poetry: another day
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Solo y Agotado
another illegal dies under suspicious circumstances and no one cares
or mourns him,
some even comment on how he should have stayed in his country-
and it’s hard to understand the inhumanity, the hateful rhetoric
Is his life worth less because of his ethnicity and immigration status?
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poesÃa: cuatro años
Here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry:Childhood Lies
buscando paz y seguridad-
mis padres dejaron nuestra patria por otra-
pensando que serÃa una mejor vida para todos
nunca pensaron que serÃamos menospreciados
y maltratados por cuatro años
por nuestra falta de inglés y documentos
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poetry: saint tracey
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
saint tracey assured me my life wasn’t over
she showed me love and compassion
when everyone else shunned me
she accepted me for who I was
and encouraged me to follow the path of success
she saw the hidden potential in me
when other teachers saw laziness
she was a prayer from God
sent to me to remind me
my mistakes don’t define me
and that I was still worthy of the love
and goodness in the world
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poetry: target
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman
constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm
putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us
insulting my father or sister
what about us made her project her insecurities
Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty?
or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have
a loving and doting husband
and all healthy children
What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?
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I get mad en Español 🤣🤣🥳
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poetry: first grade
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was,
and where I came from
maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing
and since that time I’ve had identity issues
for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in-
to have proximity to being an American
but all it did was fuck up my identity
and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done
I have a hard time finding compassion for myself
I have a hard time letting go the guilt
For the pain I caused my family
I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid
desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted
to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
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poetry: integration
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
The scared and anxious little girl and the insecure and clingy woman tug at me-
I try to avoid them and lock them up in a box, but it never happens that way
They refuse to go away when a trigger of trauma visits me
And once again, I am lost in the alter ego I made up to protect myself
the one who shows up in confidence and screams through her poetry
but if I want to reach integration
I need to allow the little girl and the insecure woman space to reside within me
and honor them with powerful words of praise
because they, too, were part of my strength and resilience through the many traumas
It may feel painful at times-but for me to get to become a whole person
and reach emotional maturity – I need to walk hand in hand with the ones
who made me the powerful and confident woman I currently am
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When people ask me why I’m obsessed with my recovery journey…
poetry: you won’t win
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
When I start to lose myself, death calls out to me
like a potential lover
it whispers my name and invades my thoughts
it shows me the many ways to chase it
Drive as fast as you can and lose control(no one has to know)
Accidentally take too many of your prescription meds
(they’ll say you weren’t feeling well that day)
or go for a dramatic effect and cut your wrists
with your razor from work
(oops you mistook your skin for a box)
Death tries to tempt me in many ways
and I count to 10 and scream
this time you won’t win
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Song of the Day 🥳😘 “but I am the better one”😘🥳
ride a motorcycle
I’d love to ride a motorcycle for the first time in Oxapampa, Peru. It’s something that used to seem so scary to me but when I saw whole families riding motorcycles in Oxapampa in April on this year, I thought I want to do that. I’m sure I can make this happen on my next trip there.
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Song of the Day 😪 “I never strayed too far from the sidewalk” 😪
Song of the Day 😪 “you don’t have to be sorry” 😪
poetry: fighting with my teenage son
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day
I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year
I’ve felt the screams of those close to me
asking God why he took their babies too young
Young men who will never be fathers,
Young men who will never see their children grow up
into rebellious and sassy teens
and while I understand conflicts happens between
parent and child
I also know we’re both on borrowed time
and I don’t want our angry words
to be the last exchange between us
if its his or my last day today
Life on the BPD 