I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
In the isolation of my solitude
I try to find grace and compassion
that’s evading me
I try to ground myself in my writing
and music
because I don’t want to talk about it
and I’d rather let out my tears
in the comfort of my bedroom
or on my notebooks
because last time I let someone in
on my crazy, they left
they always leave me
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
in the juxtaposition of the karens and working class
I find sympathy for both
it’s hard to explain this in between-
it’s an exhausting struggle of understanding
the complexities of the human condition
of wanting to be seen
of wanted to be heard and respected
and I stared in horror, almost breathless
as the karens and the working class
exchange verbal hostile fire
and almost throw hands at each other
as one threatens the other’s livelihood
and the other stood their ground
and I –
was just a witness to the epidemic
of anger in America
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
I sought solace in friends last night
and everyone was busy or asleep
so I cried hysterically in the middle
of the street, and then in the diner
over my fries, and finally in my uber ride
Strangers kept asking me if I was okay
one even offered me a ride
even in my worst moments of crises,
I always find a way to survive
even when I’m in the thick fog
of a mental breakdown
I know now how to take care
of myself and keep myself safe
maybe that was the lesson the universe
sent last night
even in my most hopeless of times
I will always find a way to survive
and eventually be okay
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
my heart is full of what ifs? What if it works out?
What if I’m not as dumb as I think I am?
What If I stop listening to the voices in my head
that taunt me-telling me I’m not good enough?
What if I’m brave enough today
and chase my dreams despite my haters
and my inner critic?
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
today I woke up overwhelmed, exhausted and in a fit of rage
feeling underappreciated in all of my efforts
to move my family forward
not remembering the last time I had a full day of rest
wondering how to continue this existence
of 60 something work weeks,
and of course the guilt over not spending enough time
with my kids-
I was downtrodden with grief and mad at the world
until my abuela’s story made its way to a conversation
with my coworker and a small light of hope dawned on me
if my illiterate and indigenous abuela Mercedes,
alone in the world could make generational wealth
in the early 1900s
despite the racism, the obstacles, and many tragedies faced
I, too. will not only survive but will also thrive
and continue to shine my light
it’s in my bloodline, my ancestry to evolve,
push myself forward despite obstacles, mental illness,
or life’s tragedies-IT’S UP TO ME!
as a Peruvian woman living in America in the 21st century
to make the best of what’s been given to me
which sometimes feels like the sourest of maize
and turn them in the sweetest and tastiest Chicha
I wrote this poem in September of 2021.
I saw my mother kill the spark in my father
He was my age with many dreams,
But I’m different,so different
No matter who or
What gets in my way,I’ll Knock them out
Figuratively or literally
to get the life I deserve
to accomplish my goals
The spark in me stays in me
and giving a determination
to keep going
and to NEVER, EVER GIVE UP!
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I know I’ll be okay, I know I’ll be fine
I’m the queen of resilience, coming back triumphantly
After each tragedy
but right now, I need to honor the heaviness of grief
that resides within me
Acknowledge that for a while, my kids may view me
as a villain for breaking up their family
for making them products of broken home
I gotta feel this residual anger and resentment
Directed at myself and my ex
for not being able to make our marriage work
At least I can say it wasn’t me who gave up easily
I was the one who gave my all and best efforts
to make it work
but one day, I had to accept it for what it was
a marriage damaged beyond repair
And no amount of meds, therapy, acceptance
or healing on my part could have saved it-
not when I was always doing 80 percent of the work
and he barely gave me any effort
and while yes, he did care of our kids and of me
he still didn’t help in providing for them,
show initiative to better our family
or even tried to love me
the way I needed to be loved
Instead, he hid behind his fatherhood and age
To distract me
And it wasn’t until the healthiest version of me showed up
and got the courage to put a stop to this facade of a marriage
and stop our codependent story of love
We’ve been modeling for our kids
It’s up to me to break this generational curse of toxic love
or else our kids won’t know or understand
what a healthy and real love story looks like
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
to reach the next level of my life
I need to stand firm in alignment
with my values
I need to be brave and take the necessary steps
for my full autonomy
even if it’s painful, even if I start to question
the process
the end result will be the betterment
for me and my sons, a life full of purpose
a life where I’m no longer attached to anything
and anyone who held me back from reaching
my potential
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I’m looking forward to that pisco sour I’ll have
after the judge declares me divorced and free to remarry
-ha- that’s the biggest joke ever
maybe I’ll land in someone’s bed once again
But a ring on my finger -NEVER!-
not in this lifetime, not as long as I breathe
instead I’ll claim my single status
And relish in it as long as I can
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
September comes in with a rage and determination in my heart
to keep on moving with a new purpose
to heal and evolve into the healthiest version of myself
without condemning myself over my past misdeeds
and obsessing over how toxic I once was
so what if I allowed myself to be a doormat,
to be stepped on over and over again?
so what if I wasn’t the mom my kids deserved?
Every day is a brand new start to live a life
Intentionally and with purpose
to continue to grow, build, and expand exponentially
because while my past has impacted me
and I’m still dealing with the consequences of it
I need to move past it, leave it behind
I’ve learned everything I need to learn from it
now it’s time to build my present for the future
I deserve to live in
I wrote this poem in 2006.
we short circuit once again
and back to our monotonous
everyday existence
passion once again becomes
an abstract thing of our past
and I wonder
if this is all there is to love
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
this time when I plant my garden of love
it will be a solo project
filled with seeds of only me
Seeds of my grief, seeds of my joy
Seeds of my sadness, seeds on my anger
Seeds of inspiration and it will bloom
into flowers of self worth
trees of empowerment
and plants of self love
this time when I till my garden
I won’t allow anyone to distract me
This time when I maintain my garden
I’ll water it with the essence of myself
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
I’m not just a lesson learned, I’m a whole education
my mood swings will teach you patience and self-control
and things about bipolar and BPD you never wanted to learn
Making love to me will give you a degree in the best WAPP
you’ll ever experience
And when you break my heart and leave
You’ll earn your PhD in what happens when you fuck over
A Peruvian woman who’s crazy
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence
clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women
about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is women’s empowerment
and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit
it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment
perhaps it’s because I’m a working class immigrant woman
who struggles in America
perhaps it’s because the rights of the marginalized and working class
are being ripped away from us
and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears
how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie
oh yeah, we worked together briefly
and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should
check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity
while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability
but I stop
this barbie isn’t worth my time or energy
it’s time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe
who only serves to trigger my working class rage
who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality
in this capitalistic and racist American society
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
I want to be dripping in velvet and have the problems of the rich
like finding a new pool man
because the last one got sick of my condescending and pompous ways
or cry because I’m bored and can’t figure out how to fill up my day
in a way that keeps me entertained
but instead I’m stuck in my working class cursed life
where my joints and bones ache in chronic pain
from constantly over working
where I’m constantly fighting to make ends meet
without losing my sanity
And constantly questioning my existence because of my suffering
