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Ivy

9/30/2023

Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.

the ceilings of America are laced with poison ivy
every time I act out of the norm or forget to code switch
people tell me I’m too dramatic -ouch-
accused of being toxic and crazy-damn
and a rash of doubt takes over my mind
I’ll never fit it, no one will ever love or accept me
and I turn down who I am
but even that doesn’t work
it makes things worse
and I explode and project-
fuck you, you’re blocked
then I discover therapy -slowly I heal
accept the pieces of myself that will never fit in
exhibit myself in my most authentic form
and slowly the poison ivy becomes an ivy of love and growth
and I understand that to be happy
I need let go of normalcy
and embrace my unconventional and eccentric self

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poetry: under

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

me with one of my voices of reason

I feel left out by my friends and I cry and whine
“they hate me, I’m not good enough for them”
my voice of reason tells me
“it will be okay, you don’t need them”
it’s my sister

I break down in the middle of the sidewalk
and cry and scream
“I’m unworthy of love, I’ll be alone forever”
my voice of reason tells,
“that’s not true, you just need to focus on you boo”
It’s my son

my voice of reason has comforted me and loved me unconditionally
my voice of reason keeps me from going under

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poetry: epidemic

I wrote this poem in September of 2024.

me right after I wrote this poem

this time it hits too close to home
this time it feels like a matter of when
in America my children learn run, duck, and cover
before learning to spell the word “Gun”
but this is the deck of cards dealt to all of parents
living in America
safety in schools is an illusion long gone
since the days of Columbine
but with each massacre we all break a little more
and our anxiety skyrockets even more
the closer this epidemic gets to us
this time I’ll hug my teenager as tightly as possible
when he gets home, even as he rolls his eyes at me
and says, “ew”this time I allow my fury and rage
at this continued senseless violence to pour out of me
and on paper
collective and personal grief covers me
accepting once again, no matter what I do
or how hard I try or how much I love my child
I can’t shelter him, I can’t protect him
from the epidemic of violence in this country

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poetry: summer storms

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

always a triunfadora

the storms this summer have been intense and scary
Some days I had to run for cover, other days I ended up
saturated in self hate
the storms this summer tried desperately to tear me apart
ruin my reputation
everyone watched me waiting for me to turn into
a trainwreck
but instead I do what I always do
rise out of the ashes most triumphantly

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Poetry: how do you do it?

Back in 2023

people wonder how I do it all
two jobs, three kids, the stream of poetry
and still finding time for friends
and honestly sometimes i don’t know
perhaps its because i’m crazy
and have the determination to live
to live the fullest life I have
even within the limits I have
maybe I don’t to waste a single minute
of regret wishing I could have done that
or this like I used to and now just do
I’m no longer a woman of mere words
I’m a woman of actions

8/28/23

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poetry: marionettes

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

AI Generated Liz Taylor

Mae West and Liz Taylor knew how to take up space in a man’s world
and that was the problem with them
it intimidated the fuck out of the men who worked with them,
who loved them
so they were ostracized, made to be cautionary tales
the minute they got out of line
so much beauty partnered with intelligence
made them a target in a patriarchal society
that like their women cute and mute
like the marionettes they can pull strings on

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Poetry: Spiritual Journey

Summer Child

The journey into the broken pieces of my soul makes me cry out from agony felt
Solitude, vitamins, a healthy and boring routine
Affirmations with big and healthy dose of self compassion
are the requisites for healing and growth-
it’s a spiritual journey into healing my inner child
and it fucking hurts

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poetry: 80s TV

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

ai generated Peg Bundy

jem, brenda walsh, peg bundy, and many more empowered women
made their way to my tv screen in the 80s
when I was an immigrant child living in poverty
these characters helped me understand women are complex
and not the meek and submissive beings
my culture and religion led me to believe
these characters made a strong impression on me as a young girl
I didn’t have to live the story of the mujer sufrida
or saintly martyr
I could just be me and that would be enough

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poetry: day of the dead

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

this day of the dead, I’ll pay reverence to my female ancestors
i’ll build a shrine with their pictures and letters to honor them
it’s the least I can do do the generational gifts passed down to me
this day of the dead, I’ll pay reverence to my female ancestor
write down their stories and later on share them
remember that doing this heals something in me,
something in them

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Obsession

Daily writing prompt
What are you passionate about?
View all responses

My yen to better myself is has become an obsession
causing me constant frustration
being so self aware of my unhealthy patterns
leads me to self flagellation
Oh another poem about how I’m so toxic
or I’m a perpetual love addict
or I do everything wrong when it comes to love
When will I reach a point of enough
Enough with pointing out my faults
Enough of feeling my self imposed emotional claws
Enough of acting like I’m a monster
and how I’m consumed by anger
I know that healing means being self aware
but there’s gotta be something on the other side
of this constant despair

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Poetry: Labyrinth

the labyrinth of love made me lose who I was for a while
I used to base my sense of self on who loved me or who didn’t-
and thought I need a lover to feel whole
after every breakup, I had a breakdown
and it felt like an eternal labyrinth of despair
I couldn’t find my way out of
it was like the most complicated of Borges stories
caught in a complex maze of misunderstanding and intricacies
of my own mind
and for a while it felt like I’d never get out-
until faith shone a light on me
and it drove me out of the labyrinth of despair
and into a clear path of compassion and self love

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poetry: bothered

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

trying to not be bothered

when I’m bothered, when I’m embarrassed, when my inner critic
starts knocking on my mind’s door
the best thing I can do is reapply my lipstick, write some angry señora poetry
Remember the goddess that I am, and take my power back
I’m not some stupid and weak little bitch some people perceive me to be
(that narrative ended at age 40)
now, I take the disrespect and insults with grace
keep my composure, pretend I’m unbothered
even as I fume inside
I still keep on going
I won’t make a big fuss or call anyone out
that story usually ends with me being gaslit and called crazy
instead I adhere to the age old adage “aqui no paso nada”
Really being the opposite which is everything
my anger, rage, grief being the fuel to become better
to prove to myself and others
I’m not the mentally unstable bitch society perceives me to be

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poetry: when

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

trying find balance among the chaos

lately life has been a most unfortunate chain of events
and my universe is upside down
can’t tell which way is up, which way is down
I just want relief from this elephant of pressure
that sits on my chest
I know that it will get better
I know a sudden rush of clarity will come after this
but the not knowing when is killing me

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poetry: bomb

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

so annoying

the bomb of my insanity explodes and I try my best
to do damage control
tell my paranoid inner child not everyone’s out to get me
but it’s too late and I fall once again under the spell of depression
I try every single coping mechanism and it’s futile
I just need to sit and acknowledge my inner critic
and the dark and intrusive thoughts that come up
Understand and accept that shit is temporary
there will be better times ahead
for now it’s just annoying

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Poetry: sensitive

So sensitive 🥺

I try my best to try to trust the divine time of the universe
but on days like today I just want to disappear
under the covers of my bed
it’s not that I’m depressed I just need time
to myself and not be surrounded by everyone’s
bullshit
about capitalism, society’s ills, and how we all need to heal-
it all feels so repetitive like we’re all barely treading water
waking up with existential dread wondering
which catastrophe or tragedy comes next
it’s hard for someone as sensitive as me to keep functioning
to keep living under stress and duress of life
and the world’s toxicity
so on days like today I just want to disappear
under the covers of my bed