I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
can’t shake the stink of death
and while I know it’s inevitable
and I need to radically accept it
it still doesn’t soften
the explosion of grief
that follows and leaves me wrecked
it still follows me everywhere I go
perhaps this will be the biggest lesson
of 2025
to spend time with my loved ones
while they’re still here
instead of waiting until it’s too late
and live in regret while we drown
in condolences and eulogies
I wrote this in January of 2022. I was mad about everything. Lol.
Judgment feels like harsh criticism dressed up in “good intentions”
“you have a college degree, you should be doing better”
or “I’ll respect you when you drive”-thank you for the support sister
Ignorance taste like harsh criticism dressed up “in good intentions”
“I’m saying this out of love, you should be like other latinos
and work and don’t go to college” -thanks for the encouragement coworker
Judgment feels like impossible standards I can never measure up to
it’s an ocean of emotional abuse dressed up as “good intentions”
by calling out my insecurities and pointing out how I’m not enough
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
when I’m in mourning, I want to do crazy things
like dye my hair blonde, cut my bangs,
adopt a new identity
anything to escape the grief that wants to set in
I actually started writing this poem sometime in 2017 and finished it in January 2020. A big part of my identity is being an immigrant. This poem was inspired by the hardships and struggles I’ve seen my parents and other immigrants go through. This poem was also inspired by the Trump administration and the xenophobia that was felt in my life during that time.
Here is an audio link to my family’s immigration story: https://www.mixcloud.com/rabbitbox/rb50-stranger-in-a-strange-land-immigration-stories-patricia-tacuri/
immigration leads to discrimination
of immigrants into this so called united nation
the ones with brown skin and dark eyes
justice to them is greatly denied
xenophobia is the driving sensation
their bosses sing a song called exploitation
and they hum along to it to live in this democratic nation
they leave their language and culture behind
to endure the american lie
but don’t quite fit into the gringo equation
Is their sacrifice worth so much separation
from their families, their language, and their nation?
Ah-America – the land of the free
yet none of them are truly free
living in a soulless and consumerist society
I wrote this poem in January of 2020. Maybe I was mad at the patriarchy or just feeling weighed down by the expectations that society has on women. I know that for me, it has been a huge burden at times to constantly keep up an appearance that I am put together balanced woman even if I am falling apart.
The strength we have to carry as women
is obscene
Endless expectations weigh on us
generation after generation
We are buried in the burdens
that society has placed on us
since before we were born
Be pretty but don’t show your body
Be smart but we don’t want your opinion
Be motherly and nurturing
but still a working and productive member of society
It is a never ending nightmare to try to reach
the ridiculous standards placed upon
our beauty, wealth, and motherhood
Some of us seem to do it with grace
Some of us are barely hanging on by a thread
Quite a few of us would rather die
than continue with the facade and the myth
of a balanced woman.
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
In 2025, I will be braver than ever
I will embody the word empowerment
while embracing softness and vulnerability
I will love and allow myself to be loved
life is really too short to allow my ego
and pride to get in the way
of whatever love story the universe
wants to send me
So I had planned on writing this blog post early this month around mid December for my blogging anniversary but life and depression got in the way along with the most chaotic holiday season. I remember last year, I had all of these big plans to rebrand myself into something that has to do less with my mental illness and more to do with who I am as a writer and storyteller but it didn’t happen and tbh, I don’t when and if it will. In fact, I didn’t know that the payment on this website was up for renewal until the morning it happened and oh, boy, was that a bit of a surprise to my bank account but I took it as a sign to keep going with this thing however I can. So for now, it will remain with the same name, same storytelling format and same brand of crazy. I hope to go back to more poetry reviews and more blog posts about mental health and writing but we’ll see. I am proud of myself for keeping this blog going and that I have done this for 14 years and I’ve done it consistently for the past 4 years. Here’s the update from last year.
I think one reason, I keep this thing going is because this blog and writing in general grounds me in a way nothing can when the world feels beyond chaotic and I feel like the earth is going to swallow me whole that makes me want to give up. This year has been good in many ways and I’ll get to that part in a bit but I have to be honest for a bit about how bad my mental health got. It got to a rock bottom that I haven’t been in years. There were many factors that contributed to this and just extenuating life circumstances and kept dog piling on and on until my brain broke for a bit . Let’s also take into account that I am working class Latina immigrant living in America who’s constantly living in a state of hypervigilance worried for my family’s safety. Also, as the main provider of my household, I feel all of the pressure on top of me to mask, mask, mask even as I’m breaking. Like my mom would say, “a mal rato, buena cara” which translates to “put on a brave face for a bad time” or something like that. I try my best to do this mostly for other people’s benefit because duh, no one wants to be around a depressed bitch cause it’s just such a buzzkill. And while, yes, I could seek out help such as therapy or get better meds;however, lack of financial resources and time prevents me from doing this. Also, lately, I question whether that’s needed since I feel like I’ve even been able to dig myself out of my rock bottoms of depression with the coping skills already acquired. As of now, I’m okay for the most part, my life isn’t bad; it just that my brain chemistry is a little fucked at times. I just wanted to write a bit about my great depression of 2025 because I’ve always been honest and candid about my mental health in this blog. It’s part of my story this year that can’t be ignored especially when I plan blog content for November and December of this year. Below is a video of me looking ugly and depressed in November talking about how I got comfort from couch rotting while watching Mexican Classic Movies as I planned blog content for April:
Now, that we’ve talked about the hard part of this year; let’s move on the good and joyous things that have happened in my life. I got hip surgery in late January of last year and it’s been life changing not to live with chronic hip and knee pain. My three kids are thriving and doing good. My parents moved closer to me and they’re now 10 minutes away which is a godsend. I decided to submit to Magazines and literary journals and I’ve been published more than a few times. Here’s a link to my publications :
This has been a part of my dream come true for me that’s filled me with a sense of accomplishment and contentment. I’ll add that I have encountered way more than my fair share of rejections and sometimes this is disheartening but I’m too stubborn a bitch to give up so I keep submitting. In June, I was the featured poet at Word of Mouth, a monthly poetry open mic event I’ve been going to since 2016. This is something I manifested last December in a virtual writing workshop. It’s still wild to me that it happened. Also ,I met someone in April through a dating app and I’ve been dating him. It’s been nice and a bit complicated at times because well, I’m still a bit of a hot mess when it comes to relationships. I won’t say much except that it has inspired all types of poetry. So, while, yes my mental health has been a dumpster fire at times; good things still happened to me this year .
