Have you ever broken the law and didn’t get caught, if so how?
Poetry: A Brand New Beginning
Poesía: Mosquita Muerta
Escribí este poema en febrero del 2022.
Mis compañeros quieren que me trepa en el armazón de barras
Y tengo mucho miedo y me da ansiedad
Les miento y les digo “mi mami no me dio permiso”
Tengo 5 años
Le digo a mi hermana que tengo que estudiar
con mis amigas pero en realidad
voy al cine con unos muchachos
Tengo 15 años
Llego a mi casa embaraza de 7 meses
y mis padres esta desilusionados sin comprender
“el porqué” si soy una niña buena
Tengo 17 años
Share this:
Poetry: Put Together
What were your parents doing at your age?
At 41, my mother worked two jobs, raised 3 kids,
and still kept the spark in her marriage alive
I don’t know how she did it all without ever
breaking apart-
I don’t remember ever seeing her cry
but I do remember her temper, her anger
and being afraid of her sometimes
Share this:
Poetry: My Happiest Moments
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
I’m 18 and walking across the football stadium to receive my diploma
the one I almost didn’t get, my parents and I breathe a sigh of relief
I’m 24 and I hold my baby boy in my arms, it’s love at first sight
he’s the best birthday present and I’m humbled
I’m 28 and I’m graduating from college,it’s been a an arduous journey to get here
but I make it and my dad cries and tells me how proud he is of me
I’m 30 and holding my third baby boy, he’s my rainbow after the worst storm
everyone in my family holds him and there is an overflow of love
I’m 36 and my oldest son is walking across the gymnasion to receive his diploma
I cry with elation and pride, my heart is filled with pride and joy for him
Share this:
Play-Transition: Scene One
Characters: RON- age 67
CHLOE-age 24
LANDON-age 36
Scene 1
Setting
Ron’s Apartment, there are piles of stuff everywhere, picture frames hanging on the wall. Ron is sitting on the couch chewing beef jerky watching the TV. There is a knock on the door. It is his daughter Chloe . It’s about 3 PM and Ron is still in his pajamas. Ron, disgruntled, gets up to answer the door. Chloe is carrying a bunch of groceries in her hand.
RON:( opens door) Whadda ya want?
CHLOE: Oh geesh! Is that any way to greet your loving daughter ?
RON: Eh, you were interrupting me doing something important.
CHLOE: Sure, sure… now could you help me out wit one of of these bags before one of my arms falls off.
RON: (he takes one of the bags) Eh-I don’t know why you need to buy all of this stuff.
CHLOE: You mean your medicines, food, basic necessities for you to survive on. A basic ( CHLOE almost trips on a miscellaneous food wrapping) thank you would suffice. I told you to clean up some yesterday-you know the landlord—
RON: Landlord, shmanlord, She always threatens the same crap. “I will throw you out if you don’t clean. All bark, no bite. The old biddy shouldn’t care about what I do in the comfort of my own home as long as I pay her rent.
CHLOE: (starts to sit down-removing several car magazines) I wouldn’t be so sure of this. You know she has handed management over to her son. Do you really need all of these issues of Car and Ride magazines?
RON: Bug off! Will you? Nobody asks you to come over!
CHLOE: Dad (CHLOE goes to RON to put her hand on RON’s shoulder) It’s been over six months since mom died, perhaps-
RON shoos CHLOE’s hand away
RON: I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your damn business!
CHLOE: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…it’s just—
RON: Nothing. You are worrying about nothing.
There is an awkward moment of silence as RON has his back to CHLOE. CHLOE is trying to come up with something to say.
CHLOE: I guess I should go (CHLOE starts to get up tentatively) I have another errand to run.
RON: Good. I wouldn’t want your old man getting in the way of you doing anything important.
CHLOE: God! I just wish you wouldn’t be so…
RON: So what?
CHLOE: Nothing. I’ll leave you to your “important” tv watching.
CHLOE skips swiftly to the door
CHLOE: Bye dad.
RON goes back to sitting on the couch with a blank look on his face and stares at the TV.
Share this:
Poesía: Soy
Escribí este poema en Diciembre del 2021.
Soy la sangre de mis antepasados
Colonizadores e indígenas
y pues por estoy llena
de una ambigüedad
de moralidad
Y pues por eso tengo
la tez blanca con cabello negro y crespo
Soy la sangre de mis abuelos y abuelas
y pues por eso estoy
llena de frialdad
y tambien tengo
un calor único
Soy la sangre mis padres
Y por eso soy
débil y fuerte
Y callada con mal genio
Share this:
Poetry: I Was Never the Marrying Kind
I wrote this in December of 2021.
I was never the marrying kind
Don’t know why I forced myself into that line
Maybe because of society’s expectations
I made marriage my destination
But it wasn’t really who I ever was
Forever is not meant to be in my book of love
But still I tried for seven years
And by year 7, I ran into my biggest fear
I felt trapped in a cage of my own making
Happiness, contentment, and authenticity I was faking
But it was never truly me
Living this suburban reality
And one day I wanted to sleep forever
My mind collapsed from society’s pressure
to continue this facade of being the perfect wife
With my perfectly imperfect life
My authenticity I had to put aside
I’m a wife and mother of three
There’s no such thing as being free
But these were the lies I told myself
The critic in me I learned to quell
I learned I could be a mother but not a wife
My husband took our relationship’s demise in stride
There would no more anniversaries
We were done with self imposed forgeries
And a new chapter started with us
One full of laughter, friendship and familial love
Share this:
Poetry: The Modern Southern Woman
I wrote this in 2016.
