I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
to reach the next level of my life
I need to stand firm in alignment
with my values
I need to be brave and take the necessary steps
for my full autonomy
even if it’s painful, even if I start to question
the process
the end result will be the betterment
for me and my sons, a life full of purpose
a life where I’m no longer attached to anything
and anyone who held me back from reaching
my potential
I wrote this poem in September of 2019.
maybe this is as good as life gets
a life half lived but with few regrets
Who needs adventure and love
when you have the stability of family?
Who needs spontaneity and excitement
when you have the comfort of home?
Who needs connection and chemistry?\
when you have routine and predictability?
Maybe this is as good as life gets
A life half lived but with few regrets
Bored, bored, bored with it all
living a woman’s suburban dream of mediocrity
to want anything more
would break this so-called
domestic bliss
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I’m looking forward to that pisco sour I’ll have
after the judge declares me divorced and free to remarry
-ha- that’s the biggest joke ever
maybe I’ll land in someone’s bed once again
But a ring on my finger -NEVER!-
not in this lifetime, not as long as I breathe
instead I’ll claim my single status
And relish in it as long as I can
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Children should be seen, and not heard is one tradition I’ll never keep
It would mean invalidating my children’s feelings
It would mean for them to have years of therapy trying to find their sense of identity
It would mean to reduce them to shadows who only speak when spoken to
It would mean passing them the torch of a generational curse that makes them question their self-worth over and over again
So everyone can judge me or criticize my parenting all they want
I like my children to not just be seen but also heard
even if it’s sometimes loud and boisterous
even if it sometimes sounds disrespectful
It’s important for their emotional growth, for their confidence
and to break and heal the generational curse where children are silenced
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I overthink, I overthink and I overthink
and my head hurts from so much anxiety
Society puts so much pressure on me
to be nice, to be pretty
to be kind, to be smart
the stress is tearing me apart
but slowly I start to breathe
and the pressure starts to decrease
I change the narrative
And stop with listening to my inner critic
Fuck societal expectations
so what if I’m an aberration
the only person who determines my identity
is me
not you, not him,not my parents
and not society
I wrote this poem in april of 2023.
my protective instinct rings loudly in me
I will protect everyone I love no matter what
even if I have to die for them to be safe
even if I have to leave them alone for them to have peace
of mind
their well being means everything to me
inside of me lies the heart of a lioness ready to roar
ready to protect everyone she loves
I wrote this poem in April of 2023.
the freedom and independence in my son
brings me a sense of pride with so much happiness
I see his fiery spirit shine from within
and his light is so bright-
I know I’ve done something right
he’s not afraid to take risks, he’s not afraid of failure
He’s not afraid to be himself
and I breathe a sense of relief
he will not bear the sense of forced obligations
or burden of expectations I had-
instead he’ll make himself and his happiness
a priority above all else
while still caring for humanity
it’s the beginning of breaking a generational curse
of obedient and silent martyrdom
that’s been inherited for generations
I wrote this poem in April of 2023.
we all fuck up from time to time and have to remind ourselves
we are not our worst mistakes, our terrible breakups, or our emotional relapses
to be human is to make mistakes and sometimes those mistakes will feel catastrophic
and that’s when your inner critic with the help of shame and guilt will step in
trying to make you feel like a piece of shit, worthless and useless when it comes to everything
acknowledge it, honor it if you have to but don’t get stuck in it
because this is not the entirety of you
this is just a small fraction of your being-
don’t get caught up in the worst of yourself-
remind yourself of your strength and the gifts that you bring into this world
this poem is inspired by a poem I wrote in 2006 about my first baby daddy.
He turned out fine without you in his life
I understand now that it was for the best
that you weren’t a part of his story
I no longer hold resentment for you
your replacement taught him
all of the important things
how to shave, how to drive
compassion and kindness
your replacement still checks up on him
even though he’s a grown
your replacement was never called Dad
but your replacement is the only father
he’s ever known
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
My story is important to share, it’s important to write down
but I don’t want to do it from a place of anger, revenge, or ego
It’s strange to say this because for the past 5 years
Anger has been my major inspiration and motivation
to feed the narrative of how everyone has been a villain
and I’ve been a victim
It gave me a sense of martyrdom that allowed me
to find peace for a while
acting like everyone is a problem
While I just flounder around being wronged
And while I have so much compassion and love for this version of me
It’s not who I want to continue to be
It’s not how I want to be perceived
because I’m more than being angry and vindictive
I’m also kindness, goodness, empathy, and love
And when I share my story-I need to remember these things
I wrote this in February of 2019
Mother of three
What does that even mean?
Responsibilities, obligations, duties
Alcohol and going out are taboo for me
Songs of sacrifices and martyrdom
Are the tunes I hum
Dinner with friends and late
Night concerts are just WRONG!
Soccer games and play dates
Are my important dates
No time to spend
With my lifetime mates?
Mother of three,
Will I ever be free?
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I warn my sons about falling in love with poets and writers
I try to dissuade them from it
They’ll use any insensitive comment you ever made
into a salty verse dripped with not so subtle insults
They’ll use your most intimate moments as metaphors
for heaven or earthquakes
They’ll describe you as God or the Devil depending on how you left them
They’ll make you a villain in their stories or worst, the hero in them
And the worst part-
They’ll make you way bigger in their mind than you ever wanted to be
so , I plead with you, fall in love with a boring accountant or a teacher
or even a lawyer
You’ll avoid the stress of being someone’s inspiration, someone’s muse
and the chaos and drama that comes along with it
I wrote this poem in February of 2021.
One was born in the beginning of the 20th century
the other was born in the beginning of the 21st century
one was born out of unplanned wedlock
one was a planned product of his parent’s love
one was taught hatred for blacks and cholos
the other was taught blacks lives matter and equality for everyone
one had misogynistic tendencies thanks to his machismo culture
the other other is that gender roles and conventions are a joke
One went through the Spanish flu times
the other is going through Covid times
both shares similar genes generations apart
both share the same Spanish name
one could not been possible without the other
Life on the BPD 