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poetry: words

I wrote this poem in August of 2023.

I’m armed with my notebooks and journals full of poems and stories

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

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poetry: who knows

I wrote this poem in August of 2022.

I still don’t have an answer

the shelf of my bookcase breaks, and my poetry notebooks fall
every single one of my love stories scattered on the floor
Failure after failure
Were any of them worth the effort?
Was the experience worth the suffering?
Maybe it was for the inspiration behind my prose and poetry
and the growth I’ve had
Still, that doesn’t seem like an adequate answer

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poetry: romantic misfortune

I wrote this poem in August of 2022.

so relatable

I breathe grief in, I exhale grief out
my pain needs a way out
because despair and sorrow fill up my lungs
and anger sits at the bottom of my stomach
and I’m tired of living like this
a life full of emotional intensity
And supposedly there’s a cure for it
with therapy and radical acceptance
but how do I accept that every man
who’s ever professed his love to me
always leaves
Will my romantic misfortune one day end?
or am I destined to repeat the same story
of abandonment
over and over again?

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poetry: IHOP

I wrote this poem in August of 2020.

this was the best AI generated Art could do…idk,,lol

I met you on a cold January night at the IHOP
across your apartment complex
As I was eating up my loneliness
with scrambled eggs and coffee
I hoped you couldn’t see remnants
of tears that had fallen before you came
and you sat across from me
and as we awkwardly made conversation
I wondered if you would be the one
to breathe new life into my almost dead existence
I wondered if your kiss would help me
reignite a fire of desire, would remind me
I’m more than a wife and mother
But most of all I wondered if maybe, just maybe
someone would finally love me

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poetry: reaching out

I wrote the poem in August of 2023.

so in love with myself

I reach out to my unhealed parts when they show up
they’re the messy and crazy parts I hide
the parts that still long to be codependent on others
and are terrified of my new autonomy
the parts that try to bleed into my present
and prevent me from reaching my fullest potential
I reach out, embrace them and whisper
“Our story will be better than okay,
we just need to trust the process”

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poetry: my garden

I wrote this poem in July of 2022.

me taking on the most ambitious DIY project: me

this time when I plant my garden of love
it will be a solo project
filled with seeds of only me
Seeds of my grief, seeds of my joy
Seeds of my sadness, seeds on my anger
Seeds of inspiration and it will bloom
into flowers of self worth
trees of empowerment
and plants of self love
this time when I till my garden
I won’t allow anyone to distract me
This time when I maintain my garden
I’ll water it with the essence of myself

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poetry: a whole education

I wrote this poem in July of 2022.

I’m dressed for revenge…hahaha

I’m not just a lesson learned, I’m a whole education
my mood swings will teach you patience and self-control
and things about bipolar and BPD you never wanted to learn
Making love to me will give you a degree in the best WAPP
you’ll ever experience
And when you break my heart and leave
You’ll earn your PhD in what happens when you fuck over
A Peruvian woman who’s crazy

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poetry: darkness

I wrote this poem in July of 2020.

aesthetic: depression

The Darkness comes back
with a fierce strength
and takes over my mind
I want to run
I want to hide
But most of all I want to die

The Darkness comes back
like a hurricane
and wrecks my body and mind
and I don’t want to work
and I don’t want to talk
and I don’t want to breathe

The Darkness comes back
and not even the promise of love
keeps it away

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poetry: coffee

I wrote this poem in July of 2023.

“I am your sweetheart psychopathic crush”- Lorde

I collect crushes like little boys collect pokemon cards
I’m addicted to the potential of love
without doing anything about it
except to occasionally test their waters
Nonchalantly sliding into their DMs
And posting a thirst trap selfie
and celebrating with a love song
when one of them likes it
or comments on it
hoping one of them sees past my salty poetry
hoping one of them is brave enough
to ask me out for coffee
and wants to get to know the real me

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: light

I wrote this poem in July of 2023.

I bring a hot pink vibe to your life…hahaha

I hold my head up high now
no matter what happens
I will never allow anyone
to ever again dim or extinguish my light
I now understand the magic I hold within
and how it can be intimidating
to some people who can’t understand it

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poetry: FUCK LOVE

I wrote this poem in July of 2023.

fuck love and fuck whatever my bangs were trying to do in this pic

I gave the middle finger to love for a few reasons
I like to stay emotionally regulated
I like to not be on the brink of suicidal ideation
Every other week
I needed to find out who I was
without anyone distracting me
And for once in my life
I needed to make myself a priority

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poetry: you’ll never hear from me again

I wrote this poem in July of 2023.

it’s water under the bridge

my exes get off easy when they leave
because they never hear from me
and while they become the muse of my poetry
I pretend they exist in a different universe
at times I’ve even pretended some of them were dead
none of this was ever done with ill intent
it’s just the only way I know how to deal
with catastrophic heartbreak
I’d rather close their chapter in my life indefinitely
than deal with some pseudo friendship
and it seems cruel and harsh
In the long run, I’m doing them a favor
Sparing them from me hurting them
in an unexpected explosion of emotions
when I can’t reign my rage in
even in the end, I’m still protecting them
out of respect for the love we once shared

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poetry: two years ago

I wrote this poem in July of 2023.

always a heroine in the making

I don’t recognize the woman I was two years ago
and I’m most grateful for that
always dependant and clingy
always insecure, always settling for the trifles of attention
given to her by men
and never confident to share who she really was
always suffocating her needs and wants for the benefit of others
the woman I was two years ago didn’t know
the magical and powerful creature she was
and how even despite her issues
she was a heroine in the making