I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. I’m telling y’all when I get obsessed with someone I’m like the mild version of Joe Goldberg.
You had no clue How I felt about you Because you were too hard headed to put us through the relationship test because you wanted to be free Instead of wasting your time on me It’s really sad But I’ll have the last laugh Because one day you’ll realized I could’ve been your ultimate prize But now it’s too late for you have offended your fate
April means Autism Awareness and Acceptance month and I felt compelled to write about a realization I recently had about my oldest son, D who has autism. My realization was that he’s not a hero, he’s a person. I want to say that first and foremost, I got permission from him to write this post about him because at some point in the journey, it became his story to tell. I also got his permission because I’m trying to be better about boundaries when it comes to writing about the people in my life. I could actually write more about boundaries but that’s another blog post.
My oldest son was diagnosed at the age of 5 and I was 22. I’ve written about him in a previous post about how he was my hero because of all of the obstacles he’s conquered and how proud I am of him because of that. Here’s that blogpost:
One thing that I didn’t address in that post was how receiving this diagnosis meant me receiving a new identity, a mom with a child on the autism spectrum. Or we are often called autism warrior moms or whatever is trendy at the time. From the age of 22, this identity was deeply ingrained within me. I’ve lost count of how many articles or books I’ve read about autism. I’ve lost count of how many parent teacher conferences or IEP meetings I’ve attended having to fight or advocate for services for my son. I’ve lost count of how many therapists or counselors my son has had. You get my point. Being a mom to a child with autism is not easy. It’s hard, really hard. I’ve mentioned before how my child started to flourish between 3rd and 4th grade and he went on to be successful in his academic career throughout high school. Throughout all of this, I didn’t realize it but I put my child on a pedestal. I don’t know if it was the BPD or me being super excited about my son’s progress. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good and healthy thing to encourage my son and support him; but at some point idealizing him put an unhealthy amount of pressure that started to feel like a burden. I won’t say what happened next in this story but I will say that he’s now thriving as a regular 23 year old. I realized this week that at some point I stopped being an autism warrior mom. I think that I understood this sometime in 2016 after my son turned 18 but really accepted it this week. It’s weird when I used to start talking about myself, being a autism warrior mom would be one of the first things I would share and now I don’t feel the need to. When someone who knows me and my son mentions he’s quiet, I’m just like “well he’s just shy”. Like I first mentioned in this post; it’s just no longer my story to share. When I talk about my son, I just say “ he’s D, pretty awesome most of the time but kind of annoying at times.” I’ve also let go of this idealization of him I had. I still admire him and love him for who he is but he’s not a hero; he’s a person. He’s a person with his own set of issues and insecurities. He’s a person with goals and plans for the future. And talking to him, he wants to be seen that way. I also want to mention that I’m not speaking for all the moms with children with autism, I’m speaking just for myself. Getting here has been difficult but it’s been an important part of the process of me becoming not just a better mother, but a better person as well.
I wrote this in January of 2003 about Lucas. I was still obsessing about him.
Your love was a lost cause when it was her you chose but at night I still toss and turn wondering why it wasn’t me you yearned Was it the hurtful fact? You wanted to keep your life intact Or was it because I wasn’t good enough To make the ultimate sacrifice to leave your perfect and fake life
I wrote this in January of 2003 but I’m not sure who I wrote this about. Haha.
truth
I think you should know I want to take things slow I don’t want to rush And end up again a lush I want to know you Before kissing you I want us to be friends Before getting intense You’re going to have to understand Before becoming my man I want it to be true And not just lust
Escribí este poema en el 2003. Estaba bien decepcionada después de tantas relaciones que tronaron.
