I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
help her find hope after becoming the worst version of herself
after getting herself entangled with men who did nothing
but hurt her
help her find grace after the fall from the altar of love
men placed her on and she turned into a monster
who resembled medusa
help her find a path to enlightenment and purpose
after she once again drowns in waves
nostalgia and grief over what could have been
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’d never say I lost time with any of my love stories-
they all taught me something about myself
They all inspired me to write poetry
and two of them help me create my three kings
even if some of my love stories left me decimated
and almost destroyed me
they were all worthy for the love I felt
the growth and progress I had
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
next valentine’s day I want to be calm especially if I’m still alone
I want my nervous system to be ultra regulated and not the mess
it currently is
next valentine’s day I don’t want to entertain vengeful fantasies
of getting my baseball bat to scare couples in the middle
of their romantic dinner
Next valentine’s day I don’t to keep playing the role of bitter,jaded,
and lonely bitch who allows herself to become a wreck
at the mere mention of romantic love
Next valentine’s day I’m rewriting the script of grief stricken lonely girl
and will make it a day that will reflect on all of the love I have in my life
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
never set out to become a feminist but somehow ended up becoming everything
opposite of what I was taught a woman should be
in my young girl’s mind
a husband and children should have made me happy
even when I observed all of the women around drown in misery
always complaining about their husbands and kids
I thought that maybe with me, it’d be different
and when I found myself in my grown up conditioned woman narrative
I almost tried to die in that reality and knew it was never for me
and for a while I searched for answers in others until I looked within
and understood, i alone am magic
I alone without a man am really enough
and the only one responsible for my happiness and to make my dreams come true
all a man ever did was drag me down and made me feel like the dirt on his shoe
or like an ornament to take out at times for his convenience
and when I realized all of this
that’s when I became an unintentional feminist, unapologetic and unashamed
to be the woman I always wanted to be but had been too afraid to embrace
until my middle age
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
me and my family have immigration jokes for day on end
and some of my friends think that’s sick and awful
but its one of the only things
that helps me and my family keep our sanity
in Trump’s American is making fun of our misery and misfortune
it’s how we’ve survived generations of corrupt governments
and wannabe dictators
its how we’ve passed resilience and strength to future generations
sure, we may cry at first as the life we’ve worked hard for
starts falling apart and our plans for the future are shattered
because of a few megarich and corrupt maga idiots
who run our government
but right after we wipe our tears and break out in jokes
and laughter
especially now that what’s supposed to be the land of the free
gets more and more fascist
and we swim closer and closer to nazi waters
the only thing we can do is try to find a way to smile, to laugh,
to find a bit of joy no matter how fucked up in may seem
in this dystopian clusterfuck
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
rose gold cross ripped from her neck
handcuffs cutting into her smalls wrists
mami and papi can’t explain why
they’re nowhere to be found
she thought officers were supposed to be good people
but they hurl insults at her and call her a criminal
and at 10 she can hardly grasped
the severity of the situation
they tell her over and over again
“we’re taking you back to where you came from”
and it’s beyond her compression
because her birth certificate says Illinois
because America is the only home she’s ever known
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
I’m pregnant, it’s yours, I want to keep it
I start crying
“Just get rid of it you tell me
he fairytale died that day
I’m at your apartment drunk
And you;re drunk, we fight, then we kiss
And you take me in-but then you feel guilt
And kick me out I
The fairytale died that day
I’m at your apartment
I want to hold you and kiss you
I yearn for you
You imply I can’t be trusted
The fairytale died that day
I wrote this in February of 2021.
The winds of defiance rules my heart
I love someone I shouldn’t
Who stirs up hate and love
within me
I feel underwhelmed
by everything wonderful
in my life
The winds of defiance rule my heart
And I shouldn’t want to run
from my beautiful lover
and yet I want to
And I desire danger and intensity
even if what I really need
is peace and calm
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Mason like the jar was his name
being a fuckboy was his game
He tried to act wise beyond his 23 years
But he was still wet behind his ears
He thought he could deceive me
and lies and lies and lies he told me
told me he lived with a roommate
when it was really his soul mate
He wanted his ice cream and cake
but I saw through his con game
And right away I stopped our lust filled affair
My respect I needed to firmly declare
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Nobody knew about our sexcapade
You were a temporary escape
From the emptiness and loneliness
I felt in my suburban adolescence
Nobody knew about me and you
Until I could no longer hide
the living creature inside
Nobody knew about me and you
Until my belly grew and grew
And half of it was you
Nobody knew about our short fling
Until one day I had to sing
I’m pregnant with a stranger’s baby
No,he’ll never be the one or even a maybe
escribí poema en enero del 2025.
nunca será la mujer de tu vida y me toca aceptar esta realidad
que alguien como tu siempre me mirara como alguien común
y nunca pensarás que quizás soy algo más que una mujer bella
nunca notaras que soy el fuego de inspiración que puede ser tu musa
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
I fall in love easily
Reckless without abandon
Wanting to give him
My everything
This is my fairytale
I am sixteen
I fall in love with caution,
with time, with patience
with acceptance
Wanting to give him
My forever
This is my fairytale
I am 23
I fall in love immediately
Impulsively, sexually
Wanting to give him a love
he’s never known before
This is my fairy tale
I am 37
I fall in love with laughter,
With dancing, with practicality
I want to give him my life
This is my fairytale
I am 39
I fall in love with my body
With my creativity, with my resilience
I want to pour all the love I have
Into myself
I am 40
This is my reality
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
once upon a time I wrote a lovely poem about us
and called it by starlight
it told the story of our first night
but now you’re gone and all I’m left with
are memories of who we once were
and while I miss you
I know it’s better this way
we both needed a clean slate from our baggage
to start anew with someone else
we both needed to have a brand new start
with someone who fits into the new versions
of who we are now
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
My former lover prays for me because I won’t fuck him
Is this how it feels like to change my story from on call whore
to an I’m healing and deserve better “Woman
Is this how it feels like to to go from fun girl to healthy woman
I use to measure my worth by who loved me or who wanted to fuck me
but those days of impulsivity and “hey, this will be fun”
are long gone
Now are the days of painful transformations,therapy worksheets, self reflection
and most importantly self love
So I put away my sexy vixen persona
And I put on my ” “I’m authentic without apologies persona”
I’ve stopped living to please others
and now live to please myself
I wrote this in January of 2022 when I was depressed.
I welcome death to take me away tonight-
death must be better than the anger
that has made an eternal home in me
death must feel better than this emptiness
that lies in my heart
death has to be better than this sorrow
that floods my pillow with tears continuously
death would be better than my emotions
that threaten to consume me
Life on the BPD 