I’m in love and I hold my breath
wondering when this wondrous feeling
will end.
When will you stop looking at me
like I’m magic?
When will I stop fantasizing about you?
When will we both tire of each other?
When will we end up in a predictable rut?
So I hold on to this moment when I’m in love
and hold my breath hoping that it’s a long time
before the end.
I painted myself as pretty picture
And neatly put my myself
in a pretty little box
that he could take out
and open at his convenience
I painted myself as a pretty picture
and left out my ugly and temperamental nature
because I didn’t want him to leave
I painted myself as a pretty picture
for him to admire and love as it pleased him
and I ended up leaving out the real me
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
for once I want to be missed, for once I want to be remembered
for once I want to feel valuable and worth effort
but it’s a fantasy I need to let go of
it’s a dream that will never come true
it’s time to grow up and plant my feet firmly on the ground
acknowledge my worth and hold onto my pride and dignity
and stop chasing delusions and daydreams
aside for all of the inspiration
it’s never gotten me anywhere
Mother of three
What does that even mean?
Responsibilities, obligations, duties
Alcohol and going out are taboo for me
Songs of sacrifices and martyrdom
Are the tunes I hum
Dinner with friends and
concerts are just WRONG!
Soccer games and play dates
Are my important dates
No time to spend
With my lifetime mates?
Mother of three,
Will I ever be free?
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
three years ago, I was dealing with the most chaotic move of my life
never thought my new home would see the death of me
the princess who moved in
and the resurrection of the queen I was about to become
I told myself “no expectations”
“Just use him for a short time”
That’s all he’ll be good for
But his words, his gaze
His hands, his lips
Felt like home the first night
This can’t be happening
This can’t be real
This isn’t who I want to be with
But my heart wouldn’t listen
To the logic in my head,
The advice from my friends
I had the first hit and I needed to go back-
I feel like a pathetic drug addict-
I told myself “no expectations”
And yet a year later-
Here we still are in our
Intense and passionate love affair
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
saw you and knew right away there wouldn’t be a second date
thought I made that apparent enough at the end
but 3 years later you send me a snap to ask me
if I’m still interested
Sorry
but the woman you met is no longer who I used to be
maybe you had a chance with her
but the new me-she’s careful who she gives access to
the new me has cut off any strings left
from the old life the old me use to live
Healthy is boring
When you only know
pain, strife, and destruction
from those who claim to love you
Healthy is boring
when toxicity and chaos
and insecurity
ruled previous relationships
Healthy is boring
when “love” was a word
that held me hostage
to previous lovers
Healthy is boring
when for the first time
with a lover
you feel a sureness
With him
And you feel like you’re enough
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
waited for you at the bar as I downed a margarita
anxiety and anticipation sat in my belly
wondering if I could be your dream girl
wondering if this time you’d kiss me
Wondering if there would ever come a day
I’d regret meeting you
I wrote this in August of 2020 when
Thoughts in my head
race up and down
Thoughts about
my mediocre reality
Thoughts about all
of the failures in my life–
I want it to stop
but my brain-
my crazy brain won’t stop
SO I keep thinking
Is it just a matter of time
before he tires of me and leaves?
Will I ever reach that sweet spot
of stability and contentment?
Or will I always live this miserable
experience of dreadful anxiety?
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
everytime you disappear, I lose an ounce
of the fondness and affection I hold for you
this last time,I didn’t even notice
I thought, good for him
he found someone else to stroke his ego
and validate him
but here you are again
everything I once felt for you
has dried out
and I have nothing left to say
as you try to nonchalantly come back into my life
I’m filled with indifference this time
holding onto my new sense of empowerment
careful to not again fall under your spell
once again
Here’s a poem I wrote about being Peruvian American:
What was the last live performance you saw?
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
brown eyes
scorpio energy
takes my hand
I’m in trouble
warm rush of emotions
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
never understood why you took us with you
maybe it was to assuage your guilt
maybe it was say you really did nice things
for me and my brother
inviting us to an all day road trip to Tijuana
in your air conditioned Blazer
silent as mice and on our best behavior
to not disturb you, your husband and your son
it was all so strange
the only thing I can remember
was the messiest hamburgers
we needed a hundred napkins to eat
and the picture with the donkey
maybe you were kind and graceful
with us at times
but all of that has been lost with the trauma
you incurred on us I’ve blocked out
and 34 years later in my middle age
sitting in my hot car in between jobs
I still don’t understand why you took
us with you
Life on the BPD 