I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
Eventually I had to come up for air from my bubble
and live in the real world where bills are piling up,
people continue to crash out on my social media feed,
and I face a constant existential dread constantly
wondering if I am doing enough
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
I’m paid less than everyone according to the statistics
and it’s simply because of my ethnicity and gender
at times I get mad about this
but then I’m like, it is what it is
and won’t change in the near future
instead I continue to work hard for my and my kids betterment
and try my best to live out my immigrant dream
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
we hear the ice cream truck and we beg mami for money
we tell her to hurry before the ice cream truck realizes he’s in the hood
she gives us all of the change in her purse
and all of us run to the ice cream truck
my favorite is a fudgesicle
it taste like an almost normal childhood
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
one last hit before we have to call it quits
before we have to move on to new love stories
before we have to grow up and forget
our Alice and Peter personas
and try to find something mature, something healthy,
something long lasting
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
he’s loved me from the start even if I’ve been high maintenance
his love has never wavered even when I came home pregnant at 17
he never took away his encouragement
even though I married a man almost as old as him
he is my papi-
he’s not perfect in any shape,way or form
but his love is almost close to perfect
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
Cochran street was supposed to be our bright new start in a new country
naive immigrants we all were thinking america would accept us
thinking our family would have our back
instead my parents were exploited and me and my siblings
were treated like indentured servants-
we never talk about how the toxic it all was
or the trauma it brought or how we tried to fit in a country
where we were squares in a peg holes
and how dad fell further into his addiction and depression
and we don’t talk about any of this because dirty laundry
is never aired out in public
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
your love is pure and evergreen and I’m surprised by it
never had anything like it and part of me wants to sabotage it
start a stupid fight where you end up as another catastrophe
I add to my tome of my lust and love
but something tells me, it’s my anxiety doing a number on me
and I’m deathly afraid of how close we are getting
and for now I pause, I breathe, I tell myself this time
it’s different this time, i’m not some hidden secret kept in your pocket
this time, both of us have done the work and gone to therapy
this time, we both have eyes open and have shown most of our cards
this time, it could work out
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
today I won’t write a poem
because I’ve just lived one
for the past 24 hours
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
As a child I naively thought america was the land of the free
it’s the greatest myth sold to everyone
especially to immigrants
as an adult, I found out the truth
American is the land of the free-
but you have to meet certain conditions
1)you have to be white
2)you have to christian
3)you have to be male
and now that I found out about the conditional freedom of America
I’m no longer shocked by its many atrocities
This is a poem I wrote in July. I was angry when I wrote it. Lol.
celebrating a country that rips babies apart from their parents
and takes away rights from the marginalized
and makes anyone who’s not white and christian feel unwelcome
feels like the cruelest irony
it’s celebrating genocide, racism, prejudice, xenophobia, and white supremacy
it’s celebrating everything atrocious and wrong about this country
it almost feels like a personal violation of my beliefs
to celebrate the hypocrisy of this country
founded on genocide and slavery
who claims liberty and justice for all
but “all” is really white, christian and male
so I’m passing on this year’s 4th of July celebrations
because except for a small portion of Americans
no one can claim true freedom
or independence in this American Land
The main thing I’ve done to improve my sleep is try to go to the gym consistently. I do this especially when I’m depressed, super stressed out or just feeling super angry. It helps to relax me and it tires me out. Sometimes, when it’s not so hot, I do try to go for a 30 min walk/jog. It’s also helpful for mental clarity. There’s also something about the right song hitting when you’re on the treadmill or stairmaster that’s rather powerful and invigorating. I always leave the gym in a much better mood.
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
one day the weight of this burden I carry won’t feel so heavy
and it won’t be so tough to exist in a country that wants to exterminate
people like me or my family,
one day this nightmare will be over and the hypervigilance I’m living
will cease to exist
one day will come unexpectedly and I’ll find my way back to safety
and security
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
even in our middle age, our mami still tends to us
calling us, asking about our eating habits and love life
giving bits of wisdom and encouragement
still worrying about us
she doesn’t have to
but it’s her nature to do so
it’s a habit of almost half a century that’s hard to break
it’s a tradition of an unconditional mother’s love
What’s the best way to deal with negative thoughts?
On the days when I feel like a complete failure cause I got like 3 or 4 rejection emails for my poems and my bank account is almost in the negative. I do a couple of things.
Or I write a list of new goals and manifestations.
I also remind myself that bad days are inevitable and temporary. Try to remind myself how much progress I’ve had the past 10 years and I’ve been through worst times and made it through the other side. Also, at the very least, I will have gotten inspiration for a new poem so, technically I still win. I also remind myself that rejection and failure are part of the process and have also been my greatest lessons.
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
My humble beginnings make men want to play savior with me
as I tell them about my childhood drenched in poverty and chaos
they try to act like white knights trying to rescue from the cinderella trauma
I suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to protect me
but what they understand is that it’s not how they will earn my heart
because all I want is to be heard, to bee seen as an equal
and not a poor victim of my tragic life circumstances
Life on the BPD 