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.
random pic of me pissed in 2019
“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
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
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
I found love and it wasn’t at a bar or an app I found it on the soil I was born on, I found it in the embrace of my homeland I found it in welcome from everyone I met and reconnected with I found it in the accent I never had I found love as the prodigal daughter of my country I hadn’t seen in 32 years
last time I saw her, she was on her 5th husband she didn’t know how to be alone, stand up on her own always needed a man by her side and even as she aged and her looks waned she had her aryan blonde blue eyed looks to get her by it was a crystalized existence something about her frozen in time someone had never taught her that alone she was enough
and the roses never wilted, they just transformed into flowers never seen before for a while it looked like they were dying as they slowly turned gray and then black but then they bloomed into something different, a unique kind of beautiful
look at that Goddess, very awkward, very full of herself
gratitude taste like mami’s sopa de pollo gratitude smells like my lover’s cologne gratitude feels like a warm hug from my son gratitude sounds like my sister’s car in my driveway gratitude looks like me looking at the Goddess in the mirror
I longed and longed and longed to feel whole until I planted my feet on the soil I was born on until I breathed the air my parents and ancestors inhaled until I tasted flavors from almost a lifetime ago I longed and longed and longed to feel whole until I returned to my homeland and it was the piece of the puzzle found I needed to finally complete me
without a care in the world-we danced in the rain enjoying the last vestiges of childhood feeling the wet ground against our feet stomping and laughing and enjoying the miracle of this moment as it rained in paradise
I long to run free in a world free from prejudice and pride I long to run free in a world free from judgment and ignorance I long to run free in a world that accepts people like me I long to run free in a world where I’m not hypervigilant about toning myself down
I wrote this in 2019 when I was reflecting about the way men have often objectified in a way thatthey almost always seem to just want the fun and sexy part of me but seem to often have problems seeing the rest of me. I’ve almost always felt like I’ve been good enough to be their lover but never good enough to be introduced to their mother. Do I still feel this way? I honestly don’t know. I like the attention and validation I get from men because of my looks but sometimes it feels so hollow. **This poem went through heavy edits in June of 2026.
Often men want this girl…the ones that’s always down for a “good” timeBUT run away from this one….the other girl …the vulnerable one that has a realness hard to accept
Tell me I’m beautiful, tell me I’m sexy Objectify me, sleep with me breadcrumb me, ghost me, then try to come back to me And when I deny you insult me, threaten me,try your best to hurt me- Your words mean nothing to me You’re not the first but will be the last who tries to destroy me You’re not the first but will be the last who treats me like your on call whore You’re not the first but will be the last who tells me I’m not good enough and after all that, try to come back again and Tell me you miss, tell me you want me Tell me you’re sorry, tell me you LOVE ME Be persistent in your quest in trying to bed me with empty promises about how this time it will be different and how we have history so I can laugh and laugh and turn you down and watch you sulk honey, I know you watch me on social media so you should know better than to ever come back to me
I wrote this in September of 2019 after I read somewhere about some politician making fun of AOC for doing the “Latina Thing”. It annoyed the fuck out of me.
Edit: I revised this poem heavily in 2025 when I performed it in open mic. Here’s a link to that performance
what I think of the haters
make fun of our accents,make fun of our names- call us feisty, caliente, spicy. too loud, too sexy try to bully us into silence try to put us down with racist and ignorant insults try to stereotype us- try to make us feel less than try to kill us- but understand that we’re here to stay, and we’re not letting anyone get in our way don’t you know that we’re descendents of Mayan, Aztec, and Incan Kings and Queens and survival and resilience is embedded in our DNA y estamos aquí para quedarnos para siempre
Sometimes the poem just writes itself without asking me what I want the rage, the grief,over what this world is becoming seeps out of my pen and stains the paper I wanted to write a love poem on
I believe a good poem will move you in such a way it will evoke some emotion in you I believe a great poem will rip you apart, punch you in the gut and render you completely speechless
the shelf of my bookcase breaks, and my poetry notebooks fall every single one of my love stories scattered on the floor Failure after failure Were any of them worth the effort? Was the experience worth the suffering? Maybe it was for the inspiration behind my prose and poetry and the growth I’ve had Still, that doesn’t seem like an adequate answer
