I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
pieces of my broken heart were strewn on the floor when you chose her
in the christmas of 94
when my friends delivered the news on Jesus’ birthday
and it was the first time I became a martyr for love
Thought death must be better than the sting of rejection
I felt as I played with the cd player my parents got me
faked smiles and acted like nothing was wrong
I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
Become medusa the minute I’m jealous,
left for another or ignored
and out comes my pouts about how
I’ve been so wrong
I become a monstrosity of absurdity
as I distort reality
but really, none of it was really that deep
all these men were silly passing up
a masterpiece like me
and none of the ever deserved
my angry or creative energy
I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
I never asked any of my muses to become the inspiration
behind my poems
I just take whatever they give and run with it
Sometimes it’s sour, sometimes it’s sweet
most of the time, will be left unseen
a conversation between me and my journal
i wrote this poem in November of 2022.
Don’t invest your feelings in me
I’m not worth the risk
Sooner or later I’ll let you down
and you’ll feel like a clown
it’s better to keep this casual
or you’ll end up another casualty
in my book of lust and love
when feelings get involved
I wrote this poem in November of 2025.
bare branches on the christmas tree made of wire
Waiting for mami to adorn them with ornament
bought and homemade
it was a bittersweet christmas
The last navidad spent in the homeland
Before the chaos of our immigration journey
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wonder who you are-
Will you magically appear one day?
Or are you already in my atmosphere?
somewhere hidden, someone I hadn’t thought of
someone I never would have looked at-
do you stalk me on social media?
do I blow you away or scare you with my poetry?
do you think twice about sliding into my DMs?
do you fantasize about me before you go to sleep?
or maybe you don’t exist and this is one of my fantasies
I just want a hint whether or not you’ll be part my near future
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
until we meet again, Peru
i’ll hold you in my heart and dream about the warmth of my tia
and remember the taste of ceviche and carapulcra
and the smell of the busy city streets with too much traffic
America can never compare to your rich history or the warmth of your people
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
let the spirits guide you to greater good
to reaching your full potential
there’s a reason they appear in your dreams,
in the trees, in poetry
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
hope emerges from beyond
and I finally feel a lightness in me
is this what they call healing
is is what they call the power of love
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
All of the ingredients for a long term love and I fawn
I don’t think I’ve ever here before you
you shower me with consistency, desire, attention and respect
you actually care about how I’ve slept
you know how to reassure me repeatedly
I’m worthy enough to be loved
and all of my past romantic tragic comedies
were a all practice and experience for you
a real sanctuary to lay me love in
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in Lima, people sing out loud at the table, in the car
they don’t carry the shame and embarrassment of Americans
they show their happiness, sadness, anger and all of their emotions out loud
unafraid to be cast as emotional and dramatic
they wear badges of passion, grief, anger and love on a prominent place
without caring about what the judgment of others and it’s fucking beautiful
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
in 1821, my homeland gained independence from the Spanish crown
who subjugated my people to their whims of supremacy and colonizing ways
200 years later,they celebrated their independence
while, I, their daughter gained my independence from society’s chains
wrapped up in patriarchal and sexist good intentions
I wrote this poem in 2019 when I got into a fight with a friend because he was cruel to one of my friends. After this fight, we didn’t talk for 2 years but we ended up reconnecting in the summer of this year.
“Control myself”, he said as I called out his misogyny
his fragile ego couldn’t handle hard truths thrown at him
he thinks that he has a license to offend
because of the organ between his legs and the pale color of his skin-
He thinks that I’m wrong for not sitting still and silent
He thinks that I have no right to stand up for myself
“Control myself”, he said to and “fuck off” I replied to him
you won’t ever be able to control a woman like me
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
compasses, faded maps, stereos, VCRS, corded phones
all relics of another era
when we weren’t one click away from seeking validation
from our peers or the news trying to break us with each headline
simpler times when we could ignore
what was happening around us
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
once again the united states of white supremacy throws another wrench at my community
making it more of a crime to exist as we are
trying to erase our culture, trying to shame us for our heritage
trying to force us into assimilation by any means possible
trying to target us for simply not fitting into their idea of what America
should look and sound like
and I stand up in defiance and say, a mi me vale madre pendejos
estoy que desde 1986, sembrando raíces en California, Hawaii y Georgia
y me quedaré aquí como su peor pesadilla
una mujer latina, criada y educada en este país
que no se dejara llevar por la marginación y racismo constante
de esta administración
y que luchará hasta el último respiro por quedarse aquí