Siempre es así
Después de tanta decepción y desilusión Me quedo con un gran rencor Hacia esos hombres Que me hacen comer palabras dulces Y me hacen creer en el amor Solo para después dejarme con un derrame de lágrimas O hacerme creer que a él me pueda atar Solo para después Burlarse de mi dignidad Al dejarme de nuevo en una soledad negra O me hacen feliz por querer amarme a mi Solo para después irse de mi vida Sin voltear atrás o pensar en mi bienestar O me hacen caer en su maravillosa forma de ser Solo para después pisotear mi corazón Con su indifferente desamor
I wrote this 20 years ago on November 1st right before the great breakup of 2001. I wish I could say that I get over breakups quicker now but that would be a lie. After fights or breakups with partners, I seem to always go back to the girl I was in my teens and 20s. My brain is wired that way and I’ve accepted it. It’s something called age regression that shows up in people with Borderline Personality Disorder. Fear of abandonment is so severe that some of us will feel like we are literally dying after a breakup. Some of us will stop eating, some of us will sleep for days, some of will self harm or have suicidal ideation. With each breakup, I’ve noticed I’ve acquired healthier coping mechanisms. Nowadays, I’ve learned to listen more to what I need in order to heal than what doing what I used to do to escape the pain of heartbreak. My method now is cut off all contact with the ex, exercise, write a LOT and do loads of self care. I’m careful not to fall into any quick escapes from my feelings like going on tinder and trying to find someone new. Do I think I will ever get better at accepting a breakup like a normal person? I don’t know but I hope so.While I’m thankful for all of the inspiration and growth that comes from every breakup ;it’s also very overwhelming, exhausting and draining at times.
❤❤❤
You showed up unexpectedly in my life Like a pleasant surprise Calling and seeing me every day Making me dinner and leaving me roses on my dashboard I thought “finally, the one has come” Suddenly all of those nice things started becoming scarce The dinners, the roses, seeing me became non-existent Even talking to you on the phone has become too much of a bother of you I’m no fool, I know exactly where this doomed thing is headed Pretty soon you’ll give me some lame excuse As to why “we” can no longer be And my heart will shatter into pieces yet again There will be nothing left to say I’ll just realize once again You’re just like every other fool
I wrote this on January 1st, 2003 about this dude that I hooked up with a week prior. I was upset about John and of course wanted to escape from my feelings of rejection. So I started once again seeking validation from men and ended up hooking up with some guy from the bar.
So true
The night I met you I was drunk and blue Because of that impossible love Who said I wasn’t good enough So I decided to drink my pain away and then you came my way With your charming and smooth manner I should’ve known you were a player But you told me everything That I wanted to believe in How you had never met anyone like me And that you wanted us to be It sound almost too good to be true But i was feeling lonely too So i decided to give in to you Afterwards you promised to call But instead you went awol And many days later I sit here In a river of foolish tears Wondering why why why I always fall for the same false lines
I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. Guess I was still mad at the rejection I felt when he ghosted me.
It’s like that sometimes
If I was nothing more Than another girl Why couldn’t you have been straight Instead of acting in an enamored way And made me really believe You truly care for me but I should have known all along that you’d be the same jerk song Hopefully one day I’ll learn to stop taking all you crooked turns
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.
I wrote this in January of 2003. I’m honestly surprised that after so much disappointment in the dating world, I still had faith. I guess I was still a hopeless romantic at that point.
It’s so hard sometimes to be nice When you’ve cried so many times Over so many sorry ass guys When you are always done wrong You wonder what’s taking so long To find a warm hearted guy Who’ll give you the moon and the sky To find that special man that was written for you in the sand Sometimes you almost want to give up and just suck it up And say “I’m so through” With always being used But you have to have faith That one day you’ll find somebody great And all of these lonely nights Will finally have an end in sight
I wrote this in 2002 about my former friend Brad. He was the type of “friend” that kept trying to sleep with him and I tried to have boundaries with him. I guess I should have seen the red flags then.
