I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in the dark shadows of the earth
lies the outliers and outcasts
the ones we many times ignore
or only talk about in quiet whispers
we pity them, we’re afraid of them, we avoid them
we don’t want to catch their disease of poverty or insanity
we don’t know how to see their humanity
and honestly it makes us, and not them, the real monsters
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
I sigh at the horizon in front of me as L.A is under siege again
and this time they’ve declared a state of emergency
I want to avoid the news, turn off my phone for a few days,
lock myself away in a cabin with my boyfriend
somewhere in the appalachian mountains
where I can forget the rest of the world
But I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
I wasn’t raised to look away in the face of injustice
or when the safety of my loved ones are compromised
instead I remain hypervigilant
Always on alert of this administration’s next dickhead move
hoping it’s enough to keep my loved ones protected
from chaos and destruction
hoping one day this madness will end
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
you left your lighter at the bar along with your story of grief and trauma
it’s the last time your body had life-
it’s the last time you told bad jokes and laughed
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
I stink of failure lately
and the stench is so strong
I wonder when it will stop
I wonder if I’ll find
my self worth once again
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
sometimes I feel like I invade places I’m not meant to be in
I feel too immigrant, too loud, too intense, too othered
but then I remember, I’m not doing this just for me
I’m doing this for all of the version before me
who couldn’t have ever imagined taking up spaces
in places that felt foreign to her
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I longed and longed and longed to feel whole
until I planted my feet on the soil I was born on
until I breathed the air my parents and ancestors inhaled
until I tasted flavors from almost a lifetime ago
I longed and longed and longed to feel whole
until I returned to my homeland
and it was the piece of the puzzle found
I needed to finally complete me
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
