poetry: pick me girls

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

the pick me girls of the 60s

haven’t we all been pick me girls at the same point in our lives
with our push up bras, our twirling the hair, our miniskirts,
our not so subtle flirty behaviors
it’s the ways the patriarchy conditioned as to be in order
to find love, to find companionship in order to have a life
worth living in a society that tends to value women
according to who’s she’s holding hands with
haven’t we all been pick me girls at some point in our lives
have we all been brainwashed by the patriarchy?

Obsession

Daily writing prompt
What are you passionate about?

My yen to better myself is has become an obsession
causing me constant frustration
being so self aware of my unhealthy patterns
leads me to self flagellation
Oh another poem about how I’m so toxic
or I’m a perpetual love addict
or I do everything wrong when it comes to love
When will I reach a point of enough
Enough with pointing out my faults
Enough of feeling my self imposed emotional claws
Enough of acting like I’m a monster
and how I’m consumed by anger
I know that healing means being self aware
but there’s gotta be something on the other side
of this constant despair

poetry: bothered

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

trying to not be bothered

when I’m bothered, when I’m embarrassed, when my inner critic
starts knocking on my mind’s door
the best thing I can do is reapply my lipstick, write some angry señora poetry
Remember the goddess that I am, and take my power back
I’m not some stupid and weak little bitch some people perceive me to be
(that narrative ended at age 40)
now, I take the disrespect and insults with grace
keep my composure, pretend I’m unbothered
even as I fume inside
I still keep on going
I won’t make a big fuss or call anyone out
that story usually ends with me being gaslit and called crazy
instead I adhere to the age old adage “aqui no paso nada”
Really being the opposite which is everything
my anger, rage, grief being the fuel to become better
to prove to myself and others
I’m not the mentally unstable bitch society perceives me to be

poetry: bomb

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

so annoying

the bomb of my insanity explodes and I try my best
to do damage control
tell my paranoid inner child not everyone’s out to get me
but it’s too late and I fall once again under the spell of depression
I try every single coping mechanism and it’s futile
I just need to sit and acknowledge my inner critic
and the dark and intrusive thoughts that come up
Understand and accept that shit is temporary
there will be better times ahead
for now it’s just annoying

poetry:not right now

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

trying to be logical

love will have to wait while i switch the gears from survival mode to triunfadora mode
right now I can only concentrate on existing and putting one foot in front of another
right now I only have the energy and time to focus on myself
and digging myself out of the latest catastrophe I find myself in
right now is not the time for crushes or new relationships
it wouldn’t be fair to him to invite him into my current chaos
right now I stand alone, get myself together
before trying to fall into the magic of love again

Poetry: Hysteria

I wrote this poem in August of 2022.

me in August of 2022

guilt and despair fills you up from the pain you’ve caused
and you’re in the thick fog of darkness
so you write poetry and cry and idealize death
because in your time-therapy was still a new thing
and the cure for your hysteria was a lobotomy
and there was no such thing as DBT
and no one to tell you that feelings are temporary

Poetry: My Love Costs All the Pretty Things

I wrote this poem in August of 2022.

goals -in my fur coat

Give me a man who will buy me everything
and I will accommodate to him-
Because unlike JLo my love costs all the pretty things
dresses, jewelry, vacations in the caribbean
give it all to me and you can be my king
because if I’m going to be treated like shit by a man
in a relationship, at least let it be on a cruise ship

poetry : august

I wrote this poem in August of 2024.

july was rough

August is here and I hold onto
the few slivers of hope left in me
as I reach another rock bottom
self correcting and not making myself a victim
making sure I’m better than yesterday
Trying my best to control my emotions
knowing that somewhere in the wash
of this downward spiral
will come the biggest silver lining

poetry: miracle

I wrote this poem in July of 2024.

got on my lover girl earrings

I’m going to paint the sky with all of the colors of your love
red, green, yellow, dark gray, midnight blue, and black
every single color you’ve brought to my life
it’s will be the most epic mural who beauty will rival
the taj mahal
a mural decided to my own miracle of your love

poetry: Guerrera

I wrote this poem in July of 2024

siempre Guerrera-Also Happy Peruvian Independence DAY!

I embrace the crone I’m becoming and let go of the last vestiges of girlhood
no longer will I twirl my hair, bat my eyes, or make myself cute
and soft for the male gaze trying to get their attention
from now on I’ll accept my wrinkles, my aches, my gray hair, my crow’s feet
as proof that I have lived and experienced a life few would’ve survived
as proof that I am a goddamn Guerrera

oxapampa

wordpress prompt:If you won two free plane tickets, where would you go?

maybe I’ll take him, Idk

I want someone to take to oxapampa
so I can show him where part of my story started
so he can watch the sun rise and the sun set
on my family’s farmland
so I can experience joy through his eyes
for the first time as he observes the beauty
of the land
So I can watch his face when he takes a sip
for the first time of the world class beer 7 vidas
so we can take tourist pics at the plaza
and the church were my dad was baptized in
dance the night and awkwardly laugh
at the cultural appropriation of the Cheyenne Club
so right after we end up at the Hakuna Matata karaoke bar
when I sing “Lover” to him off key
as he sits in his chair and cringes in embarrassment
and tells me I’m crazy and everyone stares at us
so we could have breakfast with my tia
with the eggs, chorizo, coffee, and milk coming
from the family farm as we all awkwardly make small talk
about our plans for the day
I want someone to take to oxapampa to hug trees,
go on hikes in the jungle, and make love in some little cabin
but I’ll have to wait and wait until the universe
sends someone worthy of going the magical land
of oxapampa

written in September of 2023

poetry: blog

I wrote this poem in July of 2024.

cute girl with a sick mind-Camila Cabello

maybe I restarted the blog for a younger version of us out there
in another state, another country who needs a roadmap,
Understanding, knowledge, and wisdom
in navigating a hard situation they never thought
they had to face
maybe I restarted the blog out of hope that some couple
out there who’s struggling can find something useful
in my story, in my prose, and my poetry
to get through their own hardship through the worst of it
and make it to the other side, evolve and grow together
in intimacy and find their own happy ending

Poetry: Precious Commodity

so beautiful

my energy is a precious commodity
i don’t give it to anybody
my time and effort now has to be earned
because of so many false starts and lessons learned
I’d rather embrace my solitude than once again
Become Joe from “YOU”
because I’m much to beautiful
to fall for another insensitive fool

poetry: not sure

I wrote this poem in July of 2024.

me when I wrote this poem

I’m not sure if I have to work as much as I Do
but I know what happens when I don’t
my electric bill goes in the red
a food stamp application is filled and filed
for me and my family
I start to lose sleep over the bills and the things
my kids need
and when I fall into dreamland
dreams of soup kitchens, panhandling,
and scarcity follow me
and I end up in the land of poverty, insanity
and hypervigilance
where I beat myself up for not doing enough
to give my kids the life they deserve
and I regret my life choices that led me here
especially the one where I chose a lazy baby daddy
I’m not sure if I have to work as much as I do
but I’ll continue to do so until my body shuts down
who cares if my hip is broken and I hardly have
any time to myself
I’d rather work myself to the bone than to allow
my family to fall again into being victims of poverty