Aqui esta la version en espanol:
poesía: gracias a ti
cupid gets it wrong once again-
bringing out a drawn out rejection for a month-
This time he tells me,
“You’re cool enough to make out with
but not good enough for my mom”
I almost throw my phone across the room
instead I say “it’s cool.it’s okay”
and take a pen to my rage on paper
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
You will always be a secret that I’ll regret
one that makes me full of shame and guilt
one I’ve tried to block again and again unsuccessfully
It’s something I will never talk about
it would cause my inner world much harm
so I’ll keep quiet about it
Swallow it whole
It’s a story of trauma that doesn’t need to be told
What will your life be like in three years?
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
saint tracey assured me my life wasn’t over
she showed me love and compassion
when everyone else shunned me
she accepted me for who I was
and encouraged me to follow the path of success
she saw the hidden potential in me
when other teachers saw laziness
she was a prayer from God
sent to me to remind me
my mistakes don’t define me
and that I was still worthy of the love
and goodness in the world
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman
constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm
putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us
insulting my father or sister
what about us made her project her insecurities
Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty?
or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have
a loving and doting husband
and all healthy children
What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was,
and where I came from
maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing
and since that time I’ve had identity issues
for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in-
to have proximity to being an American
but all it did was fuck up my identity
and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done
I have a hard time finding compassion for myself
I have a hard time letting go the guilt
For the pain I caused my family
I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid
desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted
to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Dulce Realidad
getting to know the new you will be an adventure,
and a risk worth taking even if we crash and burn once again
because there’s no one else before or after who I loved more
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
The scared and anxious little girl and the insecure and clingy woman tug at me-
I try to avoid them and lock them up in a box, but it never happens that way
They refuse to go away when a trigger of trauma visits me
And once again, I am lost in the alter ego I made up to protect myself
the one who shows up in confidence and screams through her poetry
but if I want to reach integration
I need to allow the little girl and the insecure woman space to reside within me
and honor them with powerful words of praise
because they, too, were part of my strength and resilience through the many traumas
It may feel painful at times-but for me to get to become a whole person
and reach emotional maturity – I need to walk hand in hand with the ones
who made me the powerful and confident woman I currently am
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Last Week
no se quien soy-esa es mi verdad
todos tienen sus opiniones acerca de quién soy
o quien debo ser
Madres, hija, trabajadora, estudiante, hermana y novia
son los papeles asignaron a mi-
pero me siento una impostora, una fracasada en todos esos roles
y sin saber quien soy debajo de las capas de estas identidades forzadas
sobre mi persona-
quien soy, quien soy, quien soy
Life on the BPD 