I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
my roots are locked in a this land
that calls me an other, a forever foreigner
a land where I’ve never felt welcomed
and yet this is what I call home
this is where I went to school
this is where my children were born and raised
this is the only other place I’ve called home
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
hope emerges from beyond
and I finally feel a lightness in me
is this what they call healing
is is what they call the power of love
What was your first ever videogame?
Mario on the screen as my brother plays Nintendo
I reach for the control as Mario dies for the second time
my Primo stops me and says this is not a girl’s game
at 7, I sulk at the unfairness of it
I too want to go on adventures in a pixelated reality
but I know better than to say anything
at 7, I’m old enough to understand
it’s best to stay in my Woman’s Place
3/8/25
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
cautiously I try to paint you into my future
and see how you fit into my vision of forever
hoping you’ll be the one who’ll prove me wrong
and I’ll stop standing on the hill named
“I’m too fucked up to be loved”
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
the breeze kissed my face in Lima as we drove past the ocean
and I was enchanted I was in love
with the place I was born in
with the place of my ancestors
my Peru is beautiful and magnificent
with a rich history of a people who have been conquered,
of a people who have endured –
of a proud people who carry their patriotism in their hearts and bones
and the best part-I get to call this place home
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
All of the ingredients for a long term love and I fawn
I don’t think I’ve ever here before you
you shower me with consistency, desire, attention and respect
you actually care about how I’ve slept
you know how to reassure me repeatedly
I’m worthy enough to be loved
and all of my past romantic tragic comedies
were a all practice and experience for you
a real sanctuary to lay me love in
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in the dark shadows of the earth
lies the outliers and outcasts
the ones we many times ignore
or only talk about in quiet whispers
we pity them, we’re afraid of them, we avoid them
we don’t want to catch their disease of poverty or insanity
we don’t know how to see their humanity
and honestly it makes us, and not them, the real monsters
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
for a brief moment, everything felt perfect
your hand on the steering wheel
another hand on my thigh, a taylor swift song
blasting from the radio
it felt like anything was possible
and this was my moment of ultimate redemption
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in Lima, I never had to tone down my theatrics
everyone was just like me
not filtering what was on their mind
they left no thoughts behind
loud and emotional is seen as normal
passionate is the standard
i never had to reign myself in
I could just be without thinking
without doing any explaining
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
drove towards the moon, full of uncertainty and ambiguity
Wondering what’s next for me, tired of being the foundation
tired of acting like I don’t crash out
Drove towards the moon full of uncertainty and ambiguity
trying to manifest something softer and calmer for myself
where I’m not fighting for survival
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
I sigh at the horizon in front of me as L.A is under siege again
and this time they’ve declared a state of emergency
I want to avoid the news, turn off my phone for a few days,
lock myself away in a cabin with my boyfriend
somewhere in the appalachian mountains
where I can forget the rest of the world
But I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
I wasn’t raised to look away in the face of injustice
or when the safety of my loved ones are compromised
instead I remain hypervigilant
Always on alert of this administration’s next dickhead move
hoping it’s enough to keep my loved ones protected
from chaos and destruction
hoping one day this madness will end
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in Lima, people sing out loud at the table, in the car
they don’t carry the shame and embarrassment of Americans
they show their happiness, sadness, anger and all of their emotions out loud
unafraid to be cast as emotional and dramatic
they wear badges of passion, grief, anger and love on a prominent place
without caring about what the judgment of others and it’s fucking beautiful
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
it’s almost halloween and almost a year since I lost contact with you
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
Laufey’s too little, too late plays on repeat
A sense of guilt hits me wondering what we could have been
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
my boyfriend told me I’m wife material
I’ve resigned myself to the fact there never will be an us
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
Time and luck never was on our side
No matter how hard both of us tried
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
you left your lighter at the bar along with your story of grief and trauma
it’s the last time your body had life-
it’s the last time you told bad jokes and laughed
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
let’s take a midnight flight to Tokyo and get lost in Japan
like that Shawn Mendes song
let’s eat great sushi if there is such a thing
and pretend we’re 15 again
and so free spirited and carefree
