Trauma after trauma I have withstood Standing up right away and pretending everything was fine There was no time for tears or processing of feelings That was a luxury for the white upper class Therapy-pssst No time or money for that either – It’s gringo concept Self care – that’s only for the rich No, you’re a latina Woman our people rely on grit and resilience There is no time for white pendejadas No, you’re a latina woman – you only need the strength from your ancestors to survive this life
what will be done with pure intentions and in alignment with my values will nurture my creative spirit, will be the ultimate recipe for success and will be a legacy of authenticity for future generations Sometimes I wonder who I’m doing it for and I find the answer when I look in the mirror when I look at my sons what I imagine my grandchildren and I’m committed again to my life’s purpose
telling our stories, reading our poetry building community is the salve for humanity let’s start another revolution of love except this time without the drugs this time let’s make something more inclusive, more accepting of everyone let’s keep the music, the frolicking in the fields, the free spirits, and let’s become a sanctuary for one another if we do this, we’ll have a shot at breaking away from the curse of violence that plagues this nation
I’m a master magician of emotional alchemy transforming my suffering into poetry I never meant for it to happen that way but life gave me no other viable option it was either I became magician or I died and the spark within me was too strong to give into my self pity and depression so here I am making sense through poetry out of my madness and the nonsense life has thrown at me and done my best with it
warm and wild thoughts go through my mind if only you looked my way one day and saw me as an object of desire ugh, it’s that time again I must be ovulating
I never did get my happily ever after but I did get my happily divorced after and a year after it was all done and signed by the judge I feel gratitude for solitude and breathe a sigh of relief that I won’t settle ever again for fear of being lonely never again will I ever allow Societal pressure to write my life’s Narrative and never again will I stay somewhere Past the expiration date because of fear or for the sake of appearances I never did get my happily ever but I did get my happily divorced after and life feels joyous and glorious and I am the most empowered version of myself
the ceilings of America are laced with poison ivy every time I act out of the norm or forget to code switch people tell me I’m too dramatic -ouch- accused of being toxic and crazy-damn and a rash of doubt takes over my mind I’ll never fit it, no one will ever love or accept me and I turn down who I am but even that doesn’t work it makes things worse and I explode and project- fuck you, you’re blocked then I discover therapy -slowly I heal accept the pieces of myself that will never fit in exhibit myself in my most authentic form and slowly the poison ivy becomes an ivy of love and growth and I understand that to be happy I need let go of normalcy and embrace my unconventional and eccentric self
the storms this summer have been intense and scary Some days I had to run for cover, other days I ended up saturated in self hate the storms this summer tried desperately to tear me apart ruin my reputation everyone watched me waiting for me to turn into a trainwreck but instead I do what I always do rise out of the ashes most triumphantly
if self sabotage was an olympic sport, I’d win the gold medal so many times I’d been close to reaching my potential only to screw it up later maybe it’s the insecure and anxious little girl who still lives within me who’s scared of conquering fears and chasing her dreams I need to figure out a way to quell her to give her closure and peace so she’ll let me be live in peace and stop sabotaging everything
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
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
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
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
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
As I’m thinking about this answer, two teachers come to mind. One is my 11th Grade English Mrs.Idica and the other is my college professor of creative writing, Dr.Blais.
Who knows what would have happened to these two if it wasn’t for Mrs.Idica 😭😭😭
I took Mrs.Idica’s Asian American Lit and Creative Writing class my junior year of high school. I did really well in my creative writing class but almost flunked the Asian American lit class. I remember not liking her too much at first because she pushed us to do our best and was strict. I think I did well in the creative writing class because I really loved writing poems and little short stories. At the time, I didn’t think it was something I’d ever be passionate about but of course the class did have a great impact on me, here’s a poem I wrote in that class:
Mrs.Idica ended up being my homebound teacher when I was on maternity leave with my first son at the beginning of my senior year. That meant that for 6 weeks, she came to my house to give me my school assignments and helped me with them if I needed help. She would stay and talk to me and always encouraged me to drop out of high school and to continue on. This was important for me to hear as there was pressure from people in my family to drop out and work. She could have easily just dropped off my work and not have these conversations with me but instead she showed up with the compassion and grace I needed during a really dark time in my life. She also had the patience of the saint as I trudge through my school assignments since I was an terrible student. She never gave up on me or told me my life was ruined because I had a child at such a young age. In fact, she was one of the few people who didn’t shame me and reminded me my child was a gift. The encouragement from her and her belief in me really made a difference in my life. I don’t believe I would have put so much effort that last year in high school and graduated on time. I think what made her not just a great but exceptional teacher was that she was caring, had the patience of a saint, and was this light of compassion and encouragement for me when I needed it. This is a poem I wrote about her:
I also want to say that I’m still in touch with her through social media where I share updates about my life and my writing. Even now, she tells me she’s proud of me and that means a lot to me.
Right after taking Dr.Blais class
Another teacher in my life who was exceptional was my creative writing professor Dr. Blais. Like Mrs.Idica, she pushed us to do our best in the class and provided a safe space for us to express ourselves creatively.I also learned to be super disciplined with my writing in her class and the editing process. She was very patient with us and in her class I wrote 3 plays and both of them won 2nd and 3rd place in the college writing competition which meant a lot to me since it was the first time I was writing plays. She also encouraged me to continue writing and even invited me to one of her playwright workshop groups but I couldn’t go due to family obligations. Also, her class was my favorite escape from my busy mom life that included 2 small kids and 3 part time jobs at the time. It was a crazy time in my life where my mental health was a bit touch and go but going to Dr.Blais class helped me cope. Like, Mrs.Idica, Dr.Blais saw potential in me and encouraged me and was incredibly patient in kneading the writer out of me. I think taking her class validated my passion for writing. Especially when the last assignment was making a book which I titled “My Quarter Life Crises” . I felt accomplished in making that little book of my poems and plays. Here’s a link to one of the plays I wrote in her class:
Unfortunately, I lost touch with my Dr.Blais after college and can’t seem to find her anywhere. Last I heard is that she’s had success as a playwright in New York.
I think I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have had two educators show up in my life who made a positive impact on effect. It doesn’t always happen that way (thinking about my super condescending English professor at UGA- but that’s another blog post) . It’s hard to imagine who I would have become without both of them.
Life on the BPD 