I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
help her find hope after becoming the worst version of herself
after getting herself entangled with men who did nothing
but hurt her
help her find grace after the fall from the altar of love
men placed her on and she turned into a monster
who resembled medusa
help her find a path to enlightenment and purpose
after she once again drowns in waves
nostalgia and grief over what could have been
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
the empty wineglass sits at the edge of the coffee table
after I’ve written another poem about you
it needs to be refilled so my mind gets tired
of being inspired by the memory of you
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’d never say I lost time with any of my love stories-
they all taught me something about myself
They all inspired me to write poetry
and two of them help me create my three kings
even if some of my love stories left me decimated
and almost destroyed me
they were all worthy for the love I felt
the growth and progress I had
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
never set out to become a feminist but somehow ended up becoming everything
opposite of what I was taught a woman should be
in my young girl’s mind
a husband and children should have made me happy
even when I observed all of the women around drown in misery
always complaining about their husbands and kids
I thought that maybe with me, it’d be different
and when I found myself in my grown up conditioned woman narrative
I almost tried to die in that reality and knew it was never for me
and for a while I searched for answers in others until I looked within
and understood, i alone am magic
I alone without a man am really enough
and the only one responsible for my happiness and to make my dreams come true
all a man ever did was drag me down and made me feel like the dirt on his shoe
or like an ornament to take out at times for his convenience
and when I realized all of this
that’s when I became an unintentional feminist, unapologetic and unashamed
to be the woman I always wanted to be but had been too afraid to embrace
until my middle age
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m looking for the rhythm of a new heartbeat to fall in love with
A heartbeat that goes with the flow of my intense intimacy
A heartbeat who doesn’t call me angel or princess
only calls me by my name
a heartbeat who’ll fall in love with the real me
and not the idea they have of me
or the persona I play on social media
A heartbeat who can handle my crazy and chaos
A heartbeat who accepts and understands me
and never tries to change me
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
me and my family have immigration jokes for day on end
and some of my friends think that’s sick and awful
but its one of the only things
that helps me and my family keep our sanity
in Trump’s American is making fun of our misery and misfortune
it’s how we’ve survived generations of corrupt governments
and wannabe dictators
its how we’ve passed resilience and strength to future generations
sure, we may cry at first as the life we’ve worked hard for
starts falling apart and our plans for the future are shattered
because of a few megarich and corrupt maga idiots
who run our government
but right after we wipe our tears and break out in jokes
and laughter
especially now that what’s supposed to be the land of the free
gets more and more fascist
and we swim closer and closer to nazi waters
the only thing we can do is try to find a way to smile, to laugh,
to find a bit of joy no matter how fucked up in may seem
in this dystopian clusterfuck
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
rose gold cross ripped from her neck
handcuffs cutting into her smalls wrists
mami and papi can’t explain why
they’re nowhere to be found
she thought officers were supposed to be good people
but they hurl insults at her and call her a criminal
and at 10 she can hardly grasped
the severity of the situation
they tell her over and over again
“we’re taking you back to where you came from”
and it’s beyond her compression
because her birth certificate says Illinois
because America is the only home she’s ever known
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
Diseased hip evicted, shiny aluminum to replace it
6 inch scar needed to better my life
80 minutes of the Drs doing their magic
Cutting into me and making me whole
a recovery period of 6 weeks or so they say
third time trying to fix my hip
hopefully the third time is a charm
all of this just for being born broken,
Damaged and different
everyone admires my strength and resilience
and all I dream about is one day not being defined
by everything I’ve had to overcome,
of ne day not being called resilient
and being seen as more than the turmoil
I’ve had to endure and over come
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Mason like the jar was his name
being a fuckboy was his game
He tried to act wise beyond his 23 years
But he was still wet behind his ears
He thought he could deceive me
and lies and lies and lies he told me
told me he lived with a roommate
when it was really his soul mate
He wanted his ice cream and cake
but I saw through his con game
And right away I stopped our lust filled affair
My respect I needed to firmly declare
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Nobody knew about our sexcapade
You were a temporary escape
From the emptiness and loneliness
I felt in my suburban adolescence
Nobody knew about me and you
Until I could no longer hide
the living creature inside
Nobody knew about me and you
Until my belly grew and grew
And half of it was you
Nobody knew about our short fling
Until one day I had to sing
I’m pregnant with a stranger’s baby
No,he’ll never be the one or even a maybe
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
I fall in love easily
Reckless without abandon
Wanting to give him
My everything
This is my fairytale
I am sixteen
I fall in love with caution,
with time, with patience
with acceptance
Wanting to give him
My forever
This is my fairytale
I am 23
I fall in love immediately
Impulsively, sexually
Wanting to give him a love
he’s never known before
This is my fairy tale
I am 37
I fall in love with laughter,
With dancing, with practicality
I want to give him my life
This is my fairytale
I am 39
I fall in love with my body
With my creativity, with my resilience
I want to pour all the love I have
Into myself
I am 40
This is my reality
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
My former lover prays for me because I won’t fuck him
Is this how it feels like to change my story from on call whore
to an I’m healing and deserve better “Woman
Is this how it feels like to to go from fun girl to healthy woman
I use to measure my worth by who loved me or who wanted to fuck me
but those days of impulsivity and “hey, this will be fun”
are long gone
Now are the days of painful transformations,therapy worksheets, self reflection
and most importantly self love
So I put away my sexy vixen persona
And I put on my ” “I’m authentic without apologies persona”
I’ve stopped living to please others
and now live to please myself
I wrote this poem in January of 2018 .
I’m disappointed once again -being here with you
You represent everything I thought I wanted
But-
You don’t compare to him
You make my body sing with pleasure
but don’t sweep up the mess that I am
You are there to help me escape
but never to rescue me
SO I choose him
Who chooses to be there for me
When I chase death in a bathtub or a bottle
Because while sex and lust feels good
when it’s happening
It doesn’t compare to the love
and support he’s provided in keeping me alive
So I say goodbye to a life
Full of lust filled fantasies
and accept the one and only who truly
cares for me
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
My past called to me and I made the mistake of answering it
and looked for the former main characters in my life
Stalked them on google and social media
and most of them didn’t want to be found
perhaps they did the right thing in wanting to live their lives
in peace without their ghosts haunting them
but two of the ones who had the great impact on me
both of them are happily married
one of them has a son my youngest son’s age
I’m glad he grew out of his peter pan syndrome
and the other is about to finally become a dad at 43
his lifelong dream come true after waiting for so long
I’m trying to be happy for him
and with all that I’m ready to really close that chapter
On my past because while I was distracted from my grief
And highly entertained by my theatrics and my shitty choices in men
when I was in my twenties
Its time to stop this business of reminiscing of what was
and what could have been
Its time to accept what is and what could be
and focus on making my own lifelong dreams come true
And be open to my invisible string out there somewhere
waiting for me
I wrote this poem in January of 2020.
She’s an American
I’m an immigrant
She loves Trump
I’m a borderline socialist
She believes in money and brand names
I believe in love and poetry
Born from the same womb
But living in different worlds
She’s upper middle class
I’m working class
She’s latina when it suits her
I’m latina every single day
She’s the definition of assimilation
I get called out by HR for being too Peruvian
She’s the American Dream
And I’m the immigrant
Life on the BPD 