for the grief of everyone who would have to live without you
rage that on the 29th of June, there wouldn’t be a random happy birthday from you
for William, Miguel and all of the babies in our July mommy group born on that date
rage that I didn’t get to know you better
and that rage broke my brain, and I drove without a destination
maybe it was your spirit that led me back to the safety of my boys
but almost a year later
I still carry that rage of how I don’t understand why God took you
you who still had more than love to give and receive
you who was the warmth of a sunny day in human form
What was the purpose of your sudden departure?
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
How long do I have to scroll before the algorithm fucks me up
Before the algorithm makes me feel like I’m not doing enough
before I lose my shit and say “this is bullshit”
and delete all of my social media apps
How long do I have to scroll before the algorithm makes me feel better
before the algorithm starts to validate my existence
Before some random stranger slides into my dms and tells me I’m pretty
this poem is inspired by the 2006 poem “the light”
hope is found in a lucid dream-
It’s a whisper reminding me, “it won’t always be like this”
it’s my abuela telling me “tu vida apenas está comenzando”
and I wake from the fog of existential dread
I’ve been feeling lately-
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
another new year is here
another season of my life
will soon be renewed
more chances for new experiences
and adventures
more opportunities to fuck things up
and give fodder to the inner critic in me
to emotionally beat me up
more time to question myself
am I doing enough for me and my kids
to prosper
more moments of joy and laughter
with my boys as they get older
and continue to find their autonomy
more grief and sadness as the working class
and marginalized communities
continue to be stepped on
more memories made that ignite a spark
of creativity within me
another new year
another transformation under construction
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
August came and I hold onto
the few slivers of hope left in me
as I reach another rock bottom
self correcting and not making myself a victim
making sure I’m better than yesterday
Trying my best to control my emotions
knowing that somewhere in the wash
of this downward spiral
will come the biggest silver lining
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
Entre la espada y la pared me encuentro otra vez
es tiempo para otra evolución, otro renacimiento
pero me siento cómoda donde estoy
me siento tranquila aqui
donde no tengo que dar explicaciones a nadie
pero el universo tiene otros planes para mi
pronto vendrá alguien o algo
que me moverá el piso
y denuevo caeré en el caos
sin querer queriendo
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.
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 who 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
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
it’s where my demons decide to come out to play
they dance with traumatic memories
making my fears and insecurities come out to the surface
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
being insane becomes my personality and aesthetic
scaring away any potential love candidates
it’s been a long time since I held someone’s hand
much less been in someone’s bed
It’s the wild wild went inside my head
And I wonder when will the demons get tired and leave
so maybe one day I’m not so jaded
so maybe one day I give someone the chance
to take me out on a date
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
