I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
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 wrote this poem in March of 2022.
His love made her glow
she shone, shone, shone
it was her happy ending
after a lifetime of misunderstanding
it was the sunshine she needed
after so many sad ballads
it was beautiful,it was lovely
it was the ultimate love story
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
feet washed and kissed in front of others
everyone calls her blessed and lucky
no one knows about the scars she hides
beneath her lilac modest dress
no one believes her if she told them
what a monster he was behind closed doors
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
her warmth keeps me safe and loved
it protects me from the harshness of this world
I call her Mami
her strength inspires me to stand up for myself
it makes me want to become a better version of myself
I call her my sister
Her ability to be there for me keeps me from dying
It keeps from falling into a dark abyss
I call her my friend
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone
but I wish death upon you
the minute your child posted about your open heart surgery
and immediately , it makes sense,
a man with a weak mind has an even weaker heart
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone
but I wish death upon you
couldn’t you die on the operating table?
you never deserved your life with your beautiful children
you-who made me carry the burden of shame and guilt
for years and years
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone but I wish death upon you
you-who desecrated my morality and ethics through
your domestic authority
I shouldn’t wish death upon anyone but I wish death upon you
because someone like doesn’t deserve to breathe
the same breath of real human beings
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
Cowboy with your boots and maga hat
Stay away from me
forget I ever existed
forget that once upon a time
I was your wendy to your peter
forget I always flew to you
when you texted me
I wrote to this poem in March of 2022.
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
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
hot summer nights on your porch
meant the world to me
and inspired an unusual amount of poems
I’m starting to think that writing poems
is how I hold onto the magic of our memories
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
longing to escape responsibility of my suburban life
I became 21 again and did drugs and fucked stranger men
I never meant any harm, I just wanted to know
what it was like to not be looked
at as someone’s mother, someone’s wife
I wrote this in March of 2022.
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams
about America
It was beautiful and blue
I pictured a celestial and warm ocean
where the waves tenderly touch my toes
I was taught it was a better existence than
the one we were living in
but no one told me that dreams sometimes
don’t come true
and the reality of America was filled with a hardness
that even 35 years later I’m still processing
indentured servitude, exploitation, depression,
addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects
of going for the American dream
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
kept the dead rose petals along with your note as long as I could
it was the first time a man had acknowledged me worthy enough
of a rose
and at 16, that was everything
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
not much of choice, get married or become a whore
at 19, she was trapped between a sword
and another sword
either way she’s trapped and kept away from the life
she really wanted to live
either way, her fate would be sealed
with her ink of shame
I wrote this poem in March of 2021.
feeling my otherness feels like a full time job
not belonging to here or there
constantly in limbo wondering “where is my home?
they hate me here, they hate me there
I don’t belong anywhere but I remain here
it’s the only home I’ve ever known
America
home of the free, home of the brave
but never my HOME!
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
flickering ashes, among them, the bride’s dress
dreams of a family
dreams of a white picket fence all went up in smoke
jilted and pregnant
bride cries on the floor, waiting for the sentencing
from her parents
now that her lover jilted her
and couldn’t make an honest woman out of her
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m soldier of love
too lost battles for me to count and recount
how many times I’ve had to stitch my heart over and over again
from the many knives past lovers have stabbed me with
with the last one, I almost lost all hope for love
It made me lose my sanity and almost gave me PTSD
Still the romantic in me refused to die
and resurfaced this year
Told me, “this time it will be different, this time you have self respect
and you’ll be choosy over who’s worthy of your love energy”
Life on the BPD 