I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
Listening to my writing playlist while high
a lot of songs about men begging the women
to come back
Interesting
It is a hidden fetish, fantasy I had
a man continuously
suffering for me
regretting the day they fumbled me
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Check your privilege at the door
every single white person who comes
asking for my opinion
I can’t be your agreeable POC anymore
Check your privilege at the door
I’m not the voice for my community
with you, certain topics I can’t explore
don’t use me as another learning opportunity
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
one day in bed and my son acts like its the end of the world
demands I get up and act like an adult
like the mother he’s used to seeing
but in defiance, I stay in bed
reading poetry and allow the muse to come and allow me
to pour out of me and land on paper
for once I won’t allow the patriarchy define how I should act,
who I should be
for once I allow the poet me to be my first priority
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
her warmth keeps me safe and loved
it protects me from the harshness of this world
I call her Mami
her strength inspires me to stand up for myself
it makes me want to become a better version of myself
I call her my sister
Her ability to be there for me keeps me from dying
It keeps from falling into a dark abyss
I call her my friend
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone
but I wish death upon you
the minute your child posted about your open heart surgery
and immediately , it makes sense,
a man with a weak mind has an even weaker heart
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone
but I wish death upon you
couldn’t you die on the operating table?
you never deserved your life with your beautiful children
you-who made me carry the burden of shame and guilt
for years and years
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone but I wish death upon you
you-who desecrated my morality and ethics through
your domestic authority
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone but I wish death upon you
because someone like doesn’t deserve to breathe
the same breath of real human beings
I wrote to this poem in March of 2022.
I should go back to where I come from and where is that exactly
here -is the only real home I’ve ever known
here – is where all of my babies were born
here- is where I’ve loved and I’ve mourned
so where is my place
because anywhere else feels like a home unknown
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
hot summer nights on your porch
meant the world to me
and inspired an unusual amount of poems
I’m starting to think that writing poems
is how I hold onto the magic of our memories
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
longing to escape responsibility of my suburban life
I became 21 again and did drugs and fucked stranger men
I never meant any harm, I just wanted to know
what it was like to not be looked
at as someone’s mother, someone’s wife
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
kept the dead rose petals along with your note as long as I could
it was the first time a man had acknowledged me worthy enough
of a rose
and at 16, that was everything
I wrote this poem in March of 2021.
I don’t want to but have to be the boss
the boss of my family
the boss in my relationships
the boss of my life
it sucks to take charge and dominate all of the spaces
it sucks to have so many responsibilities thrust upon me
it sucks to always have to shrink myself for egos
it sucks to never be in a space where for once
I can be soft
I wrote this poem in March of 2021.
feeling my otherness feels like a full time job
not belonging to here or there
constantly in limbo wondering “where is my home?
they hate me here, they hate me there
I don’t belong anywhere but I remain here
it’s the only home I’ve ever known
America
home of the free, home of the brave
but never my HOME!
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
flickering ashes, among them, the bride’s dress
dreams of a family
dreams of a white picket fence all went up in smoke
jilted and pregnant
bride cries on the floor, waiting for the sentencing
from her parents
now that her lover jilted her
and couldn’t make an honest woman out of her
I wrote this poem in March of 2019.
Feeling hopeless in a cesspool of a world
That will never accept you
-for your skin color
-for your accent
-for your nationality
-for your religion or lack of one
-for your independent thought
Anything that doesn’t fit the image
of white and Christian is blasphemous
To be an “other” is to carry the weight of racism,
discrimination, xenophobia
All the phobias on your already burdened shoulders
So they try to kill us with actual guns Or
metaphorical ones of insults,rejections or looks of disgust.
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
Y’all should have known better than to fuck with me
trying me on while I was still finding my footing as a woman
to lust after me because of my curves and pretty face
Never thinking my brain was still developing
Never weighing the consequences of how your selfish ways
would hurt me
Instead I was just fodder for your game of lust-
and you became inspiration for stories and poems about trauma
I still wonder who I would turned out to be-
if only you two would have left me alone
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
between heartbeats and honeysuckle, they fell in love
this time, it was different for both of them
this time it didn’t take much to see that both of them
Wanted to exchange I dos
this time they believed in forever and happily ever after
