I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
Jealousy is a normal emotion of the human condition
and shame shouldn’t be associated with it
everyone feels it
I used to run away from it
but now I sit with it
ask what it needs
Sometimes it’s me projecting an insecurity
or sometimes it’s a legit feeling
And that’s okay too-
and jealousy doesn’t have to destroy anything
as long as I know how to acknowledge it
and don’t allow it to consume me
An item of my youth I was incredibly attached to was my doll Dandee. I actually had two of these dolls given to me as a young child. The first Dandee was given to me by my aunt shortly after me and my family immigrated to the states when I was 5. This was in 1986. What happened to the first Dandee? Well, it’s a sad story of trauma. When me and my family first moved to the states, we moved into the apartment next to my aunt C and her family. The living situation there was not ideal. Actually that’s the understatement of the year. Here’s a poem I wrote about her:
poetry: target
Anyways my aunt C owned the apartment we were renting so she was our landlord. She was also the one who was giving sponsorship for our green card. At the time we immigrated, we had done so four years earlier than we were supposed to so we lived undocumented for four years. So my Aunt C took advantage of the situation because A) with a call to immigration she could deport all of us back to Peru and B) she was our landlord so she also held control and power over where we lived. It was a terrible situation. Aunt C had a massive 3 year old son J. He was probably one of the most terrible toddlers I’ve ever encountered. Aunt C would not control him and when he would bully me, either hit me or take away my toys, Aunt C would say, “dejalo, es chiquito” which basically translates to “allow him to do whatever because he’s small”. It was hard for my mom to say anything to her or protect me because of the living situation we were in with Aunt C. The best she could do was take me somewhere else. Shortly after Dandee was given to me, he became my most favorite toy in the world. He was given to me by my favorite Aunt Luz. That toy went with me everywhere. However, one day, Dandee was taken away from me by my cousin J, and he wouldn’t give him back. My aunt didn’t do anything to remedy the situation. According to my mom, this broke my little 5 year old spirit and I was inconsolable and cried and cried for days. My papi was upset that my mom wouldn’t say anything to Aunt C. He hated to see me cry every day for that damn doll so even though they really couldn’t afford it (it was an expensive doll), papi went to the toy store and bought a brand new Dandee for me. I was a happy child again taking that doll everywhere with me. Playing with him and my imaginary friend Calincha. Anyways, a few months went by and I was at my aunt C’s house with my mom. I was playing with Dandee and my cousin J came up to me and started trying to take the doll away from me. The adults weren’t doing anything and I got angry. My five year old self could not take the bullying from J anymore and was not going to allow him to take my doll away from me so I punched him and he fell to the floor. I wasn’t punished for it and went back to playing with my doll. My mom tells me that her and my aunt C were surprised by what I did and had no idea until that point that I had a temper. I was always such an obedient and quiet child, it was shocking to them that I had it in me to fight back. Needless to say, my cousin J never messed with me after that day.
So fast forward to 37 years later, that Dandee sits in my bookcase in my room next to the baby Yoda I bought for my youngest son a few years ago (that he didn’t want anyways cause it looked creepy). When I look at Dandee, I’m reminded of my fierce and fiery spirit at 5 years old that I’ve carried with me since then. When I told my sons the story of Dandee, my oldest son said, “Dandee carries your 5 year old warrior girl spirit” and that felt empowering to me. Dandee taught me a lesson in how to take my power back from a situation I thought I had no power or control in.
my granddaughters will love me even as they rolls their eyes at me-
as I try to awkwardly relate to their slang and taste in music-
they’ll be like “abue-that’s so special”
and while I’ll know what they’re trying to say
I’ll annoy them even more out of spite or to make them laugh
my granddaughters will appreciate that I’m not like other grandmas
I wrote the poem above a year ago thinking about what kind of grandmother I’d be. One thing is for sure, I won’t be like my mom who goes above and beyond her role of mamacita and is the most wonderful grandmother to mine and my siblings kids. I’ll be different but in a fun way. If I’m blessed/cursed to live a very long life (which could happen because my grandparents on my maternal side have lived past their 90s), I want to be like my grandparents who had a very good quality of life until the end. I want to be as active as possible in my old age.
I also envision myself as a storyteller with my granddaughters gathered around me as I tell them about the olden days before the internet or when we had to take our pictures to the photo place to get them developed. I want to be as candid as possible with them about my misadventures in life and love so maybe they’ll learn from my mistakes and learn to have grace with themselves when they make mistakes. I want to be a safe space for my granddaughters when they have problems. I also want to be like my great-great-grandmother Mercedes who still smiled for the camera in her old age while holding her beer in her hand.
It would also be kind of ironic if I did live to my 90s and beyond, considering how I’ve been romanticizing death since I was 15. However, at the end of the day, I do love being alive on most days and do try my best to be as healthy as possible to live a long live to annoy my loved ones, especially my granddaughters. I’m kind of excited to see what technological advances I’ll live to see. Like, will AI become part of our everyday existence? I mean, it already is part of mine with Alexa waking me up every day. Will men, gasp, finally do their part and take birth control pills instead of leaving it up to women to take responsibility? Will there be a magic pill for PMDD for future generations of women who can take it so they don’t go to crazy town every month? Will the internet read your algorithms so hardcore they erase any vestiges of anyone you have a falling out with from your phone/social media? I’m not sure if any of these questions will be answered, but it would be great if some of them were.
