I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My love data tells me I shouldn’t try again because every time
I crash and burn and cause trauma and drama
because every time it ends, I get hateful and want revenge
and While I do appreciate the poetry that comes
after every broken relationship
I don’t think I can withstand the heartbreak and devastation
the next time it ends
I wrote this poem in August of 2025.
When I think of the moon, I always think of your silhouette against it
maybe it has to do with the many nights spent fighting in your back patio
maybe it has to do with nostalgia catching up to me in the heat of august
in the midst of many transitions
I wrote this poem in August of 2020.
I met you on a cold January night at the IHOP
across your apartment complex
As I was eating up my loneliness
with scrambled eggs and coffee
I hoped you couldn’t see remnants
of tears that had fallen before you came
and you sat across from me
and as we awkwardly made conversation
I wondered if you would be the one
to breathe new life into my almost dead existence
I wondered if your kiss would help me
reignite a fire of desire, would remind me
I’m more than a wife and mother
But most of all I wondered if maybe, just maybe
someone would finally love me
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
home is where poetry is
where I’m inspired
Where I live life on my own terms
without concern or worry
about whether or not
I’m not enough or too much
I wrote this poem in July of 2025.
People watching days are over, this Song era is now my reality
no more longing or yearning over what could have been
or what I once upon a time wanted it to be
instead I focus on the genuine and loving connection in front of me
the one who’s not afraid of the creative beast who resides in me
and makes me feel heard and seen
even if sometimes that seems cringe or weird
Especially after I admitted I had watched him while he slept
this time he allows me to him without flinching
when I tell him he’s the new muse of my poetry
and he’s brave enough to share his feelings without shame
and reminds me of all the things he likes about me
the one who feels like my sanctuary to lay my love and poetry in
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.
Iho Place was my teenage dream that ended up in a nightmare
that’s where my Papi bought our first computer
and how I wound up in an AOL chatroom for singles
it would seal a fate I had not intended
flirting with and meeting strange men would lead me
to some dire consequences
I got into my first toxic relationship who ghosted me
after he went to rehab for his drug problem
and I dissociated after the pain of abandonment
I was desperate for love and validation and I met a man
the man who I would make a baby with
Iho Place saw the first 9 months of my son
and the start of my relationship with depression
looking back-maybe it was also the start of my BPD
I remember walking with headphones and losing time
it was hard to be at home with my parent’s silence and disap
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
Kam Highway would see many changes in our family
three teenagers in one house, our parents were saints
at first we lived in abject poverty
trying to find change in the secondhand couch
for ramen or popcorn chicken or anything
to put food in our tummies
this apartment saw the awkwardness of my adolescence
saw my brother almost fall into the wrong crowd
saw my sister fall in and out of love
until she finally landed her first husband next door
and we had a pizzeria next door and also the interesting neighbors
like the marine next door who beat his unfaithful wife
or Tipper the stripper who was in a toxic relationship with the landlord’s son
their song was Kiss and Say Goodbye by the Manhattans
and the fun thanksgivings with all of the neighbors
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 2025.
Eventually I had to come up for air from my bubble
and live in the real world where bills are piling up,
people continue to crash out on my social media feed,
and I face a constant existential dread constantly
wondering if I am doing enough
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.
we hear the ice cream truck and we beg mami for money
we tell her to hurry before the ice cream truck realizes he’s in the hood
she gives us all of the change in her purse
and all of us run to the ice cream truck
my favorite is a fudgesicle
it taste like an almost normal childhood
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 2025.
spring love happened unexpectedly
on our first date, he called me his Incan Queen
and sent jolts of electricity though my body
the first time he touched me
and even though it’s too soon to say
if this will be my last chapter in my book
of lust and love and we’re only almost 3 months in
what I can say is that this feel promising, worthy,
and something simply with pure intentions
that feels almost majestic
This is a poem I wrote in July. I was angry when I wrote it. Lol.
celebrating a country that rips babies apart from their parents
and takes away rights from the marginalized
and makes anyone who’s not white and christian feel unwelcome
feels like the cruelest irony
it’s celebrating genocide, racism, prejudice, xenophobia, and white supremacy
it’s celebrating everything atrocious and wrong about this country
it almost feels like a personal violation of my beliefs
to celebrate the hypocrisy of this country
founded on genocide and slavery
who claims liberty and justice for all
but “all” is really white, christian and male
so I’m passing on this year’s 4th of July celebrations
because except for a small portion of Americans
no one can claim true freedom
or independence in this American Land
Life on the BPD 