I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
am I reading too much into the attention and energy you’re giving me
the casual messages, the comments on my posts
the nervous vibe and the hug you gave me the first time we met
It felt like chemistry
Am I even your type?
Or is this the beginning of beautiful friendship
One that will last, one that will be healthy
Without the complications and expectations
that lust or love brings
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I warn my sons about falling in love with poets and writers
I try to dissuade them from it
They’ll use any insensitive comment you ever made
into a salty verse dripped with not so subtle insults
They’ll use your most intimate moments as metaphors
for heaven or earthquakes
They’ll describe you as God or the Devil depending on how you left them
They’ll make you a villain in their stories or worst, the hero in them
And the worst part-
They’ll make you way bigger in their mind than you ever wanted to be
so , I plead with you, fall in love with a boring accountant or a teacher
or even a lawyer
You’ll avoid the stress of being someone’s inspiration, someone’s muse
and the chaos and drama that comes along with it
I wrote this poem in February of 2021.
One was born in the beginning of the 20th century
the other was born in the beginning of the 21st century
one was born out of unplanned wedlock
one was a planned product of his parent’s love
one was taught hatred for blacks and cholos
the other was taught blacks lives matter and equality for everyone
one had misogynistic tendencies thanks to his machismo culture
the other other is that gender roles and conventions are a joke
One went through the Spanish flu times
the other is going through Covid times
both shares similar genes generations apart
both share the same Spanish name
one could not been possible without the other
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
valentine’s day is around the corner
so we’re bombarded by teddy bears,balloons,
greetings with corny shit like
“for my wife, the love of my life”
and flowers, the fucking flowers
there are even journals for couples to fill out
in hope of getting closer-
I still can’t figure that one out
and stupid heart shaped everything,
from cookie cutters to pillows
and flowers, the fucking flowers
and most of us eat it all up thinking
if our partner doesn’t buy us anything
or doesn’t meet our romantic expectations
on the most materialistic of holidays,
then they must not really love us-
never occurring to us how this business of love
preys on us and our fear of being lonely
it capitalizes and profits from it
sending us messages that we need
to buy this or that (get the flowers,
the fucking flowers) to show our love
it’s a trap that followed us since our school days
maybe it’s time to riot and burn down anything
related to this dreadful holiday
especially the fucking flowers
or maybe I’m just a crazy and jaded bitch
alone on valentine’s day
reopening my pandora’s of trauma makes me tear the old version of me apart
makes me revisit parts of myself I’d rather forget
and makes me angry at how my insanity was enabled
I know I should be compassionate, I know I should understand that the past
can no longer hurt me
but -oh-every time I open that pandora’s box of trauma
the fire of self loathing and rage threatens to consume me
and while I could leave that pandora’s box closed-
I have no choice but to open it over and over again
it’s one of the most important parts of my story
Emotional scars need to be ripped open and analyzed
to heal and make sense of who I am now
1/9/24
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
I light a candle, put on music, and pay tribute to all that I will never be-
it’s not like I’m denying myself possibilities or opportunities
I’m just acknowledging certain realities
I’ll never have the proper words, the necessary pretentious words
of the upper class pedigree to be published in one of those prestigious journals
or win a pulitzer prize
I’ll never be seen as an equal in American because I’ll always be a foreigner
and while this brings me a certain kind of grief
I also celebrate how different I am
I’ll never filter my words or fake eloquence or elegance
to make myself digestible to those with multiple degrees
Nah, I’m a mosaic masterpiece, with my bad grammar,
my simple vocabulary
and my powerful and emotionally charged phrases
I’m not and never will be for those with sensitive ears or palettes
and I’ll always take pride in that
here’s the english version of this poem:
poetry: two pink lines
esa segunda raya rosada fue el Karma llegando cobrando su deuda
porque yo reze que mis enemigos de enfermen con COVID
y ahora moribunda en mi cama con una fiebre alta
le prometo al universo que será más cauta en mis palabras
y no dejaré que mi ira me controle
so I actually wrote this poem in December of 2022 after I got sick with COVID. This poem was actually inspired by the 2005 poem, “Here we again”- I was editing it to post it on instagram and something about it screamed turn into a poem about your ailment and this is what I ended with. God, my mind was extra crazy with COVID brain. lol.