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: The Full Moon
hay que decir al carajo con todas las expectativas que la sociedad
y nuestros padres no adoctrinaron
y aprender a escuchar nuestra intuición y apoyarnos en nuestra salvajismo
aullar a la luna llena para encontrar nuestro ser primal
que nunca pudieron respirar
quizas asi empezamos a sanar y a encontrar comunidad
en gente que nos apoya, nos apapacha, y nos ama
con autenticidad
I wrote this poem in november of 2023.
I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone
most people look at her with curiosity
some people are horrified
my family cringes and and whispers to me,
“it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy”
I get mad and flip everyone off
and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way
to share her story and create drama and chaos
who cares if no one understands our process
of how sharing her story is the key to my recovery
I wrote this in september of 2023.
The ME from June of 2014 sends me a message and asking, where are you?
I tell her, life didn’t go as planned-you’re divorced and looking for a place for your ex
but your kids are thriving-your oldest son has his driver’s license and is on his last semester
Of accounting at Athens Tech-
Your middle son will graduate from high school this year-
and your baby is now taller than you and becoming his own person
You’re working 2 jobs and you’re a citizen now and you’ve been to therapy
to learn healthier coping mechanisms-
you even drive now-you’re independent as fuck and live life on your own terms
you’ve even been to Peru twice-
You’re learning to follow your intuition and how use discernment in your choices
in how you live your life-
you’ve discovered your values underneath everything society brainwashed into you
and at the end of the day all you want be is a good mom and a good person
that’s the extent of your life’s purpose-
now that we know who we are
our next step is to plan the future we want-
we’ll keep on thriving girl-you were the go getter and determined woman in me
Even among one of my greatest depressions
You still got up and followed your passions-
And you laid the foundation-we’ll be okay-I promise
I’ll make you proud of me-
Love patty
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
the outline of her body in the middle of the road-
told the most tragic of stories
she wasn’t looking when she crossed the street
she was lost in her thoughts
and the driver speeding didn’t see her
and splat went her body
death came quickly to her
her last thought was mission accomplished
but the world thought
another victim of an unexpected and tragic circumstance
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
Relief comes after a nap on Christmas day
I woke up with so much joy and warmth in my heart
I feel like I’m standing on top of a mountain I’ve been climbing forever
A mountain climb that’s had a most treacherous uphill
and loaded with many obstacles I’ve stumbled and fallen from many times
but the universe, God presented me this gift of contentment for my life
the understanding that everything had to happen for this reason
to live in my childhood dreams of having my own family
who brings me love and purpose every day of my existence
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
When I tell you I’m a poet-
please take me seriously
don’t think I’m some cute girl
who writes a few verses in her room
about how your kiss is a new kind of heaven
Poetry for me has a much deeper meaning,
poetry is how I bleed out all of my emotions
I hold within
When I tell you I’m a poet-
please don’t laugh at me or mock me
don’t berate the simplicity of my words
I weave into verse
It’s how I make sense of my explosion of thoughts
It’s how I express what I can’t say out loud
When I tell you I’m a poet-
don’t try to cure me of my poetic nature
and prey on my insecurities and try to kill
my dreams of making my art seen
I know how the odds are stacked against
someone like me
I don’t do it to make it to the mainstream-
I do it so other women like me
can be seen, can be inspired to dream
And finally when I tell you I’m a poet-
Appreciate the artist in me,
make yourself a sanctuary to put my poetry in-
I’m not asking for endless compliments or an ego boost
I’m asking for a safe space in you to love
the poet I hold within
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m graduating from writing about revenge and everyone who has harmed me
I’m switched this narrative from woman scorned and full of spite
To a woman reborned opened to love and joy in life
While it’s fun to be petty and mean
It’s better for me to reclaim the corny romantic in me
the one I’ve kept hidden for 18 months
the one who cries at the end of rom coms
the one who’s desperate to fall in love again
to continue this narrative about how I’m in love with my solitude
no longer suits me
when I have a universe of love to give
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
This time it will be different-I lie to myself over and over again-
and for a while I’ll believe it-but it never works out and they always leave-
And I wonder how words fail me when this happens-
it’s a magnitude of emotions-
Intense, mega, uber, all consuming, overwhelming-
Some things cannot adequately expressed even with bilingual vocabulary-
maybe not everything is meant to be written down
it’s just meant to be felt, held intimately in my heart and mind
maybe it’s a private thing between me and the universe
here’s the English version of this poem:
Poem: The Cold Shoulder
estancados en un purgatorio-no sabemos cómo continuar
entonces nos mentimos que todavía nos amamos
cuando ni siquiera nos aguantamos
me dices que estoy loca por admitir la verdad
pero me harte y prefiero parar de desperdiciar mi tiempo
en algo que me está sofocando y robando mi paz
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
my transformation and rebirth meant giving voice to my shadow
who’s vindictive, petty, and mean
I’ve never really allowed her to breathe
much less be seen
and now she’s almost everywhere-
taking space in uncomfortable spaces
learning she’s not bad-
she just needed attention and to feel valued
I’ve finally accepted she’s an important part of me
who needs to be seen
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I’m tired of same repetitive compliments
You’re so pretty, so sexy and if they’re really “trying”
you’re BEAUTIFUL
but never in my life
have i been call a masterpiece, intelligent,
or have I been told that I inspire poetry?
and old lonely me would entertain
these flimsy lust or love possibilities
kept my standards low to keep my bed warm
and to escape my chronic emptiness
but after almost a year of solitude
my standards have been raised to the ceiling
and now I’m protective of my energy
anyone who wants to get near me
will have to make a solid effort
write me poetry, take me out to steak dinners
and buy me pretty dresses and notebooks
Life on the BPD 