I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I listen to the universe without a hint of defiance
I listen carefully and with intention
to understand my next blessing
and the message is, continue to be vulnerable
with the world
you’re leaving a blueprint for the next one
keep leaning into your craziest and most authentic self
there’s someone somewhere who’s paying attention
and may be falling in love with you one poem at a time
but too scared to make a confession
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
abandonment wounds run deep in my bloodline
I’ve lost count of how many woman in my family
whose lovers absconded, who’s lovers left them
for their own version of Heather-
maybe this explains my epic overreaction every time a lover absconded
their departure triggers trauma in my DNA
from the abandoned women ancestors before me
I wrote this poem in November of 2020.
Releasing my fears
of the unknowns
and the what ifs
to fulfill my life’s purpose
is a challenging
I refuse to lie down
in a defeatist mode
in comfortable mediocrity
stagnant in a suburban reality
So I release my fears
to truly reach my potential
to prove to others
they were wrong
but mostly to prove
to myself that I was wrong
and I’m worthy
and I’m enough
Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
I come from a line of women who were never afforded
the privilege of telling their stories and speaking out their truths
they simply accommodated and according to the expectations
from their parents and husbands
they had no choice but to shut up, obey, breed, and stay
like docile animals whose spirits are beaten out of them
and with each poem, each blog post, each social media post
I feel a part of them heal because I will be the last in my lineage
to have followed suit and the first one to break out of the toxic narrative
where women should only be seen and not heard
where women should be limited by their gender
where women are only good for one thing
I’m the red herring, the hair out of place,
la malcriada-
who’ll scream as much and as loud as I have to
to tell mine and their stories
even as my family cringes
and accuses me of being dramatic and crazy
because to not do so would be a disservice to them,
to me, and to future generations
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
every time I drive somewhere new I’m beyond terrified
doubts about driving skills cloud me and I want to break down
and panic in the middle of traffic
but I push through my fears, my insecurities, and keep driving
I can’t be weighed down by who I used to be
A woman reliant on the transportation of others
A woman fearful of living a full life
that is my old story
and it’s not that I hate that version of myself
I just refused to hold myself hostage by my past
which tries to hold me back from
being the independent woman I was always meant to be
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
in the juxtaposition of the karens and working class
I find sympathy for both
it’s hard to explain this in between-
it’s an exhausting struggle of understanding
the complexities of the human condition
of wanting to be seen
of wanted to be heard and respected
and I stared in horror, almost breathless
as the karens and the working class
exchange verbal hostile fire
and almost throw hands at each other
as one threatens the other’s livelihood
and the other stood their ground
and I –
was just a witness to the epidemic
of anger in America
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
we’re not promised tomorrow, so we must make the best of our todays-
making community with our friends, reconnecting with our roots
loving our children with a loud fervor
we’re not promised tomorrow, so we must appreciate
everything we have
the legs that take us on walks and runs
the creativity that flows from our minds
the laughter shared with loved ones
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
today I woke up overwhelmed, exhausted and in a fit of rage
feeling underappreciated in all of my efforts
to move my family forward
not remembering the last time I had a full day of rest
wondering how to continue this existence
of 60 something work weeks,
and of course the guilt over not spending enough time
with my kids-
I was downtrodden with grief and mad at the world
until my abuela’s story made its way to a conversation
with my coworker and a small light of hope dawned on me
if my illiterate and indigenous abuela Mercedes,
alone in the world could make generational wealth
in the early 1900s
despite the racism, the obstacles, and many tragedies faced
I, too. will not only survive but will also thrive
and continue to shine my light
it’s in my bloodline, my ancestry to evolve,
push myself forward despite obstacles, mental illness,
or life’s tragedies-IT’S UP TO ME!
as a Peruvian woman living in America in the 21st century
to make the best of what’s been given to me
which sometimes feels like the sourest of maize
and turn them in the sweetest and tastiest Chicha
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I’m looking forward to that pisco sour I’ll have
after the judge declares me divorced and free to remarry
-ha- that’s the biggest joke ever
maybe I’ll land in someone’s bed once again
But a ring on my finger -NEVER!-
not in this lifetime, not as long as I breathe
instead I’ll claim my single status
And relish in it as long as I can
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
what cannot be said aloud will be written in a poem
for better or worse
I have a tendency to process my emotions
in metaphors and verse
and while many wouldn’t call what I write poetry
because I lack technique or an MFA
or whatever else I’m missing
I’m going to keep writing my raw emotions
Down and sharing them
My words hold value,
My words have power
And it has helped and a few other souls
when our feelings lack logical explanations
and reasons
For better or worse I’m going to continue
to tell my story in poetry
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic outweigh any rewards
everytime I start to believe in love it never works out
Everytime I start to believe in love it ends up in chaos and destruction
and i try and try again only always to have the same ending
and after 26 years of doing this-I don’t have it in me
to endure around love failure
someone who appears sure of me-only for them to change their mind
about me on a whim
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic has filled a dozen
notebooks and journals with sorrow and grief
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Flowers bloom with patience and care
where there is sunlight and love
Flowers remind me of relationships
when relationships are not given
the right environment or patience and love
They die
I’m a failure at both-
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Gotta flex for my next ex
let me post some thirst trap pic
of my cleavage
and add a profound quote
about my self discovery journey
but nothing too crazy
I don’t want to scare him away
Life on the BPD 