Here’s the original poem, it’s edited from:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/07/01/poetry-here-we-go-again/
Another unexpected surprise
confirmed with the second pink line
Is this Karma coming for me?
for wishing this on my enemies
this puts a pause on my life for a few days
and I lay in bed in a fever haze
soon I lose my sense of smell and taste
I’m humbled and make a promise to the universe
I’ll be more careful with my words
and stop giving into my rancor
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
Cry in front of me and show me your vulnerable side
I won’t run away or shame you for sharing your pain
I understand what it’s like to be left alone
when you start to drown in your emotions
and you reach for someone and that person
turns you away
I will never be that callous
when I say you can be safe with me,
I really mean it
so I was named for my mom’s sister Patty. My aunt Patty was also the rebel and the baby in the family. My mom named me after her because I had another aunt who wanted me to have her name and my mom hated being pressured about it. So she was pregnant and feeling petty and named me after my aunt Patty. Growing up I was intimidated by her because she was the beauty bombshell and I was this awkward and shy kid growing up. Maybe she’s who I channeled when I pose in my pictures, lol. Anyways, like me she’s also divorced and has three boys of her own. We also both go by Patty rather than our formal name cause Idk Patricia feels like it belongs to some old stuffy Irish nun. Anyways, unlike me, my Aunt Patty is a fabulous cook while I can hardly make rice. Her ceviche will make you cry not only because it’s spicy but because it’s super delicious. As far as the etymology of the name which is such a boring thing to investigate, here’s a link to it:https://www.etymonline.com/word/Patricia
When I think of a good leader, I think of the good bosses I’ve been lucky to have. In my opinion, a good leader treats their workers with respect, is compassionate while also holding their subordinates accountable for their errors. A good leader also challenges and encourages their subordinates to evolve and improve. An example of a good leader is my gen-z boss at Kroger who’s always been kind and respectful to me and who has gone out of his way to accommodate to my scheduling needs when my life got crazy. He also gave and my other coworker a $100 gift card for Christmas. At 23, he’s more mature and way better than some of the bosses I’ve had who were way older. It makes me want to always work hard at Kroger. An example of shitty leader is Joe Biden. IMO, my genz boss would make a far better president than Joe Biden.
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
if my parents hadn’t chosen america as their new homeland
I wonder who I would’ve been
a woman of priviledge married to a man who loves me for me
or would it have been inevitable for me to turn out as a rebel who’d cause many scandals
would I have take my education more seriously because of the pressure from society and my parents
or would I have still struggled with my ADD and said fuck it
I wonder who Peruvian me would have been if I didn’t have a bilingual and bicultural identity
In an ideal world, I would reduce a lot of clutter in my life if my emotionally supportive ex husband moved out. I can’t kick him out though cause my children would cause a ruckus and hate me. Plus, I’m trying to be patient and give him time or find some way we can live apart (I’ve been set on this goal for years), I guess I could find other ways to reduce clutter. I could go through my closet and dresser and get rid of clothes I don’t wear anymore and donate them to goodwill. I could also go through my bookcase and donate books. Honestly, I need to go through my room and the entire downstairs of my house and do a deep decluttering and cleaning. I could also through my google storage and delete the videos, pictures, and files I don’t need since I’m always running out of google storage so this is something I really need to do. My problem is that with little free time I have off, I like to get lost in writing poems, reading, or watch TV and have no desire to do adult things unless I absolutely have to. I guess I could add it to my 2024 goals.
I remember being super excited and happy going on this bus ride because going to Oxapampa has been a dream of mine for quite some time. Oxapampa is the town my dad was born in and raised. When my dad talked about it, it always seemed picturesque and like something out of a fairy tale. I was also excited to meet my dad’s relatives (aunts and uncles) who helped raise him and the cousins who he played with. His relatives also seem to be larger than life characters who were genuine and good people according to my dad’s description of them.
when I think about my most memorable road trip, I think of my 10 hour bus ride I made from Lima to Oxapampa when I went to Peru last spring. It was memorable in a good way. The company we booked the trip with was wonderful and me and my son were mostly comfortable. So the trip to Oxapampa meant going up into a high altitude of 5951 ft above sea level from the 528 ft above sea level altitude in Lima. We were advised to consume coca leaves before going to prevent motion sickness so we went to the pharmacy and they gave us coca leave in pill form.
Our seats themselves were super comfortable and we could recline into an almost bed so we slept super comfortable. They also had screens where we could watch American movies dubbed in Spanish. One reason we were super comfortable was because we were on the upper deck of the bus which had more space for seats. Of course, we paid more for this V.I.P seating but damn , it was well worth it. Unfortunately and fortunately, it didn’t have WIFI so I just listened to my downloaded spotify playlist. There was a lot of Conan Gray and Taylor Swift I played on my way there. We went at night so we slept most of the way there but I did manage to capture some short videos of what I saw outside the video. We went through a lot of provinces and small towns. Here’s a short video of going through Pasco. This was shortly before we arrived.
I also want to mention that going on this bus ride was also kind of exhilarating because some of the roads are treacherous and narrow and sometimes we were going on terrain that was high. That meant if the driver lost control of the vehicle, we were SOL. Haha. It’s a good thing that a lot of drivers in Peru start driving between the ages of 12 and 14. There’s probably more I will write about this trip. So when we arrived, my great Aunt picked us up and we stayed at her air b&b on her property. Where we stayed had this rustic and magical vibe. I’ll probably write more about this trip that was life changing and healing in so many ways but for now, I’ll just answer the prompt for bloganuary about memorable roadtrips.
Life on the BPD 