Growth begins by choosing yourself
My dear friend Why do you want to stay with me tonight? Is it because you’re lonely? Or is it because you’re sad? Or maybe you just crave the company of my warm body Sorry but I can’t allow it Because I’m selfish And want to keep memories of you pure and free of any sexual intimacy
Poetry is and always has been a big part of my life. Poetry is everywhere . Poetry is in the lyrics I sing, it’s in the love I make, it’s in the beauty of nature, and even in the grief I feel. Since as long as I can remember, I’ve used poetry to process my feelings.
At first, it was me finding comfort in song lyrics when sadness or anxiety hit me even as a young child. I remember being 5 and belting out the heartbreaking lyrics to Juan Gabriel’s song “Querida: or the romantic lyrics Daniela Romo’s “De Mi Enamorate”. When I came to the United States in the 80s, I learned English at school but also through song lyrics. I remember at 6 or 7 singing the lyrics toGeorge Michael’s “Careless Whisper” or Rick Astley’s “Together Forever”. Around 6th grade when I started getting crushes on boys that never gave me the time of day, I would alternate between being angry and singing salty songs like “Someday” by Mariah Carey or singing and crying to Boyz II Men’s “End of The Road”. Yes, I’ve been super dramatic and emotional since I can remember. Haha.
Here is a short playlist of these songs:
Poetry Feels like
And then came the age of the internet when poetry became accessible to me with just a few clicks. I remember being ghosted by this ex when I was 15 and finding this poetry forum with poems full of teenage angst, anger and sadness. It was incredible to me that there were other people feeling how I felt. Yes, some of these poems could be called cringy and corny – but it got me through what I thought was the worst heartbreak I was experiencing at that time. Here are a few of those poems
I Want to Know by Cammi ThornRide by Unknown PoetCheck Please by Unknown Poet
Around this time my mom noticed my new fondness for poetry and introduced me to the love poetry of the Spanish poet Gustavo Becquer and I swooned. This is my favorite poem of his:
Rima XXX by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer
Eventually I started writing poetry to process my feelings and this is one of the first ones I wrote inspired by what else-a breakup. Haha.
Jaded me at 15
In some of my blog posts, I’ve said that I shouldn’t have written poems about so and so and should have gone to therapy; and while that may be true, poetry was also a type of therapy for me. Whether it was writing salty and angry poems or processing feelings of infatuation or existential dread; poetry has been one of the few constants in my life
In my 20s, I discovered Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” and Sylvia’s Plath “To a Jilted Lover” and my love for poetry became even stronger.
Phenomenal Woman by Maya AngelouTo A Jilted Lover by Sylvia Plath
At that time, I also found the courage to join the literary club in college and start reading my own poetry in front of my peers. I call it brave because poets that share their poems, whether it be through open mic night, social media, a blog, or a book are sharing an intimate part of themselves with the world. They’re sharing their vulnerability, their grief, and sometimes even their most private thoughts. It’s brave to do this in a world that shouts at you to “fuck feelings “or tries to tone down the many emotions we as humans feel as we go through this beautiful and complicated thing called life. Sharing your poetry can feeling like opening and inviting the world to your innermost and private thoughts.
For me, poetry is part of how I process life. Sharing my poetry through my blog or at open mic sometimes feels like the last step in healing from trauma. I told my therapist that sharing my poetry through my blog feels cathartic because afterwards it feels like I’m completely done with revisiting a traumatic event. I’ve also received comments from people that they’re related to my poetry because of something similar they’ve felt or have gone through and that’s the other reason I share my poetry. IF even one person can relate to any of my poems and it makes them not feel so alone then I’ve done my job as a poet.
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.
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
Escribí este poema en Diciembre del 2002 acerca de John. Estaba tan decepcionada de el. Fue difícil dejarlo ir.
Pero fue lindo
Yo tenía la esperanza Que tu eras el hombre Que yo tanto esperaba Pero después de ver la fea manera que me trataste Ahora me doy cuenta En realidad los que tu piensas Que no mas fui Cualquier otra para ti No fui algo especial Nunca te iba a importar Y ahora me quedo sola Y estas lagrimas que se convierten en un mar