I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
I wash my hands of all my past sins
my wrongs never defined me
It was a toxic narrative I swallowed whole
when I was addicted to suffering
and being a martyr
poetry: done
poetry: new dark ages
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
these must be the new dark age of my life
where I can’t find my life’s purpose,
where I cry because I don’t think
I’ll ever be loved
where the sleeping pills in my drawers
are tempting me to end my misery
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poetry: charity
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
their used knicknacks, their used clothes
their used whatever is taking up too much space
in their closet or garage
all of this is given to their browner and poorer
counterparts
act like ever act of charity will bring them
one step closer to heaven
when at times their recipients feel
like it’s a act of condescension, arrogance
a way to remind them where they belong
a way to remind them of their working
class status
the haves need the have nots to have someone
to feel superior to
while the have nots cannot escape
the cycle of poverty
due to the greed of the haves
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poetry: not the one
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
I’m not the one you want
or the one you’ll ever take home
to meet your mama
but I’m the one etched in your mind,
the one who appears in your dreams
the one you will never forget about
and one of your few regrets
and you,
you were another story among many
another obsession of my past
I hardly ever think about
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Poetry: I Want To
I want to hold on to what’s real
and not be stuck in a daydream
I want to live in my present
And not stuck in my past
I want to be over you
and not be triggered
by the memory of you
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poetry: we’re fucked
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
another 4 years of trump and who knows if America
will still be standing
if anyone who’s not male or white will still have rights
another 4 years of trump and I see a future of fascism
and dictatorship and U.S born citizens being sent back
to their parent’s country of origin
another 4 years of trump and I’m not sure I’ll still be alive
or at very least still maintain a semblance of my sanity
7/29/24
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poetry: betrayal
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
my body has betrayed me one last time
and this time I’ll take charge of it
and control what’s happening
this time I’m old enough to stop
this nonsense and kill what’s causing me
the most insufferable pain
and I’ll replace the hip that’s the vane
of my existence,
the diseased hip that must be sacrificed for me
to stop the curse of martyrdom passed down
for generations
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poetry: july
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
july, july, july
it’s the month where I lose my mind
the heat gets to me and turns up the BSC in me
you won’t find me sweet and eager to please in July
you won’t find me full of ruffles and flowery phrases
in poetry
you’ll find me being a ball of immigrant rage and fury
you’ll find me a woman who’s had enough
of the American dream bullshit
and ready to roar and scream out everything wrong
with this country
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poetry: denial
another poem inspired by 2007.
denial sits in the pit of my gut
but I disguise it with a smile
and trips to the zoo
act like domestic bliss is heaven
when inside I’m trembling with rage
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poetry: I will try
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
as long as there is breath left in me
I will try
try to be a good mom to my kids
try to tell my story
try to love everyone the best way
i can
try to find understanding
for what happened to me
try to find joy in the most ordinary
of moments
try to dance my way through
my most depressive episodes
try find my inner peace and calm
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poetry: cycle
the story continue from 2007 on with this poem.
caught up in a cycle of nostalgia
old letters and photos and 90s music
trying to remember who I was
before I became someone’s mom
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poetry: everything
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
lately I hate everything I have written
Sometimes I get the urge to burn
Or delete everything
but something tells me
this is how I know I’m growing
I’m evolving in my craft
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poetry: he doesn’t exist
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
I keep trying to manifest the one worthy of me
but I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist
I swipe and swipe on the dating apps
but no one is of interest to me
and so I find solace in an unrequited love
that will never be more than friendship
it’s the best I can do to quell the romantic in me
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Poetry: Writer’s Block
when I’m happy and calm
I wear my stagnation balm
I can’t find anything inspiring
when my sanity is not hanging by a string
it makes me miss the former chaos in my life
that inspired me to write, write, write
when I was emotionally unstable
the words just seemed to fly onto the paper
now that my life is boring
the muse is not roaring
maybe it’s time to try
to stop these unproductive sighs
I will no longer live the writer block’s lie
yes, I can write when I’m sane
inspiration doesn’t need to wane
inspiration can be found in the mundane
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poetry: shack
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
my body feels like a rundown shack
that’s crumbling down slowly
I can’t get up in the morning
without my knee or hip
bitching and moaning
without me groaning in pain
and mumbling to myself
“Omg, another stupid day”
and cursing my genetics
that make me watch everything
I eat
and again I wonder
am I paying a karmic debt
for my colonizer ancestors
Life on the BPD 