any idea or notion of romance is lost to me I’ve tried every which way to make myself appetizing edible for men to take interest in me, love me but the story always turns sour and I’m tired of rejection followed by bouts of tears and insanity this spring I will not spend my energy trying to manifest another fool I’ll get obsessed about or get caught up in my head and daydreams this spring I’m going to concentrate only on my potential that’s yet to bloom Focus of the world of creativity that resides within waiting to get out
nail on the coffin on the future I wanted no prince charming no house with the white picket fence instead I stare down at the barrel of poverty trying to find a glimmer of who I used to be among my many forgotten dreams
last time I had my last first kiss it was wasted on a middle age scorpio I wore a cute summer dress with red lipstick along with my feminine charm I didn’t have to lay it on thick for him to desire me for him to want to kiss me he would’ve fuck me I hadn’t been on my period his hands roamed almost every inch of my body as if it belong to him for the 5 minutes we made out while I dissociated and pretended I was somewhere else I was numb and devoid of feeling anything Am I even a person? He said things about how I was so hot and sexy and how sad it was that couldn’t screw me And I laughed flirtatiously following the script I’ve had since I could remember and I felt no desire or any pleasure if anything I was repulsed by him, by myself hating how even at 40, I was still pulling the same bullshit since I was 16 making myself an object of desire for me to play with and then something snapped in me that day a couple of hours after that date I sent him a snap along with all the other 7 dudes I was entertaining and keeping as options the same message, “I’m sorry, I’m not in a place to date or even to have men as friends, I wish you the best” it was hard as I had always been addicted to men’s attention and validation but something told me it was time to switch the narrative even though I knew it would be lonely
Happy World Poetry day! Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot about how my relationship with poetry has changed the past few years. I’ve always said poetry-reading and writing it has been a type of therapy for me. And while, this is still true, this relationship has evolved in me finding community with other poets online and in real life. I’m actually really lucky that I’m able to call a few of them my friends. This community has also helped me become a better poet in many ways. With all that being said, I wanted to share a few poems I’ve written about this community and how it’s impacted me.
tonight
we gather here tonight to share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves through poems written on a whim, in cars, inspired by dreams and tragedies and everything in between some of it will be meaningful some of it will be nonsense most of the time, it will be someone trying to make sense of the world with a few phrases and sentences clumsily strung together and calling it poetry
1/2/24
me at the open mic in May
finding community in athens
when I finally took myself seriously as a poet and writer, I was 40 before that I thought I was some cute and crazy girl who used poetry and stories to express on paper whatever she couldn’t burden loved ones with but now at 40, between the july heat and mental health diagnosis I had a nervous breakdown and I used my creativity to get through it so I started blogging and used my poetry as content I had no idea anyone would like it, resonate with it and subscribe to it and after a year, I went back to open mic and keep going and bared my most vulnerable and intimate thoughts this lead to me finding community with the local poets of Athens and it’s what I had always wanted but was always too scared, too insecure to seek out and also too busy with everything else in my life but one day I got tired and finally embraced the fire of my creativity and decided to share the artist in me with the world once I did that, I created a community and eventually found a community of writers and poets who accept me, encourage me, and inspire me
2/20/24
me at the open mic in September
safe harbor
I landed in my safe harbor after I almost drowned and I’m greeted by strangers who welcome me with open arms they don’t turn away or tell me I’m too much when I tell them my lore of trauma through poetry they applaud me, they accept me, they encourage me they’re the sanctuary I’ve been searching for since I can remember these strangers who call themselves poets have now become my chosen family
I hate it when I catch myself being unintentionally sweet It makes me feel vulnerable and weak It’s almost as if my armor of empowered Queen is breaking and I can’t allow that to happen I’ve come too far in my heroine’s journey to allow romantic daydreams to disrupt it And I’m tempted to erase his messages And block him It’s not his fault or mine It’s the faulty wiring in my brain it causes the logic in me to short circuit every time I talk to him
asustada y desesperada, me ato a ti aprendí de niña que la soledad era una maldición y qué quedarse sola es la peor cosa que le puede pasar a una mujer
being with you was a form of self harm it was another symptom of my mental illness It was me living with my unhealed alcoholic daddy issues it was the worst version of me trying to find some kind of semblance of love to fill the void with whatever, even if that love looked toxic, brought out the worst in me, berated and assaulted me still stupidly I went back to you and accepted you in my life over and over again even with delusional daydreams in the back of my mind that if I kept you in my life long enough eventually you’d change and one day we’d get it right but all you ever did was disappoint me over and over again but this last undoing of us is the one and good riddance for that because at 43, i’m too fucking old to waste my time on fuck bois who can’t show an ounce of respect and dignity
por un tiempo eras un rompecabezas siempre tan misterioso siempre tan cauteloso nunca hablastes acerca de tu pasado aunque yo compartí de más de mis trastornos y aunque me cansaba, seguí tratando porque mi mamá no crió a un derrotista pero nada que hice trabajo nunca pudiste ser vulnerable conmigo
for a while you were an a puzzle to me always so mysterious always so guarded never talked about your past even as I overshared my trauma and while it got tiring I still kept on trying to get you to open up my mami didn’t raise a quitter but nothing I did ever worked you could never bring yourself to be vulnerable
I pay tribute to the women who came before me women who sacrificed so my parents could exist my mami who had to leave behind her culture, traditions, and language to give me a better life to make sure I grow up safe and well educated and taught me what strength and resilience means as she worked long days to make ends meet as she showed initiative to move our family forward and with her example I was able to follow it except I change it up some to live a life full of love, community and creativity
always restless and wild from the start nothing could contain me or dim my spark leg braces, overprotective parents it didn’t matter I always found a way to make trouble, to investigate, always too curious for my own good and too dramatic and emotional for mostly everyone always good at making people uncomfortable sometimes it’s a curse, sometimes it’s a blessing can’t change this part of myself I have, am and will always be like this
Life on the BPD 