I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
I feel timid lately and want to hide in a tomb
the kind of tomb you’d find on the grounds
in some decrepit motel
there I wouldn’t have to function at all
there I could get lost in my thoughts
and make up scenarios in my head
There’s no one’s energy would impact me
in a way that makes me feel hopeless and worthless
I wrote this poem in July of 2024
I embrace the crone I’m becoming and let go of the last vestiges of girlhood
no longer will I twirl my hair, bat my eyes, or make myself cute
and soft for the male gaze trying to get their attention
from now on I’ll accept my wrinkles, my aches, my gray hair, my crow’s feet
as proof that I have lived and experienced a life few would’ve survived
as proof that I am a goddamn Guerrera
One day I’ll find the one who’ll break down the fortress
that guards my vulnerability
He’ll know how to handle me
He’ll tell me “I’m impossible when I’m too much”
but will show his love and loyalty
he’ll annoy me because he’s human
but our joy will outweigh our conflict
and we’ll stress each other out
but never lose sight of the epic love
we feel for one another
my energy is a precious commodity
i don’t give it to anybody
my time and effort now has to be earned
because of so many false starts and lessons learned
I’d rather embrace my solitude than once again
Become Joe from “YOU”
because I’m much to beautiful
to fall for another insensitive fool
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
I’m not sure if I have to work as much as I Do
but I know what happens when I don’t
my electric bill goes in the red
a food stamp application is filled and filed
for me and my family
I start to lose sleep over the bills and the things
my kids need
and when I fall into dreamland
dreams of soup kitchens, panhandling,
and scarcity follow me
and I end up in the land of poverty, insanity
and hypervigilance
where I beat myself up for not doing enough
to give my kids the life they deserve
and I regret my life choices that led me here
especially the one where I chose a lazy baby daddy
I’m not sure if I have to work as much as I do
but I’ll continue to do so until my body shuts down
who cares if my hip is broken and I hardly have
any time to myself
I’d rather work myself to the bone than to allow
my family to fall again into being victims of poverty
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
these must be the new dark age of my life
where I can’t find my life’s purpose,
where I cry because I don’t think
I’ll ever be loved
where the sleeping pills in my drawers
are tempting me to end my misery
It could be worse they say because I could be dead
my children left without a mother
my parents left without a daughter
My friends and coworkers left without entertainment
of my emotional and dramatic hijinks
And I left without fulfilling my potential or life purpose
It could be worse they say because with me gone
Who else will give you my special brand of crazy?
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
their used knicknacks, their used clothes
their used whatever is taking up too much space
in their closet or garage
all of this is given to their browner and poorer
counterparts
act like ever act of charity will bring them
one step closer to heaven
when at times their recipients feel
like it’s a act of condescension, arrogance
a way to remind them where they belong
a way to remind them of their working
class status
the haves need the have nots to have someone
to feel superior to
while the have nots cannot escape
the cycle of poverty
due to the greed of the haves
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
I’m not the one you want
or the one you’ll ever take home
to meet your mama
but I’m the one etched in your mind,
the one who appears in your dreams
the one you will never forget about
and one of your few regrets
and you,
you were another story among many
another obsession of my past
I hardly ever think about
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
it wasn’t until today I realized how ordinary you really were
It wasn’t that you were ever that interesting or special
It was me with my lovergirl delusional glasses
refusing to see past what was in front of me
Seeing and getting caught up in fantasies
of who you could be
when really you were, the most ordinary of men
not malicious, not especially intelligent
not really helpful
just kind of existing without any spark
without anything that would make me
look twice at you now
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
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
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
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
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
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
the story continue from 2007 on with this poem.
caught up in a cycle of nostalgia
old letters and photos and 90s music
trying to remember who I was
before I became someone’s mom
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
lately I hate everything I have written
Sometimes I get the urge to burn
Or delete everything
but something tells me
this is how I know I’m growing
I’m evolving in my craft
Life on the BPD 