I blame my ADD, Mami and hypersensitivity for my poetic tendencies I never had the attention span or time to learn to play an instrument or paint instead at 15, I learned to write poems out of the shards in my heart left from a breakup after reading Becquer, and ever since then It’s been an ongoing love affair with poetry one that is a refuge from the outside world, one that has been therapeutic when I felt the sky fall on me many times and while on most days I still suffer from imposter syndrome and don’t consider myself a real poet I don’t and won’t ever let that deter me from processing the wonderful, terrible, and crazy things in my life through poetry
Hope lies in the next minute, the next hour, the next day,the next week Hope makes us believe there is something to look forward to even in our darkest hour Hope gives us the strength to continue on when we don’t want to
My heart blooms like a flower in the spring taking in the beauty of everything I’m no longer so angry and feel a freedom to just be I take things in stride and no longer feel the need to fight Is this what healing looks like?
the nuns and mami started into obedience and I reverted into a world of silence And everyone praised mami about what a good little girl I was and no one thought much about this until my parents demanded answers for the rebellious streak in my teens couldn’t understand the numerous absences, the subpar performance in school, why I sulked in my bedroom for hours on ended, the disrespect from my mouth as I stood up for myself, they wondered where their sweet and quiet princess went all the while they should have looked back 6 or 7 years ago when they indoctrinated me to hold it all in or else they wouldn’t love me should have known one day I’d rebel and explode as I was finding my spirit, my voice once again after it had been buried under layers of good behavior
I am a witch and sometimes a bitch if you’re lucky You’ll see the sweet side of me where I’m your real life magical wet dream come true If you’re unlucky, you’ll meet the BPD me the worst bitch you’ll regret meeting in your entire life because if you treat me badly, I’ll make sure you’re laugh at when I read a poem about you at open mic
If failure was a task I would be the poster girl for it I’m a failure at love, I’m a failure at life, I am a failure at Being Human but all of these are thoughts of the past me the new me doesn’t see herself as a failure or that she has ever failed at life she sees failure as a stepping stone and learning curve the new me sees herself as a winner of life and not the loser of 1 because she never gave up or didn’t give in or because she’s a resilient queen
When I open my eyes,I whine and grunt Another day where I whine,whine, whine Working to live? Or living to work? I can’t remember which is better Living is really just guesswork Maybe today I won’t feel so much anger Perhaps I should find hope in this new day Instead of living in doom and gloom Maybe the darkness will stay away Or I’ll cry at work in the bathroom again
I’ve been called an exclamation mark before But I feel more like a question mark Because I always ask questions like: Why am I like this? How do I get rid of anxious thoughts? Where does my heart really reside? What is best for me? Who will love me?
I manifest a new boyfriend he’s a poem in the making he’s someone I’ll meet unexpectedly He’ll come when the marigolds sprout and spring is here He’ll be brave enough to try me on after I trauma dump he’ll be my new spring waiting to bloom with me
subtitles jump from my phone screen violently one of the few films from 1950’s mexico that address domestic violence one of the few films to portray the man as the crazy one but instead of him going to prison for his many crimes against his wife he ends up locked up in a monastery
before I was diagnosed with BPD, I was very sick I wished and wished to be anyone else but me I really wanted to be a middle class white woman the kind who grew up with 2 parents in a 2 story house the kind who never had to assimilate to fit it the kind who never had to to fill out a FAFSA application the kind who was never neglected and whose feelings were always validated the kind who writes stories or poems about her favorite horse instead of stories or poems about constantly feeling like a stranger in your adopted homeland the kind who is mostly respected by men and not fetichized or called exotic the kind who’s never had 2 jobs to survive in this capitalistic society before I was diagnosed with BPD,I was very sick I wished and wished to be anyone else but me but three years into recovery I’ve healed and wouldn’t want to be anyone else because while it’s true that many people don’t struggle as much me everyone (even middle class white women) still have their own set of insecurities and trauma I know nothing about I’ve learned I need to focus on myself, feel gratitude for everything I have as I reach my goals and chase my dreams and most importantly I now love and embrace who I’ve been, who I am, who I will be I no longer play a game of envy and view myself as a broken mess of who I’ve been or what’s happened to me I was never those things I’m a beautiful mosaic of everything I’ve endured, experienced and lived
what if the colonizer in me took over and I declared manifest destiny on every man I fancied, even if he was taken what if I didn’t care about the other woman and was a completely selfish bitch and become an expert homewrecker
one day in bed and my son acts like its the end of the world demands I get up and act like an adult like the mother he’s used to seeing but in defiance, I stay in bed reading poetry and allow the muse to come and allow me to pour out of me and land on paper for once I won’t allow the patriarchy define how I should act, who I should be for once I allow the poet me to be my first priority
I should go back to where I come from and where is that exactly here -is the only real home I’ve ever known here – is where all of my babies were born here- is where I’ve loved and I’ve mourned so where is my place because anywhere else feels like a home unknown