Anyways, here is where I thank my followers and anyone who has followed my brand of crazy for years. This is incredibly encouraging to me and I am beyond humbled anytime I get a like, a comment, and a new follower. When I started blogging consistently 4 years ago cause I was a sad, enraged, jealous, vindictive, heartbroken and insane bitch with a story to tell; I’d never imagine anyone would like my brand of crazy or resonate with it . I’d never imagined that something simple like this blog would mold me into the writer and woman I wanted to be and 4 years later, I’d sitting here tons better than where I started. I want to add that I’m also on other social media platforms and here’s my page for that and also, I’m always open to collaborations or featuring your poems, your stories, your articles on my blog :
I’ll leave y’all with this link to a story I told about this blog at Rabbit Box in November:
Happy New Year to y’all and again, thank you, thank you, thank you for continue to follow my brand of crazy.
I wrote this on New Year’s Day of 2022.
Another new year, and there are no resolutions
Another new year and no better or new me
Another new year, and I’ll keep my expectations low
With a cautious dose of faith and hope
I want a year full of peace and calm
Where love for myself continues to be enough
Writing, running, and working fill up my time
Another new year and loneliness is not eating me up
and freedom feels like solitude
and this vacation from dating feels heavenly
and music and books are all of the pleasure I need
Another new year, and I just want to continue this journey
of healing from the past and self-discovery
It’s another new year, and for once, I have everything
I want in life
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
lighting hits me and I’m in love all over again
this time I take my vows seriously
this time I believe in the whole
“til death do us part” bit
this time it’s far from perfect and ideal
but for once in my life
we’re enough for each other
and there are no seconds thoughts
that this is true love
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
found love where I least expected it
and when it happened
it felt like an earthquake where the ground
broke from under me
it felt like all of the hurt and pain experienced
before had been worth it
for the one waiting in the wings for me
as he sits by me and reassures me
when the world feels chaotic and overwhelming
He tells me I’m one of the best things
that happened to him
and has never made me feel less
or like a burden to him
and all of it still feels so strange to me
is this really happening to me?
or is it all a dream?
and I finally at the end of my marathon of lust and love
I have been running since the age of 15
I wrote this in December of 2021.
I want to find my way to forgiveness
instead I’m covered in hate
I want to find my way to kindness
instead of being stuck in this
cage of anger and rage
I want true radical acceptance
instead of being a victim to my
black and white thinking
I want to be full of Zen
Instead of being full of insecurity
I want a stable sense of identity
instead of this constant confusion about who I am
I want to write about happiness and joy
instead of filling up my pages with petty pouts
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
We hold onto fragments of who we once were
out of comfort, out of habit
but in the end we have to learn go to let go
of all the fragments in order
to really grow and evolve
I wrote this poem in December of 2021.
Trying desperate to break into an industry
that’s not at all meant for me
feels risky, foolish, and almost stupid
but still I try
and write and write and write
because my words are important
for young and immigrant woman to see
and for my comrades in insanity to experience
and for heart broken souls to find
written words about love, sadness, and strife
is the purpose of my life
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
on hinge, I became unhinged
some man child told me
I should thank him for expressing
his desire to fuck me
within 5 minutes of talking to him
I wanted to obliterate him completely
cuss him out for how disrespectful he was being
but instead bowed out gracefully
told him, “naw, I’m made for victorian courtship”
he thought I was strange for wanting something
with more substance than casual sex
with a guy from a dating app
told me, “good luck with your AI boyfriend”
and the interaction leaves me sour once again
wondering if I was born in the wrong era
if I’m asking for too much in asking to be
respected and seen as a real person
instead as a temporary toy for men
to play with
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
I used to find it romantic and endearing how in Hollywood stories
the protagonists triumphs over insurmountable obstacles
to find their happy endings
until I notice there’s always a third party who’s left behind
a third party who’s expendable and the cost
of the happy ending the protagonist are granted
it makes me wretched with empathy and feel grief for them
because too often, I’ve known what it’s like to be left
for someone prettier, shinier, easier, MORE EXCITING
and I wonder if it’s time to write stories about them
the third parties left behind who didn’t make the cut
in their lover’s love story
Life on the BPD 