Poesia: Otro Niño Confundido

Here is the English version of this poem:

https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=1792

Eras un sorpresa lleno

de atención y afección 

hasta me dejastes rosas en mi tablero

Pensé, por fin, llegó mi príncipe azul 

Pero después de un tiempo

Sentí la distancia entre los dos

ya no tenías tiempo para mi

pronto me darás alguna excusa estúpida

porque me tienes que abandonar

y mi corazón quedará en pedazos

no habrá nada más que decir

me dare cuenta

que tu fuiste el mismo cuento

de otro niño confundido

Poetry: Small

I wrote this in 2007 when I transferred to a 4 year University. It was a rough experience.

me with my friends in 2007

I feel small in this enormous and elitist world
it doesn’t seem like I will ever fit
It only seems like a perfect fit
for my younger, blonder, whiter,
and younger counterparts
Older, hispanic, and poor is not acceptable here.
Should I even try ?
When I’m destined for failure on this institution’s steps
Failure on the steps is what I feel here-
a place where my browner, poorer self
feels like an outcast, an undesirable- by the eyes of prejudice

Poetry:Traitor

Aquí esta la versión en Español:

https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/08/08/poesia-desgraciado-2/


Perhaps I’m crazy,

Perhaps I’m dramatic 

But I must say

You’re a traitor

for what you did to me

Causing me so much  heartbreak

and misery

Pretending to “love me”

Behind your “nice guy” disguise

was really an asshole

who lured me with sweet lies

into a web of treachery

and infidelity

Poetry: Fence

I wrote this in 2007 about my husband. I was frustrated that he was always so guarded with his emotions and his past. I hated that I could give him my vulnerability and he couldn’t give me his. Looking back now, I should have realized how incompatible we were at the time, but my stubborn and optimistic self wanted things to badly work.

me around the time I wrote this poem

A steel and locked fence guards you.

It does its job well.

Your insecurities and emotions never

come out to play with mine.

Your past never comes out to 

join mine in a game of nostalgia.

Will your fence ever open for me?

Poetry: Desire

I wrote this in 2006 about my husband and my husband were in a good place…meaning we were having sex again after taking a break for several months from it. I tend to place a lot of importance of sex in a relationship and well…if that’s lacking, I get bored and depressed in the relationship.

bewitched by passion

For once desire and passion 

Has entered our lives once again

 And the pieces start to fall perfectly 

In our lives again.

Is this a dream or just another short lived memory? 

He runs his hand through my back and it’s like

Electrical wires going through my body and it turns on 

Something wonderful inside of it.

Whatever happened to our 

rut and miserable boredom for each other?

He wants me once again and I want only him. 

What did I do differently this time?

Poetry: Free

I wrote this in 2006 when I was frustrated and fantasized about leaving my husband.

deserving better

What if I don’t think?
About our precious link
And decide to go
Without letting you know
And let you wake up
Free of our never ending rut

What if I don’t feel your love
And am no longer good enough
And continue to fight for us
And leaving you becomes a must

What if I choose to be free
and leave you abruptly
and live my life without you
because I finally learned my value

Poetry: Despicable

I wrote this poem in 2006 for my creative writing class. Men in general inspired this poem. Lol.

truth be told

Despicable is the emptiness of talk

It is that which makes me  gawk

The realization of your words so thin

Give my heart a monumental sting

I should’ve put on my idiot proof smock

You should’ve stayed silent as a rock

Instead of whispering nothings to me on the dock

That’s when I should’ve stopped listening

Despicable is the emptiness of talk

Your mouth should’ve been padded with a lock

Then you wouldn’t have taken me on a walk

To your park full of crock

I got on your moronic swing

I shouldn’t have answered your knock

Despicable is the emptiness of talk