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
My middle name is Elizabeth. I’m not sure why my parents chose this middle name other than the fact that it was the most generic white sounding name easy to pronounce and a few cousins and one aunt had this middle name. I was never been attached to it until my 30s when I took the shortened version of it, “Eliza” and unintentionally chose this as my alter ego and later on as a pseudonym for my writing. After the great depression of 2016 and 2017, followed what I now called the “great manic episode of 2018” in which Eliza first appeared. During that time, I did many unhealthy and toxic things like go on an array of dating apps, drink heavily, and just indulge in these terrible and self destructive behaviors.
Eliza in 2018
I used Eliza as the profile name for those dating apps and also, when I started blogging again in 2019. After much therapy and introspection, I’ve determined that Eliza is my shadow side, my alter ego that’s been much needed to deal with my depression, my anger, my madness-basically the worst of my mental illness. She was much needed to be able to deal when my emotions got overwhelming and I didn’t know how to keep going. I’ll say that while she’s caused much mischief, as I’ve started to recover from mental illness, she’s been instrumental in healing. I’ve learned to used this side of me to do badass and awesome things like conquer my driving phobia, learn to swim, travel to my homeland, write rage poetry, and perform at open mic.
me using Eliza’s confidence to perform
As time passed and I recovered more and more, I learned that eventually, I’d get to integration of self and I’d had to let go of her. Well, sort of. It took a while to get to the integration of self and this took many steps (I’ll write more about this in another blog post). The last step to get to my integration where I would become my most authentic self was my divorce which was 6 months ago. I knew as soon that afternoon after my divorce was finalized, I’d have to let go of Eliza, as a pseudonym, an alter ego, a protective entity to protect me. That afternoon, I switched all of my social media profiles and my two blogs to my real name.
meet integrated Patty-integrated and empowered
It was a very scary thing to do but a much needed one to finish this process of integration I started a few years ago. It was hard because for so long I hung onto this part of me that had gotten through the roughest of times and also, using my real name everywhere was extremely uncomfortable but I had to do it. I’m not going to lie and say that Eliza is completely gone because she’s not but she’s integrated into who I am now and I no longer use her as an excuse when my anger gets the best of me and a rage poem comes out. The best way to put it is that I’ve fully accepted that she’s a part of Patty but no longer controls me, defines me or is even the worst of me. She just is. I’ve learned the past few years how to manage this part of me in a much healthier manner that’s been productive and helpful to me in achieving my goals. Here are three poems I’ve written about her:
shout out to these folks who were there for Eliza when no one else was….hahaha
Eliza and Patty
If you’re gonna love Patty-you’re going to have to live with Eliza She’s the dark and loud side of me I try to keep her at bay , I try to ignore her But then something angers me and she appears I used to loathe her and say-hey, that’s not me-but now I accept She’s always been a part of me She makes me brave and strong-she makes me crazy and creative I haven’t had writers block since I’ve stop trying to suppress her And while it’s embarrassing that I have an alter ego She was necessary for progress and growth
10/13/22
Shadow
my shadow waits and waits to be integrated she’s been patient long enough she wants me to feel the true power of being whole she’s stayed too long in the sidelines as I called her “bad” and a “complete stranger” and I was ashamed of her and at times she jolted me and came out during my bouts of impulsivity or my super angry poetry and now I finally understand she’s me Well the part within me I hate to acknowledge but I’m no longer afraid of her and understand her and am ready for her to be acknowledged and take her rightful place within She will no longer be treated like a dirty mistress Nah, she’ll rule like a queen and I’ll feel whole and empowered
11/26/22
I run with my shadow
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 heard, seen and loved
women are recognized all over the world today but none of us are equal we still have to fight the same bullshit every day if we’re human and show emotion, we’re labeled crazy or dramatic if we want to show off our bodies, we’re labeled slutty or conceited if we don’t give in to our partners because they’re “in the mood” we are called prudes, frigid bitches or worse, we feel obligated to give in to avoid being raped it we’re educated and try to succeed in our careers men are intimidated by us and try hard to dim our light and if we are loud and take up space we are labeled as too much and abandoned it’s like as much as the media try to paint a picture of equality it’s all a fucking lie because in my 42 years on this earth I haven’t lived anywhere where my existence is valued as much as man’s
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
and if they don’t heed my warning, I’ll be here for them and get revenge for them
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
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
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
no fuck you and your pedantic machismo- oh and PWM =privileged white male
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
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
