I wrote this poem earlier this month for a future version of myself. I wanted to end 2024 with a hopeful and romantic note.
lighting hits me and I’m in love all over again
this time I take my vows seriously
this time I believe in the whole
“til death do us part” bit
this time it’s far from perfect and ideal
but for once in my life
we’re enough for each other
and there are no seconds thoughts
that this is true love
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me
as I sing out my guts to lyrics
that reminds me of you
the worst of my ideas,
the worst of my crimes
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me
hoping that this is the last bit of closure
I need from you
and that from now on
we’ll both live our lives free and clear
of each other
and soon you both fade into
the background of my memory
and soon you stop showing up
in my dreams
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
just call me J.Lo without the ass because my ex
(if we can even call him that) came back to me
after 2 years of sobriety
we’re the low rent version of Bennifer
except we’re not millionaires
or celebrities (yet)
I’m just a working class immigrant poet
and he’s my ex whatevership Nordic muse
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
beast hurry up and come find me
it’s been a year since I’ve been married
two years since I had sex
and three years since I’ve been
in real relationship
I’m a thirsty and horny yearning
to break my vow of celibacy
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
Universe, send me a silver lining
send me a sign, send me a message
things will be alright
lately everything feels so awry
lately May feels like the longest month of my life
lately everything feels like chaos and darkness
I can’t seem to get rid off
And lately I’m afraid I’m about to lose my mind
I wrote this silly poem in April of 2024.
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
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.
for almost three years I’ve been waiting for the next guy to appear
as some kind of hero, as some kind of reward for all of my effort
I’ve put into myself and the life I’ve built
Subconsciously I did this
Even as I publicly roared about being empowered on my own
I still wanted someone to be my sanctuary to lay my love in
And I wrote, manifested, schemed, flirted
got obsessed with men who were just meant to be friends
Thinking, gosh, if I hang on long enough, he’ll come around
this might work out
but today I discovered the only hero for me
is the woman in the mirror
who still manages to get out of bed
even on the bad days when she’s too tired to function
when she’s exhausted by all of it
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
it’s where my demons decide to come out to play
they dance with traumatic memories
making my fears and insecurities come out to the surface
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
being insane becomes my personality and aesthetic
scaring away any potential love candidates
it’s been a long time since I held someone’s hand
much less been in someone’s bed
It’s the wild wild went inside my head
And I wonder when will the demons get tired and leave
so maybe one day I’m not so jaded
so maybe one day I give someone the chance
to take me out on a date
What was the last thing you did for play or fun?
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
take slow breaths and wash your hands
you’re fine, you’re okay
in fact you’re more than okay
you’re fucking wonderful darling
this moment of intense grief and anxiety
reminds you that you’re human
and you can’t always play the role
of strong and resilient Queen in front of the world
sometimes you have to pause, calm down, breathe
and let everything out
be vulnerable, be soft
this is how you start to feel integrated and whole
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
erotic stories from my ancestors are still seen in the caves
and uncovered in archaeological digs
people intertwined in every imaginable position-
showing their sexual pleasure shamelessly-
it makes the American and Colonizer catholic girl in me blush and say,
damn, the Incas were some kinky people
Happy 13 years of blogging to ME! This blog is now as old as my youngest child. And just like him, it’s had some growing pains as well. So, just to recap, here’s how it started:
And here’s how years, 10,11.12 have gone:
In year 12, I kept the same format and kept telling my story through poetry and so far it’s still working. Year 12 has been somewhat tricky and challenging given some extenuating personal circumstances so I didn’t experiment with the blog the way I had wanted to. However, I will say that I am glad I’m still here telling my story my way. At times when things have looked bleaked for me and I just about wanted to throw in the towel and kind of give up, creating content for this blog has kept me grounded and kept me going through my darkest of days . I also did add a couple of more playlists this year which captures my life the last couple of years:
I’m so very thankful for my followers and anyone who reads my little blog. It means the world to me that a lot of you are all still here following my chaotic storytelling with one day posting about wanting to be a “yung gravy’s groupie” and then a few days later posting about “contemplating life at the convent”. I feel so loved by an online community who finds me entertaining and accepts me for the often chaotic mess that I can be. I’m very grateful for y’all and so humbled by your support. If I wasn’t so medicated, I’d cry tears of gratitude.
Here’s one of my most favorite poems I wrote this year:
With all that being said, I’m not sure what the future looks like for the blog. I know that in 2025, I wanted to rebrand and rename it because I feel like I’ve outgrown the whole “I have BPD, and that’s the most interesting thing about me” storyline. I was going to do it this year, but well, life happened, and I just didn’t have time. With all that being said, I am going to give y’all a peek into what 2024 looked like for me with the 12 days of Patty: Poetry Edition starting on the 20th of this month. Here’s hoping that I continue with this little passion project of mine that’s saved me more times than I can count from falling into the abyss. Here’s manifesting a year of growth and love for the blog, for me, and for anyone who’s reading this post. Also, if y’all have any suggestions for a new name for the blog, let me know. And as always, I am open to collaborations with any content creators out there who feel like my blog would be a good fit for them. Speaking of collaborations, I was most fortunate to be interviewed by my friend J.R Barner for his newsletter and here’s a link to his newsletter for y’all to sign up for it:https://www.jrbarner.com/
and read his newsletter that I highly recommend. So to end this blog post, I’ll leave you with a link to one of my more hopeful poems about why I continue to tell my story.
Here’s my contact info:
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
the future of me is not written yet
I have to understand that
all I can do is write for her
who will still question her existence
or why things happened the way they did
or what the fuck happened to her
I know myself too well
it doesn’t matter how far I’m in my self discovery journey
I’ll always have questions
Its my insatiable curiosity
I can only hope that the future me has leaned into self love
More than ever before and still understands
she and her kids are her top priorities
Anyone else is expendable in her little universe of love
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I swipe and swipe on anyone who looks appetizing,
on anyone who looks interesting
and then the messages swarm in-
I must be honey to the bees who buzz and buzz around me
and I’m not impressed
Hey, beautiful says the guy with his catch of day
in his profile pic –
Are you DTF? Says the zoomer almost young enough
to be my son-ew-blocked
insert a pretentious line with a quote
From a Wallace Stevens poem , it’s the Genxer
who’s gross-ethically non monogamous-
I must not have been paying attention
while I was swiping
And the messages keep coming
And I’m overwhelmed by the amount of them
and underwhelmed by quality of them
and I’m nauseated and want to vomit
at the thought of giving any of these men
an ounce of my energy
maybe a past version of me
would have given them a chance
but this new and empowered version of me
Nah, none of them seem worthy
so I deactivate my profile
and uninstall the app
Understand I’m too evolved to find love online
and put my trust in the universe that one day
The right guy will find me
and I won’t even have to try
and until that time comes,
I’ll keep being an independent Peruvian Queen
Focusing on myself and my kids
without any mediocre energy
trying to intervene