Faulkner wrote about her ancestors
She stood like a pillar of strength between her mother and daughter
She stood strong as both of them held her arms that were their life jackets
as they drowned in endless sorrows
Tears silently fell from her face as her father laid in his closed home
And the reverend went on about him being in a better place
And her strength did not falter,
She let her loved ones hold on tight while she tried to blink away tears ,
She swallowed her pain and absorbed the pain from those around her
She wasn’t just strong for her mother and daughter,
but she was a goddess of strength among the mere mortals
around her that wept
Share this:
Poetry: Countries
I wrote this poem in 2016 when I was reflecting on how different my children were. At the time, my middle son was going through a difficult time and it was hard to deal with.
Living with my three children
Is like living in three different countries
My oldest would be Singapore
With strict rules and laws,
He hates flaws in himself
And others and is unforgiving
It’s challenging to live in
Singapore
My middle child would be a war torn ridden country
Like Syria
That’s currently filled with constant chaos,
He is trying to find himself in a place
He feels unwanted and lost
It is an unpredictable struggle
To reside in Syria
My youngest child would
Be an established and friendly country like Spain
He is vibrant, laid back yet energetic
Occasionally you hear about political protests
That reminds me of his occasional tantrums when
His life feels unjust
It is almost a predictable and easy existence to
Live in Spain
Share this:
Poem of the Day: More Time with Mamacita
Share this:
Poem: My Sleeping Poem **trigger warning**
I wrote this poem in December of 2016 after my almost love affair with death on December 5th. It’s strange how aside from my journal entries from that month, I hardly remember that month. I just remember feeling so broken inside and like a failure after that happened that it was so hard to get up every morning. I do know that writing saved me during that time because I started journaling way more consistently. I would learn years later after being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that up to 10 percent of people with BPD die by suicide. Five years later, I’m glad that I had people by my side that prevented me from becoming one in ten. I’m glad that afterwards, I was able to slowly come back from this even if I was mostly depressed the year after and it was a fight to get up every single day.
For more information about the high risk of BPD and Suicide, here is a link from Psychology Today with info about it:
I wanted to sleep
Sleep beckoned me
Like a magical place
Where I could forget
Forget-
The burdens and responsibilities
Forget-
The performance reviews, the report cards, the bills
Forget-
The husband, the kids, the friends
I wanted to sleep
So I planned my journey there
Call in sick, act natural,
Take the bottle of xanax
I wrote love letters
To my children, my husband, and friends
Just in case I fell in a forever dream
I wanted to sleep
Selfishly, without interruptions
I wanted to sleep
So I didn’t have to think
About my mediocre and suburban reality
My lost dreams of greatness
My wastefulness on this earth
I wanted to sleep
But I was interrupted
By my husband shaking me
Halfway carrying me
To the couch, forcing coffee
Down my throat
I wanted to sleep
But I had to wake up
And endure the reality of life
Share this:
Poetry: Unhappiness
I wrote this poem in fall of 2005 when I was feeling overwhelmed by my responsibilities of being a mother, a girlfriend, a student and a worker. As usual at that time, I took on too much and was trying to be everything to everyone. One trait of BPD that I’ve carried throughout the years is over extending myself sometimes to my detriment in order to make other people happy.
Feelings I can’t turn off
Quickly come in droves
Don’t know what to do
My options are few
Do I follow my gut?
And get away from this rut
Or do i stay here ?
And become what I fear;
A woman that settles
And lets others meddle
A woman with no mind
And with everything, she is fine
But can I turn off the real me?
And stay so unhappy
Share this:
Poem of the Day: My Peaceful Chaos
Day 25 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt is “Peaceful chaos”
Share this:
Poetry: The Difference
I wrote this in 2006 after I was reflecting my first years of being a mother to my eldest child who I had at 17. Becoming a mother at such a young age didn’t make me the best parent and at times I still tried to act my age and party a lot even though I was a parent. It used to eat me up inside but I’ve come to terms that I did the best I could under the circumstances.
Late nights at the club
Drunk and dancing-you
Singing lullabies
Until he fell asleep-I
Getting ass from
an unknown stranger-you
Looking for monsters under the bed
and wishing them away-I
Waking up in an unknown place
With a helluva hangover-you
Waking up from little hands
Shaking my shoulders-I
You and I=me
Me =two different truths
About the way your childhood
Was seen
Share this:
Poetry: Did I Ask For Your Advice?
I wrote this poem is creative writing class in 2006. It’s some kind of form poetry but can’t remember what it is.
Did I ask for your advice?
Father and mother
You are not that wise
So I told a few lies
I didn’t mean to hurt her
Did I ask for your advice?
I had to break mine and her ties
Any words, please don’t offer
You are not that wise
I’m a man of twenty-five
Don’t treat me like a youngster
Did I ask for your advice?
Please don’t give me those eyes
And pretend to be higher
You are not that wise
Stop it with your sighs,
My dear mother and father
Did I ask for your advice?
You are not that wise!
Life on the BPD 