poetry: international women’s day

I wrote this poem in March of 2023.

two badass women against the patriarchy

women are recognized all over the world today
but none of us are equal
we still have to fight the same bullshit every day
if we’re human and show emotion, we’re labeled crazy or dramatic
if we want to show off our bodies, we’re labeled slutty or conceited
if we don’t give in to our partners because they’re “in the mood”
we are called prudes, frigid bitches or worse,
we feel obligated to give in to avoid being raped
it we’re educated and try to succeed in our careers
men are intimidated by us and try hard to dim our light
and if we are loud and take up space
we are labeled as too much and abandoned
it’s like as much as the media try to paint a picture of equality
it’s all a fucking lie
because in my 42 years on this earth
I haven’t lived anywhere where my existence is valued
as much as man’s

poetry: my covid trauma speaks for me

I wrote this poem in March of 2023. I guess I was angry that day. Lol.

ask me how I self medicated during the height of the pandemic

I’m still salty about how you quarantined assholes
treated us essential workers
looking down on us, treating us like the plague
making judgy statuses about we were all subpar
I hope Karma got to some of you
and you didn’t just get COVID one time
but you got it three or four times
I hope y’all got a lifetime of insomnia
and cholesterol problems you have to take pills for the rest of your pathetic lives
I hope y’all got a guilty conscience and life fucked you over and over again

poetry: prison

I wrote this poem in March of 2020.

me in March of 2020

Trapped in this self made prison-
Trapped in what I thought was the American Dream
/but in reality is the immigrant nightmare
Trapped in my mom’s life
Trapped under a heavy blanket of strength
I continue to cloak myself in
Trapped in a suburban hell
of family and responsibilities
Trapped because I wasn’t patient enough,
wasn’t independent enough
to build the life I truly wanted
And instead settled
for a mediocre one
Trapped because of my fear of being lonely
a fear that has chained me to a heavy present
without any hope for the future

poetry: my anger walks in

I wrote this poem in March of 2023.

watch out when I have this look on my face…lol

my anger walks in and I feel an earthquake within
and I become the saltiest bitch
Writing poetry about anyone who’s wronged me
but then again it is entertaining
Seeing how mean and petty I can be
It’s not like I’m vindictive or seeking out revenge
most of these new angry poems won’t be shared with the world
it will be kept inside the pages of my notebooks and journals
I just need to let it out and scream
Fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, fuck the world, fuck everything
Before I take it out on anybody
before I post something stupid and cringy I’ll regret later
before I allow the world to know how I’m burning

poetry: solitude

I wrote this poem in March of 2019.

honestly tho

Alone in my solitude
I am again-
trying to get through
My bout of crippling loneliness
When all I want to do is disappear-
and escape from the life I created
The picture perfect life
where everyone and everything
seems to fit in an perfect puzzle
It’s a imperfect perfection
That’s slowly killing me,
breaking parts of my sanity,
Parts of the real me-
where I understand
henrik Ibsen’s protagonists

poetry: fuck this journey

I wrote this poem in March of 2023.

this journey be hard sometimes

Sometimes I’m like fuck this healing journey
can I just go back to the woman I used to be
the woman who invited and welcome chaos in
the woman who needed a man to make her feel complete
the woman who bought into society’s conditioning about who she should be
can I just be her for a day or two
To get some perspective as to why this journey is so important to me

poetry: stumble

I wrote this poem in March of 2023.

my and my sensitive soul…sigh

I stumble and fall all the time
but no one knows about it
I’m great at masking my pain
with makeup, pretty dress, and statuses
about how I’m living my best life
when in reality, I fantasize about disappearing
into a black hole
because life feels like a terrible chore
that messes with my sensitive soul

poetry: mother of three

I wrote this in February of 2019

I’m still asking myself this question

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 late
Night 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?

poetry: comfortable

I wrote this poem in February of 2020.

me in February of 2020

Comfortable will keep you locked
in loveless marriage
Comfortable will keep you trapped
in an easy and boring job
Comfortable will keep you miserable
in a mediocre life
Comfortable will keep you settling
for less than you deserve
Comfortable will find you one day
And make you swallow a bottle of pills
so you can sleep away
your comfortable and mediocre existence

 

poetry: repurpose

I wrote this in February of 2019.

I bet Paul Steck had some demons

out of the most depressed minds comes the greatest creativity
I wonder why that is–
Is it because there are no limits in our imagination?
Is it because we live 100 lives in 1 lifetime?
Is it because we are easily inspired by devastation and loss?
It is because pain and sadness flows out of us
more easily than others and we have a necessity
to repurpose it as art?