I wrote this poem in April of 2022.

I summon success and wealth
I summon good energy
I summon letting go of unhealthy patterns
I summon a life without grief and strife
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

we lit it up blue and made the colorful puzzle piece our lifeβs logo
Some of us wrote poems about it, some of us tattooed it on our bodies
we declared ourselves warrior moms and treated Jenny McCarthyβs book
like it was the bible, even blaming vaccines for our children being atypical
and supported Autism Speaks blindly, never question their intentions
trusting it was a safe place for our families
perhaps we were desperate for answers and a cure for our childβs neurodivergence
perhaps we were trying to help them get to what society deems as normal
but looking back now, we were messy and also part of the problem
because while the diagnosis helped get IEPs and therapy for early intervention
it also became how we defined our kids and ourselves unaware
that true understanding and awareness is acknowledging our children
are human beings first and foremost deserving of love, respect, and autonomy
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

horace and betty flaunt 77 years of matrimony on the front page of the local newspaper
and Iβm both awestruck and jealous at their achievement
because I couldnβt even get past year 11 of my marriage
because now I canβt even get past a talking stage on any of the dating apps
because I canβt imagine the kind of saintly patience, understanding and loyalty
required for that kind of commitment
horace and betty flaunt 77 years of matrimony on the front page of the local newspaper
and I wonder the fuck they did it
what was the magic key to unlock both their doors to a lifetime of shared love,respect
and vulnerability
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

Downloaded hinge to become unhinged
the fountain of inspiration was waning
and I needed a dose of new character energy
even if some of those characters are icky and shady
even if some of those characters annoy me
I canβt keep writing about the same old repetitive stories
reheating old trauma for the purpose of making art
after a while, it gets exhausting
after a while, it makes no sense since Iβve forgiven them all
and honestly, I canβt do another 4 years of Trump
Celibate and devoid of any romantic energy
I wrote this poem in April of 2022:

I saw a cross written in the sky
and I wondered,
βIs that you God?
Is that your sign that I shouldnβt lose
faith or hope
and I need to keep going,to keep living?
Is that you God ?
Telling me everything will be fine
and one day peace will be mine
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

my teenager gives my dating advice,
at 13, he thinks he knows everything
after watching an unhealthy amount of romantic animes
and getting his first girlfriend
says romance should be a slow burn
donβt hold hands until the twentieth date
and donβt think about the benefits of the men Iβm dating
Concentrate on what my heart is feeling
and I donβt know if I should be offended or impressed
but then again at 44, I am the one divorced
with a trail of several trainwrecks relationships left behind
maybe I should take his words of wisdom seriously
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

mami didnβt know the door she opened when she gave me Becquer”s Rhyme XXX
thought I would just take solace in the spanish poets words about heartbreak and move on
mami had no idea how that poem was a gateway to inspiration for me to write my first poem at 15
and keep writing them 30 years later
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.

Faith found me one day
and told me to keep going when I didnβt want to
Faith made me believe in GOD when I wanted to fall
into the abyss of depression
Faith held me as I cried endless tears of my about
my latest life’s catastrophe
Faith loved me when I couldnβt love myself
Faith brought me people who believed in me
When I couldnβt believe in myself
Faith decided to one day bring itβs accomplice
HOPE
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.

I blame my ADD, Mami and hypersensitivity for my poetic tendencies
I never had the attention span or time to learn to play an instrument or paint
instead at 15, I learned to write poems out of the shards in my heart left
from a breakup after reading Becquer, and ever since then
Itβs been an ongoing love affair with poetry
one that is a refuge from the outside world, one that has been therapeutic
when I felt the sky fall on me many times
and while on most days I still suffer from imposter syndrome
and donβt consider myself a real poet
I donβt and wonβt ever let that deter me from processing
the wonderful, terrible, and crazy things in my life through poetry