Ostracized, alienated, and abandoned for being too odd, too much cried a million tears over the same story too stubborn to learn from the tragic lessons sent from the universe naively believed this one will complete me, this one will save me it wasn’t until my middle age, I had a great catharsis and said “OH SHIT, I AM ENOUGH!” I let go of my damsel in distress story wrote a new story of empowerment and love within the pages of my journal Wrote and wrote like a madwoman until I found peace and closure from anything that traumatized me come to the conclusion the only hero I ever needed was the woman in the mirror
he can say anything because of his pretty privilege I don’t know a woman alive who wouldn’t sleep with him 6’7, blonde hair, blue eyed norse God with silly rhymes I’d be his working class Peruvian version of Sofia Vergara Get rid of my empowered Incan Goddess persona and become sweet and submissive just for him get wrapped up figuratively and literally in gravy magic
I hold onto my should haves for old times sake to inspire the poet out of me should have hugged him a few moments longer the other night so he’d get a hint of how I felt should have broken up with him in spring after that email should have cut ties with him in the summer the first time he kicked me out of his apartment should have divorced him the winter after I tried to die should have, should have, should have so many of them could have prevented some emotional disasters, earthquakes that broke my core but then again, should haves have inspired 1001 poems and stories in my tome of lust and love
I’m lead to a higher version of myself after integration it’s uncomfortable and I blush red in this latest transformation annoyed and hate everything I write as most of it takes a romantic undertone I started to miss the woman-scorned and empowered who decimated her exes the one who came up with the clever phrase electronic pink slip but that woman is slipping away from me transforming into a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve with her poetry transforming into a woman who’s grown bored of hating her exes and instead wants to be on friendly terms with them transforming into a woman who understands and accepts she not defined by her trauma or a diagnosis and instead should lean into the magic of love that lurks inside of her
my body keeps score even when I think I’m better even though I’ve found closure and made peace with most of my demons my body keeps score on certain dates and remembers unintentional trauma inflicted and the great impact it had on me great emotional earthquakes that shook and broke the core of my soul leading to breakdowns and breakthroughs understanding and accepting who and what’s right for me and what isn’t
always second choice, a lifetime full of heather moments the universe makes a mockery out of me putting me in contests I never win never being smart enough, pretty enough, American enough will I ever be chosen?
ancestor, ancestor- which alcohol goes best with making shitty life decisions ancestors says, not the PBR, not the michelob ultra light, it’s too basic of an energy for the kind of epic shitty life decisions you tend to make don’t reach for the margarita wine either, too obvious, too much of a cliche and you already have plenty of them in your poetry Go for the Guiness six pack make your shitty life decisions with some English class since most of your terrible decisions tend to include some asshole whose ancestors are colonizer Englishmen
sultry July night at a pirate party fiery red Dionysian hair, body made by Gods caught his eye from a distance he wanted her, he craved her, he wanted to fuck her he approached her right away she saw through his toxic fuck boi vibe Said “no thanks” and introduced him to me I was already 3 drinks in, mesmerized by his body Covered in tattoos from head to toe, his boyish smile felt an electric energy between us (or maybe that was the buzz from my third margarita) he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, I WANT THIS BAD BOY! within a few minutes, we assessed each other and flirted he asked me for my phone number, giddy, I gave it to him and that was the beginning of the end of me and almost 6 years later, my friend still says, “Sorry, I introduced you to him”
mami dressed me up in ruffles and pastels whenever she could I’d swirled and twirled in my dress until I got dizzy loved when everyone told me, “ay que bonita te miras” and I awkwardly bowed, smiled, and hid sashayed to every single one of my relatives and did the same thing it’s one of the few times I remembered being vain as a child one of the few times I didn’t feel weird and like an outcast external validation learned at the tender age of 8
It’s April again and it’s not only spring that is in bloom but also the creativity that goes along with it. And of course, it’s national Poetry month and every year since 2022 I try to participate in NaPoWrimo which is an activity where I write a poem a day and post it on my blog. I use prompts from this website for inspiration: https://www.napowrimo.net/ and as always I’m excited to see what crazy poems I come up with. Last year my favorite poem was a spicy one I wrote about Yung Gravy that I ended up performing at open mic.
my forever muse
Also, this year, I decided to give y’all my own original prompts to inspire y’all. Feel free to send me your poem and I’ll post it on my blog or you can just keep it in between the pages of your journal. I had a goal last year that I would post my own prompts for National Poetry Month and here we are. So here are prompts that I wrote sometime in early 2022. Here’s my contact info where you can email me or dm me your poem.
no me puedo pasar desapercibida en esta mundo privilegiado edad equivocada. apellido equivocado, etnicidad equivocada sintiéndome destinada para fracasar en esta universidad mientras que la presión para triunfar cuelga como una soga sobre mi cuello pero no me doy por vencida y me presento todos los días si solamente para darle una enseñanza a mis hijos a como seguir adelante cuando quieres renunciar
la ira y furia de mis antepasados femeninas viven en mi ellas me visitan en sueños y me mandan mensajes que cuentan sus historias, sus verdades aunque duelan, aunque algunas me llamaran sádica y dramática ellas me inquietan y me dicen es tiempo de gritar todas las injusticias y trastornos vividow que nuestras muertes no han sido en vano y aunque lloro y trato de ignorar la llamada de la sangre es inevitable-fui escogida- para sus venganzas, para sus historias de redención
Life on the BPD 