Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: advice

I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

my teenager gives my dating advice,
at 13, he thinks he knows everything
after watching an unhealthy amount of romantic animes
and getting his first girlfriend
says romance should be a slow burn
don’t hold hands until the twentieth date
and don’t think about the benefits of the men I’m dating
Concentrate on what my heart is feeling
and I don’t know if I should be offended or impressed
but then again at 44, I am the one divorced
with a trail of several trainwrecks relationships left behind
maybe I should take his words of wisdom seriously

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: sweet little princess

I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

the nuns and mami started into obedience and I reverted into a world of silence
And  everyone praised mami about what a good little girl I was
and no one thought much about this
until my parents demanded answers for the rebellious streak in my teens
couldn’t understand the numerous absences, the subpar performance in school,
why I sulked in my bedroom for hours on ended, the disrespect from my mouth
as I stood up for myself, they wondered where their sweet and quiet princess went
all the while they should have looked back 6 or 7 years ago
when they indoctrinated me to hold it all in or else they wouldn’t love me
should have known one day I’d rebel and explode as I was finding my spirit,
my voice once again after it had been buried under layers of good behavior

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poetry: lucky

I wrote this poem in April of 2022.

I am a witch and sometimes a bitch
if you’re lucky
You’ll see the sweet side of me where I’m your real life magical wet dream come true
If you’re unlucky, you’ll meet the BPD me
the worst bitch you’ll regret meeting in your entire life
because if you treat me badly, I’ll make sure
you’re laugh at when I read a poem about you
at open mic

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: holy spirit

I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

ese escote es pecado

my first lesson in forgetting spanish came at age 6,
that first week in first grade at holy spirit
when Spanish came out of my mouth and sister Loretto screamed at tme
and threatened me with the ruler
I don’t remember what she said bu t I was deeply impacted
learned to be good, to be obedient was to forget who I was
and quickly I made my brain believe English was better,
English was the language for survival in my adopted homeland
and like a sponge, I absorbed it
I didn’t lose heart when I was placed in the lowest reading group,
didn’t cry when I mispronounced a word, and my classmates laugh
I just kept on going
understood that my parents sacrifice in coming here needed to be worth it
there was so much pressure on my shoulders to succeed at age 6
instead of playing make believe and getting lost in disney fantasies
my priority was to learn English and become my parents american dream

Posted on by pattytacuri

Poetry: EL (part .2 -L.B)

I wrote this poem in March of 2025.

subtitles jump from my phone screen violently
one of the few films from 1950’s mexico
that address domestic violence
one of the few films to portray the man
as the crazy one
but instead of him going to prison
for his many crimes against his wife
he ends up locked up in a monastery

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: heather

I wrote this poem in March of 2023.

before I was diagnosed with BPD, I was very sick
I wished and wished to be anyone else but me
I really wanted to be a middle class white woman
the kind who grew up with 2 parents in a 2 story house the kind who never had to assimilate to fit it
the kind who never had to to fill out a FAFSA application the kind who was never neglected
and whose feelings were always validated
the kind who writes stories or poems about her favorite horse instead of stories or poems about constantly feeling like a stranger in your adopted homeland
the kind who is mostly respected by men
and not fetichized or called exotic
the kind who’s never had 2 jobs to survive
in this capitalistic society
before I was diagnosed with BPD,I was very sick
I wished and wished to be anyone else but me
but three years into recovery
I’ve healed and wouldn’t want to be anyone else
because while it’s true that many people don’t struggle as much me everyone (even middle class white women)
still have their own set of insecurities and trauma
I know nothing about
I’ve learned I need to focus on myself,
feel gratitude for everything I have
as I reach my goals and chase my dreams
and most importantly
I now love and embrace who I’ve been,
who I am, who I will be
I no longer play a game of envy
and view myself as a broken mess
of who I’ve been or what’s happened to me
I was never those things
I’m a beautiful mosaic of everything
I’ve endured, experienced and lived

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry:check your privilege

I wrote this poem in March of 2022.

Check your privilege at the door
every single white person who comes
asking for my opinion
I can’t be your agreeable POC anymore

Check your privilege at the door
I’m not the voice for my community
with you, certain topics I can’t explore
don’t use me as another learning opportunity

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: for once

I wrote this poem in March of 2025.

one day in bed and my son acts like its the end of the world
demands I get up and act like an adult
like the mother he’s used to seeing
but in defiance, I stay in bed
reading poetry and allow the muse to come and allow me
to pour out of me and land on paper
for once I won’t allow the patriarchy define how I should act,
who I should be
for once I allow the poet me to be my first priority