la ira y furia de mis antepasados femeninas viven en mi ellas me visitan en sueños y me mandan mensajes que cuentan sus historias, sus verdades aunque duelan, aunque algunas me llamaran sádica y dramática ellas me inquietan y me dicen es tiempo de gritar todas las injusticias y trastornos vividow que nuestras muertes no han sido en vano y aunque lloro y trato de ignorar la llamada de la sangre es inevitable-fui escogida- para sus venganzas, para sus historias de redención
I pay tribute to the women who came before me women who sacrificed so my parents could exist my mami who had to leave behind her culture, traditions, and language to give me a better life to make sure I grow up safe and well educated and taught me what strength and resilience means as she worked long days to make ends meet as she showed initiative to move our family forward and with her example I was able to follow it except I change it up some to live a life full of love, community and creativity
always restless and wild from the start nothing could contain me or dim my spark leg braces, overprotective parents it didn’t matter I always found a way to make trouble, to investigate, always too curious for my own good and too dramatic and emotional for mostly everyone always good at making people uncomfortable sometimes it’s a curse, sometimes it’s a blessing can’t change this part of myself I have, am and will always be like this
at 17, the pregnant bride to be got a telegram from her groom sorry, but I’m betrothed to another and am getting married at gun point maybe it was the heavy feeling of rage or her aries nature and hormones the jilted bride with a silent fury went to her closet and took out her ostentatiously beaded wedding dress and with matches in her hand she went outside and set fire to it in front of the family home one of the younger siblings saw the insanity as the bride stared at it mesmerized by fire that grew and grew she walked towards it all sense of reality gone from her not hearing the screams from her abuela who ran towards her and just before the bride step foot in the fire la abuela shook her and slapped her across the face until the bride reacted, let out a loud wail heard across the farmland and fainted
wonder how it happened- the transaction between beatriz’ papi and luis did beatriz have any say in her future betrothal did she have dreams as a little girl about her future husband did she even love Luis or just tolerate him because it’s what was expected of her how did it happen did she wish for a different life for her daughters one where they loved their husbands one where they were treated like humans and not treated like cattle
el cielo se cayó sobre mí aquella noche cuando me destruiste con una llamada y por muchas semanas llore echada sobre el piso hasta quedarme dormida por muchas semanas deseaba desaparecer en un abismo del olvido y 10 años despues todavia pienso en aquella mañana fatal donde perdí la poca inocencia que todavía tenía
overwhelmed by the sights and sounds at jorge chavez airport fast castellano coming from everyone with cumbia in the background machu picchu advertisements everywhere my mind is trying to process everything in real time I’m here, I’m here, I’m here the land of inca cola, ceviche and my ancestors land that I haven’t seen since the age of 9 and didn’t fully appreciate it happy and completely elated euphoria and goosebumps felt from my bones to my skin I never thought I’d see it again poverty kept me away but I’m here, I’m here, I’m here my beloved Perú the land I left without consent the land I was taught to menospreciar I’m here, I’m here, I’m here and I can’t wait to get reacquainted with you mi tierra-once again
ni siquiera ha sido un año y hay un mar entre los dos el deseo y la pasión que alguna vez compartimos se fue y caímos en un olvido de obligaciones y rutina
dejan su patria por una mejor vida por el bienestar de su familia nunca pensando en las consecuencias de esta decisión nunca pensando del sufrimiento que este paso puede causar y al empezar su nueva vida en américa se enfrentar con la dura y cruel realidad de ser inmigrante nunca siendo aceptados, siempre ser tratados como algo menos de ser humanos siempre teniendo que trabajas el doble, el triple para poder sobrevivir nunca dándose el lujo de parar para procesar sus sentimientos o lo que están viviendo hasta años después cuando todo el trauma que vivieron viene como un huracán en su mente, en su cuerpo que se adueña de ellos y no los quiere soltar
nachos y queso son un poema de amor para mi estómago satisface mi antojo para algo salado mi lengua se despierta cuando el queso se derrite en mi boca y me mareo con júbilo y me vuelvo una víctima a mi glotonería mi lengua se vuelve más avaricioso mientras que mi presión arterial vuela y vuela hasta que mi corazón amenaza con explotar
llévame a recorrido de tu utopía del cual tu siempre hablas el sitio donde no hay trastornos Mentales donde todos nos quedamos dormidos sin la necesidad de tranquilizantes el cual a todos se le tratan con respeto y son celebrados por ser diferentes y no son marginados o insultados
me in my luchadoras gear ready to go into my second job
I channel the luchadoras before me the ones who had to work in the chacras to provide for their families, the ones who had to work with their bare hands to build generational wealth the ones who survived infidelities, abuse, and tragedies and still came out on top as Queens the ones who never had the option to lay down and princess to be doted on, be taken care of they had to become working class luchadoras for the betterment of themselves and their families
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then My middle age self brings to the surface and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
abuela Gaby sends me hints that she wants her story to be told but I can barely remember her she tells me to still try with the bits I have I ask her for patience I want to get it right, I want to do her story justice she tells me, “hemos vivido vidas paralelas” las palabras te vendrán fácilmente pronto” and adds, “es como vas a sanar, es como empiezas a entenderte” and I don’t understand what it means, I don’t understand her interest in me now and how I became a messenger of her story, “ni siquiera pensé que me querías Abuela, you always pulled my hair” and she replies, “es que era duro ver nacer y crecer a alguien que se parecía tanto a mi, me traía demasiados sentimientos encontrados, porque sabía que tu espiritu seria difícil de dominar” and while I try my best to comprehend what she tells me – it’s hard to wrap my head around her message and all of the conflicting stories about her from my family so I’m going to make it a point to find out her story through her letters and pictures- abuela, I want to do your story justice I can’t rush through this yours is one of the most important stories I’ll share in my lifetime
Life on the BPD 