I wrote this poem in September of 2021.
I long to run free in a world free from prejudice and pride
I long to run free in a world free from judgment and ignorance
I long to run free in a world that accepts people like me
I long to run free in a world where I’m not hypervigilant
about toning myself down
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
I breathe grief in, I exhale grief out
my pain needs a way out
because despair and sorrow fill up my lungs
and anger sits at the bottom of my stomach
and I’m tired of living like this
a life full of emotional intensity
And supposedly there’s a cure for it
with therapy and radical acceptance
but how do I accept that every man
who’s ever professed his love to me
always leaves
Will my romantic misfortune one day end?
or am I destined to repeat the same story
of abandonment
over and over again?
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
I need to head back to the gym before my algorithm notices
and starts sending me ads about BBLs and Ozempic
I need to head back to the gym and make it part of my weekly routine
instead of constantly standing still
I need to head back to the gym, I need those endorphins now more
than ever as another financial crises looms over me
and I don’t know how to get under it
give me 45 minutes at the gym to clear my head
strategize about my next to make sure my family
doesn’t fall into poverty
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
don’t judge others for the life you haven’t lived-
not everyone has had the same privileges or self awareness as you
some of us hardly had time to process one trauma
before facing the next one
and unhealthy coping mechanisms were placed
it’s how a lot of us learned to live our lives
with our emotional gloves and armor always ready
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
beautiful women possess a certain kind of power
it’s the power to bring men to their knees
with just one kiss
or make them fall in love
with the prowess of their sexuality
they’re lionesses and make men their prey
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.
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 2022.
I was supposed to have been born in Cuzco
but drama kept me away until I was two
cusco saw me walk for the first time
cusco saw me blossom with the attention and affection
of my family and everyone else
I learned to be happy with the new freedom my legs gave me
but one day that changed when I was four
when the baby sitter hurt me -hurt me for being spoiled
hurt me for having la tez clara
and she gave me a phobia of water
and my resilience created an imaginary friend Calinchia
to help me face and process what happened to me
and eventually blocked my trauma
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
When I’m 54, I want some things to stay the same and others to change
I want to love freely unafraid and unashamed and without apologies
without the anxiety I have right now that one day he’ll leave
I want to have the same creative energy that motivates me,
and continue to share mine and my family’s stories
that will continually be seen and make me succeed
I want to not worry so much if it’s a matter of when this epidemic
of violence and madness reaches someone in my family
or live with the fear one of my loved ones will be detained
I want to have hope for the future of my children and descendents
that when I leave this earth things will be better for them
because I did the work so they didn’t suffer and can enjoy life a bit more
also , I want to be filled with financial stability where I’m not doing financial gymnastics
to pay my bills on time and an no longer a slave to my debt
but mostly when I’m 54, I want to have evolved as a healer
who continues to share her light in this world as a poet, writer, and storyteller
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
dating a soldier in not for the weak in these modern time
especially now with a civil war and WW3 on the horizon
our new love story could be cut short if he’s deployed
Things can get complicated and messy
if end up dehumanizing or ripping apart families like mine
because its his job
it makes me wonder if we were foolish in the throwing caution
to the wind and getting into a relationship
it makes me wonder if we have any chance of working out
If you could change the ending of any book, which one would it be?
I’ve recently finished rereading Paula by Isabel Allende. It’s a memoir that Isabel Allende wrote while her daughter was in a coma. Allende wrote about the extra ordinary life she’s lived. Like that woman went through a lot of hardships, from being raised by a single mom in 1940s Chile to moving around a lot because of her step-dad’s job to being exiled in the 70s and she had to seek out refuge in Venezuela. She wrote this book with hope that her daughter would wake up from her coma to read it. Sadly, that didn’t happen because her daughter died at the end. So, I wish I could change that part and that some kind of miracle would have come through for Paula and she would have woken up from her coma.
What is something you wish you could tell your 20-year-old self?
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
women’s empowerment is sold and neatly packaged with sabrina carpenter’s new album
always the heroine for this consumerist society even if the intentions feel a bit icky,
feel a bit 1950s, with a man pulling her hair like a bitch giving off sub energy
that feeds into the handmaiden narrative of America is trying to write for women
and with the shitstorm of the past 2 weeks, I don’t feel sane enough to form an opinion yet,
except that this feels like a weirdly perverse distraction from the rise of fascism
taking place in our country
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’ve walked through the warzone of my love life long enough to know
when a bomb is about to explode (when I fall of some guy’s dream girl altar)
It’s a minefield full of suppressed feelings
consequences of accommodating to a man’s ego
And I’ll tread ever so carefully
I don’t want to be alone, I just want to be loved,
I’ll bend and bend until you call me Gumby
Except I’m not and then I’ll snap and another bomb will go off
“You’re crazy,” you’re dangerous” “ I don’t recognize you”
all for expressing my feelings and wanting respect and dignity
Life on the BPD 