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
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
If only I could bypass the trauma lived and experienced
my life would be a lot easier
Perhaps I’d be fulfilled and not on this neverending heroine journey
to acknowledge how trauma happened to me
to understand how it changed me
to tells the stories from it so I can begin to heal from it
to do all of the work so I don’t pass it on to my sons
and their children
because this legacy of intergenerational silence with violence
needs to stop with me
even if it’s sometimes a painful nightmare to deal with
here’s the english version of this poem:
poetry: charade of love
se que en las mejores relaciones hay monotonía
pero lo que estamos viviendo me llena de ira
me esta volviendo loca,
esto se siento como el fin de nuestro cuento de amor
y los dos somos demasiados cobardes para aceptar
que la vida que hemos construida se está volviendo
una montaña de resentimiento y desilusión
donde estamos atrapados por conveniencia
I think one of the best things about having a family of your own is making up your own traditions. One of my favorite traditions I have with my boys is watching “About a Boy” every Thanksgiving while we wait for dinner or afterwards. I started this tradition in 2008 when my oldest was 10 and my middle son was 3. The first time we watched it we had just moved into our new place and me and their dad hadn’t gotten around to getting internet and hardly had any furniture so we had to make do with the DVDs we had on hand to entertain the boys. For whatever reason, we watched that movie a few times. I remember watching it for the first time with my boys and all of these questions about mental health my then 3 year old had and how concerned he was for the mom in the movie. It was just such a sweet moment for me. A couple of years ago, my oldest son gave me the blu-ray dvd version of the movie to upgrade it from my old DVD copy. I love the message in the movie about how “no man is an island” and we all need community from friends and family to make life enjoyable and worth living.
My other favorite tradition involves me and my middle son. I had him on my 24th birthday so we are birthday twins. When our birthday week rolls around, I decide to get desserts almost every day of the week for me and him to celebrate. Sometimes, we do share with our other family members when we feel like it. I started this tradition 4 years ago. We also always get two different cakes of our choice for our actual birthdays. I plan to keep this tradition around as long as he lives with me and/or lives close to me.
unexpected joy is felt over little things
the first time I tried on bluetooth earbuds
the wind against my face as I run
eating four types of ceviches in my homeland
awkwardly dancing with my dad’s classmates
laughing with my oldest son over something stupid
a meme about being crazy shared with my friends
its little moments like these that make life worthwhile
11/19/22
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
To raise my children with empathy and respect for humanity
is hard in times like these
in times when everyone is selfish and individuality is praised
In times when showing emotions is seen as week
and there is still a stigma about seeking therapy
but somehow, my firstborn got the message
that money and selfishness are not everything
and that finding empathy and compassion for his fellow humans
is much more valuable than the idea of individualism and materialism
society tries to sell him
An item of my youth I was incredibly attached to was my doll Dandee. I actually had two of these dolls given to me as a young child. The first Dandee was given to me by my aunt shortly after me and my family immigrated to the states when I was 5. This was in 1986. What happened to the first Dandee? Well, it’s a sad story of trauma. When me and my family first moved to the states, we moved into the apartment next to my aunt C and her family. The living situation there was not ideal. Actually that’s the understatement of the year. Here’s a poem I wrote about her:
poetry: target
Anyways my aunt C owned the apartment we were renting so she was our landlord. She was also the one who was giving sponsorship for our green card. At the time we immigrated, we had done so four years earlier than we were supposed to so we lived undocumented for four years. So my Aunt C took advantage of the situation because A) with a call to immigration she could deport all of us back to Peru and B) she was our landlord so she also held control and power over where we lived. It was a terrible situation. Aunt C had a massive 3 year old son J. He was probably one of the most terrible toddlers I’ve ever encountered. Aunt C would not control him and when he would bully me, either hit me or take away my toys, Aunt C would say, “dejalo, es chiquito” which basically translates to “allow him to do whatever because he’s small”. It was hard for my mom to say anything to her or protect me because of the living situation we were in with Aunt C. The best she could do was take me somewhere else. Shortly after Dandee was given to me, he became my most favorite toy in the world. He was given to me by my favorite Aunt Luz. That toy went with me everywhere. However, one day, Dandee was taken away from me by my cousin J, and he wouldn’t give him back. My aunt didn’t do anything to remedy the situation. According to my mom, this broke my little 5 year old spirit and I was inconsolable and cried and cried for days. My papi was upset that my mom wouldn’t say anything to Aunt C. He hated to see me cry every day for that damn doll so even though they really couldn’t afford it (it was an expensive doll), papi went to the toy store and bought a brand new Dandee for me. I was a happy child again taking that doll everywhere with me. Playing with him and my imaginary friend Calincha. Anyways, a few months went by and I was at my aunt C’s house with my mom. I was playing with Dandee and my cousin J came up to me and started trying to take the doll away from me. The adults weren’t doing anything and I got angry. My five year old self could not take the bullying from J anymore and was not going to allow him to take my doll away from me so I punched him and he fell to the floor. I wasn’t punished for it and went back to playing with my doll. My mom tells me that her and my aunt C were surprised by what I did and had no idea until that point that I had a temper. I was always such an obedient and quiet child, it was shocking to them that I had it in me to fight back. Needless to say, my cousin J never messed with me after that day.
So fast forward to 37 years later, that Dandee sits in my bookcase in my room next to the baby Yoda I bought for my youngest son a few years ago (that he didn’t want anyways cause it looked creepy). When I look at Dandee, I’m reminded of my fierce and fiery spirit at 5 years old that I’ve carried with me since then. When I told my sons the story of Dandee, my oldest son said, “Dandee carries your 5 year old warrior girl spirit” and that felt empowering to me. Dandee taught me a lesson in how to take my power back from a situation I thought I had no power or control in.
Life on the BPD 