I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Maybe it’s lack of sex or lack of sleep but I must declare-
Christopher Columbus is a piece of shit
Maybe it’s my own insecurities or maybe it’s a projection
but I must say you can get away with murder
if you’re a white male
Maybe it’s the BPD and the depression
But I must scream FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Sadness
el monstruo de la oscuridad me persigue y me caza
no hay salida y me encuentro en una jaula
con la voz de mi crítica interna
que me repite “no vales la pena, no vales la PENA,
NO VALES LA PENA”
Y trato de razonar con la voz
pero no me escucha y me siento esclavizada
por ella sin saber lo que me espera
here is the English version of this poem:
Poetry: It Hurts
quisiera matar las mariposas que siento dentro de mi
porque los cuentos de amor siempre acaban en tragedia para mi-
pero ya es demasiado tarde
no puedo dejar en pensar en ti
no puedo parar lo que siento por ti
here is the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Wishful Thinking
esta vez, me sorprende que me sacaron los cuernos-
el era tan bueno, tan amable
me decía “te quiero” religiosamente
pero las apariencias engañan
y ahora me toca vengarme
I wrote this poem in October 2022.
Maybe I need a new love story-even if it’s temporary
so I can find relief and some peace from this loneliness
That’s making me into an insane mess
Maybe losing myself in someone else
Will stop making me feel less-
or perhaps what’s really happening
It’s me allowing my depression talk me into finding a solution-
for my neverending frustration with healing and growth
and always having to look within for what I need
But perhaps if I had somebody maybe for once, I could just be
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: El Pasado
a tsunami of trauma washes over me and I regress to being 16-
as I walk on the beach where I first fell in love
as I stand on the bridge where I lost my shit and almost jumped off-
regret and guilt sit at the bottom of my stomach
and I want to vomit
Instead, I pause and count to ten and breathe
and I’m transported back to my present
I’m safe again in my body-
as I come to accept and love
the immature and impulsive girl I once was
who carelessly gave herself to others
who never thought about the consequences
and took risks
she wasn’t the atrocity I made her out to be-
she was just in a rush to live her life
Here’s the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: Remembrance
cierro los ojos y un maremoto de nostalgia viene hacia mi
y corro y corro y corro pero me alcanza que me ahogo
y parte de mi quisiera regresar a mi pasado contigo cuando era feliz
y casi, casi te mando un mensaje preguntándote
Como estas? Si todavía sigues con ella? Si, por fin encontraste la felicidad que tanto anhelabas?
pero, mi abuela interviene y me sacude, abro mis ojos y regreso a mi presente
y encuentro mi razón y susurro al universo que te deseo lo mejor
pero acepto que lo nuestro cuento de amor es algo definitivamente acabado
como los cuentos de hadas que papi me contaba cuando era niña
Aqui esta la version en espanol de este poema:
Poesía: Parar de Amarte
One day the memory of you will fade away
and my heart will be grateful for that-
because I can’t move on to a new love story
until I stop dreaming of you
until I stop writing about you
It wouldn’t be fair to me or to him
to attempt to write a new love story
when remnants of the old one
still show up in my poetry
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
Poesia: Quisiera Ser
let’s forget our past love stories
and focus on the one we’re living
the one we’re still writing
let’s agree that anyone before you,
anyone before me
were just practice for the honest and magical
love we’re experiencing
let’s focus on our present
and start planning our future
that’s waiting to be lived
that’s waiting to be written
Life on the BPD 