poetry: abuela Gaby

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

Abuela Gaby and Me on the beaches of Lima

abuela Gaby sends me hints that she wants her story to be told
but I can barely remember her
she tells me to still try with the bits I have
I ask her for patience
I want to get it right, I want to do her story justice
she tells me, β€œhemos vivido vidas paralelas”
las palabras te vendrΓ‘n fΓ‘cilmente pronto”
and adds, β€œes como vas a sanar, es como
empiezas a entenderte”
and I don’t understand what it means,
I don’t understand her interest in me now
and how I became a messenger of her story,
β€œni siquiera pensΓ© que me querΓ­as Abuela,
you always pulled my hair”
and she replies,
β€œes que era duro ver nacer y crecer a alguien
que se parecΓ­a tanto a mi, me traΓ­a
demasiados sentimientos encontrados,
porque sabΓ­a que tu espiritu seria
difΓ­cil de dominar”
and while I try my best to comprehend
what she tells me –
it’s hard to wrap my head around her message
and all of the conflicting stories about her
from my family
so I’m going to make it a point
to find out her story through her letters
and pictures-
abuela, I want to do your story justice
I can’t rush through this
yours is one of the most important stories
I’ll share in my lifetime

Poetry: No Longer a Victim

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

no longer a victim

my craving for love has brought me to celestial heights of heaven
and the rock bottom of hell
at 40,I finally learned I suffered from the worst affliction
–a love addiction–
and time after time it tore me down
something had to change, something had to give
or else I’d end up jumping off a cliff
so I gave up love for a while
Until I could understand why it made me crazy
Until I knew how to not make myself a victim
in every single one of my love stories

poetry: children’s bible

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

no hard feelings though

In my children’s bible I was introduced to Jesus
and his love for everyone
I wanted to be like Jesus-
and love and accept everyone as they are
but I’m human and I can’t
especially as the years pass by
and I’m harmed by those who claim to love me
it’s when all of my dreams quickly dissipate
and slowly I grow bitter and full of mental illness
maybe this is my tragic destiny
from wannabe saint to a scorned woman
who only dreams of revenge

poetry: the costs of integration

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

the costs were worth it for the peace I have now

I had to give up a lot of fun things in my life
to get to integration
an alcohol dependency, a shopping addiction,
Relationships and sex-
and the last thing was energy drinks
This was all for me to become the mom my kids
always deserved
it was needed for me to meet my higher self
who makes decisions with compassion and love
Instead of out of ego
It was needed for me to start living
in the most authentic way possible
and while I could dwell on all
of the fun things I lost
I now look at it as a blessing needed for clarity
and to make space for this new version of me
who no longer hides her jagged edges
for the comfort of others
Who loves who she is and no longer
Wants to be anyone else
Who finds peace in solitude
and is no longer scared of it
my integration of self costs me many things
I was addicted to
but it was worth it for the woman I am today
for the beautiful life I’m currently living

poetry: better

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

hi its me, I’m the love of my life

breathing without a hint of romance is lonely but freeing
it’s a lesson of dialectics I never wanted to learn
it’s a lesson necessary for my recovery from BPD
it’s not good or bad, it’s what I must do to get better

poetry: release

I wrote this poem in November of 2020.

me in another lifetime

Releasing my fears
of the unknowns
and the what ifs
to fulfill my life’s purpose
is a challenging

I refuse to lie down
in a defeatist mode
in comfortable mediocrity
stagnant in a suburban reality

So I release my fears
to truly reach my potential
to prove to others
they were wrong
but mostly to prove
to myself that I was wrong
and I’m worthy
and I’m enough

poetry: tightrope of vulnerability

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

this is me for real

I close and open my heart at my moods and hormones’ convenience
on a tightrope of vulnerability where I tend to fall off from
and I have a tendency to blame 80s and 90s music and movies
that taught me that if you’re good enough, if you’re pretty enough
the right guy will fall for you and you’ll get your happy ending

poetry: the last time

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

“this is the last time I’m asking you why , you break my heart in the blink of an eye”- Taylor Swift

The last time you ghosted me
I finally said enough and meant it
I’m not adding any energy
to something that only drains me
and makes me feel worthless
it was time to let go of our chaotic story
and embrace a new love potential
Who’ll know my wort

Poetry: Bruh, I did warn you

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

fr fr

my exes are scared of me for good reason
too many times I’ve used their words,
even their emails as ammunition
in expressing myself in poetry
sometimes, it was for revenge
Many times, it was me just trying to heal
but I did warn most of them
–I’m a writer–and I’m crazy
they probably thought
β€œOh how cute, a girl who writes a few verses”
they never understood how my wrath
showed up in my writing
until they leave and finally understand
they should have heeded my warning

poetry: nothing taste as good as skinny feels-Kate Moss

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

at least I can now wear corsets and look good in them

I’ve starved myself to make my mom, lovers, and even myself
so they’ll love and accept me
I’d go on extreme diets, skip meals,
over exercise until throwing up
and getting excited when the number on the scale
went down
and hating myself when it went up
never quite understanding there’s much more to me
than some arbitrary and unrealistic standard of beauty
I’ll never be able to attain
there’s much more to me than how I fill out a tight dress
and yet, I still check the scale every once in a while
to measure my worth

poetry: shame

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

this little girl deserved better

my past is clouded in shame over secrets
that were never my responsibilities
or a burden to bear
and all to keep up appearances
that we were a normal and happy family
and normal and happy families
don’t talk about addiction or mental illness

poetry: chains

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

I always manage to find a way to survive

The invisible chains of my mental illness try to take away my joy
and enthusiasm but I shake off my chains
and live as fully as I can
Despite my anxiety,
Despite my depression,
Despite my BPD trying to grab hold of me
I no longer allow my inner demons rob me
of the goodness that universe has to offer me

poetry: the thin veil

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

so much strength passed on to me

today I feel the presence of my ancestors more than ever
they praise me for breaking through the bullshit
that society tried to sell about what it means
to be a woman and mother-
they love me despite my many sins and that mistakes I’ve made
they scold me when I call myself a monster or an atrocity
they encourage me to continue on my path
they tell me to trust my intuition more
and to take more risks with my art and in my life
it’s a disservice to myself to doubt my creativity
this only hinders me from fully expressing myself
and keeps me from being authentic and honest
when I share mine and their stories

poetry: it ends with me

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

me at night of spite in October of 2023

I come from a line of women who were never afforded
the privilege of telling their stories and speaking out their truths
they simply accommodated and according to the expectations
from their parents and husbands
they had no choice but to shut up, obey, breed, and stay
like docile animals whose spirits are beaten out of them
and with each poem, each blog post, each social media post
I feel a part of them heal because I will be the last in my lineage
to have followed suit and the first one to break out of the toxic narrative
where women should only be seen and not heard
where women should be limited by their gender
where women are only good for one thing
I’m the red herring, the hair out of place,
la malcriada-
who’ll scream as much and as loud as I have to
to tell mine and their stories
even as my family cringes
and accuses me of being dramatic and crazy
because to not do so would be a disservice to them,
to me, and to future generations