Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: it’s cool, it’s okay

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

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: trauma undisturbed

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

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: target

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

Family life in the 80s
Family life in the 80s

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?

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: first grade

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

me in 1987 in first grade

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