Men love a pretty mess like me especially the nice ones who want to fix me and save me I’m their pretty princess who’s so lovely and sweet And for some, my pussy makes them think or say they love me but when I turn from a pretty mess to a crazy and chaotic hurricane they can’t stand to be around me and run away “I never signed up for this, you’re toxic” and I cry and then laugh at the absurdity you don’t get to choose just to love the fun part of me because that’s not love that’s their primal need and lust for me disguised as loved because real love accepts everything about me
the day I was told I needed a total hip replacement surgery
my body has betrayed me one last time and this time I’ll take charge of it and control what’s happening this time I’m old enough to stop this nonsense and kill what’s causing me the most insufferable pain and I’ll replace the hip that’s the vane of my existence, the diseased hip that must be sacrificed for me to stop the curse of martyrdom passed down for generations
I am a powerful force in this complicated world full of intelligence humor and intense sexuality men want to fuck me, women want to hate me both want to get near me I’m an Amazon goddess in a millennial mom bod I try my best to stay humble but have you ever been called the most beautiful woman in the world or has your power make grown men cry and run away from you it’s hard to stay down to earth when I hold so much power between my legs and my hands Soy una a mujer, made up of chaos and trauma who carries strength and resilience as her armor
to see my american dream I just need to step into my backyard and look at my holy trinity who call me mom they’re the ones I try to better myself for they’re the one who make my immigrant existence worth living for they’re my american dream wrapped up in burps, dark humor and love
If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over again, what would it be?
This is the most terrible prompt on WordPress to be honest. Perhaps this is coming from a place of vanity since the only thing that made me seriously consider the convent was the thought of wearing the same outfit the rest of my life. In fact, here’s a poem I wrote about it.
‘My vice
On a sunny day, I was angry and running and said, “who the fuck needs men” and I thought about joining the convent I could definitely take a vow of celibacy but then I remember their vow of poverty And I can’t become a poor person again Sure God will understand I’m made for starbucks And pretty dresses from amazon And to take a vow of modesty would feel like an atrocity a crime against my humanity I could never tone down my beauty I look too good in a bikini so for now I’ll have to settle for a secular life because being a spoiled and pretty girl is my vice
I couldn’t even wear this banging outfit the rest of my life.
Anyways, WordPress needs to do better with their prompts. 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
july, july, july it’s the month where I lose my mind the heat gets to me and turns up the BSC in me you won’t find me sweet and eager to please in July you won’t find me full of ruffles and flowery phrases in poetry you’ll find me being a ball of immigrant rage and fury you’ll find me a woman who’s had enough of the American dream bullshit and ready to roar and scream out everything wrong with this country
WordPress Prompt: What are you most worried about for the future?
Things I’m currently crashing out about:
Finances-I’m in a financial hole due to loss income and medical debt. I’ve been in denial for such a long time about it but today I didn’t even have enough to cover my rent so I had to ask my other roommates for their share and one of them will move out soon. It’s been keeping up at night but I know I’ll dig myself out as I have done before. It just fucking sucks for now and makes me feel like a complete and utter failure. But there’s no time for me to lament and whine, I need to take action now and I’m doing it. I have to have blind faith that I’ll be fine and there is a light at the end of these really dark economic times.
CPTSD symptoms: Triggered cause of the heat, the stress and this time of the year. I’m managing not to have a total and complete emotional relapse by exercising, drinking my water and minding my business, watching movies with really pretty people in them, and acknowledging what’s happening by talking to close friends and writing. I honestly feel like if someone came up to me and gave me $10000, my CPTSD would completely disappear but that’s not real life. I’m trying to do better because last week I was a complete bitch to one of my friends and she didn’t deserve it. I apologized and owned up to it but damn I still feel bad about it.
And of course, existing while Latina in this country. With all the shit that’s happening I worry about my family members and myself. I try to take it day by day but the anxiety gets at 100 when I see a new headline pop up especially the latest one about stripping citizenship from U.S citizens. I have to laugh because one) I’m too medicated to cry and two) it’s really not worth getting so upset about something out of my control.
I haven’t done a WordPress Prompt in a minute and this one just gnawed and gnawed at me and I was like, hell, maybe I’ll feel better screaming into the void especially now that my nature spot is ruined. R.I.P my special creek. I hope that the next time I answer a WordPress prompt, it’s something where I answer the question and I’m a lot happier. I hope that in three months, I’ll look back on this post and I can see that I’ve made a lot of progress and I feel more balanced and hopeful and I can say, well, I made it and I’m more than okay. IF not, at least I will have written a lot more poems and stories.
denial sits in the pit of my gut but I disguise it with a smile and trips to the zoo act like domestic bliss is heaven when inside I’m trembling with rage
Entre la espada y la pared me encuentro otra vez es tiempo para otra evolución, otro renacimiento pero me siento cómoda donde estoy me siento tranquila aqui donde no tengo que dar explicaciones a nadie pero el universo tiene otros planes para mi pronto vendrá alguien o algo que me moverá el piso y denuevo caeré en el caos sin querer queriendo
as long as there is breath left in me I will try try to be a good mom to my kids try to tell my story try to love everyone the best way i can try to find understanding for what happened to me try to find joy in the most ordinary of moments try to dance my way through my most depressive episodes try find my inner peace and calm
hold onto hope, don’t let go one day you’ll laugh about this one day you’ll be okay hold onto hope, don’t let go Remember all of the times you’ve been strong Remember all of the times you put one foot in front of the other hold onto hope, don’t let go your story is still being written you’re still in time to change your narrative
I’m used to being a doormat always allowing people’s energy to pollute my life and take up my time it’s the people pleaser in me who needed to fawn be easy to get along with with,always avoiding conflict, become the person they want me to be, always easy to digest and swallow cutting away pieces of my authenticity- never valuing myself or putting myself first It was learned martyrdom from the women in my family Internalized misogyny sold to me at young age dressed up as selfless acts of love but I’m done sacrificing myself for others It’s time to unlearn this toxic way of loving and being I refuse to passed this down to the next generation of woman who come after me I’m here to take up space, roar like a lioness and passed down a new legacy of self love that took me 41 years to learn
I keep trying to manifest the one worthy of me but I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist I swipe and swipe on the dating apps but no one is of interest to me and so I find solace in an unrequited love that will never be more than friendship it’s the best I can do to quell the romantic in me
when I’m happy and calm I wear my stagnation balm I can’t find anything inspiring when my sanity is not hanging by a string it makes me miss the former chaos in my life that inspired me to write, write, write when I was emotionally unstable the words just seemed to fly onto the paper now that my life is boring the muse is not roaring maybe it’s time to try to stop these unproductive sighs I will no longer live the writer block’s lie yes, I can write when I’m sane inspiration doesn’t need to wane inspiration can be found in the mundane
Life on the BPD 