I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

thereβs no need to be anyone but you-
you are a love child of God
who sends angels in the form of ancestors
to protect and guide you
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.

she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence
clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women
about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is womenβs empowerment
and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit
it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment
perhaps itβs because Iβm a working class immigrant woman
who struggles in America
perhaps itβs because the rights of the marginalized and working class
are being ripped away from us
and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears
how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie
oh yeah, we worked together briefly
and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should
check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity
while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability
but I stop
this barbie isnβt worth my time or energy
itβs time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe
who only serves to trigger my working class rage
who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality
in this capitalistic and racist American society
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

my hearts expands wishing nothing but the best for my exes
I hope that one guy got to recovery and heβs settled with a nice girl
he met at church and they live somewhere in the country
I pray that one dude found someone nice and calm like him
to share a life with
I wish the latest one found someone whoβs not crazy
heβs in love someone who brings stability and routine to his life
but most of all, I wish all of them to live their lives authentically and with purpose
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

Relief comes after a nap on Christmas day
I woke up with so much joy and warmth in my heart
I feel like Iβm standing on top of a mountain Iβve been climbing forever
A mountain climb thatβs had a most treacherous uphill
and loaded with many obstacles Iβve stumbled and fallen from many times
but the universe, God presented me this gift of contentment for my life
the understanding that everything had to happen for this reason
to live in my childhood dreams of having my own family
who brings me love and purpose every day of my existence
I wrote this poem in April of 2023.

I almost drowned in a whirlpool of shame today because I made a mistake
because Iβm an imperfect human
but I breathe in deeply self compassion and grace
and accept this is a small blunder in my life
and it shouldnβt take up too much space in my mind
And I needed to be a friend to myself
Understand I wonβt always be flawless-
Afterall Iβm only mortal
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

I could be the poster child for love fiascos-
I love too fast, and too hard-
Iβm the fool of the tarot
risking everything even my sanity for love-
getting caught up in feelings and magic
being delusional that somehow it could work out
even when the red flags scream at me-
I say fuck it-I switch off the logic button in me
and go all in
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

This time it will be different-I lie to myself over and over again-
and for a while Iβll believe it-but it never works out and they always leave-
And I wonder how words fail me when this happens-
itβs a magnitude of emotions-
Intense, mega, uber, all consuming, overwhelming-
Some things cannot adequately expressed even with bilingual vocabulary-
maybe not everything is meant to be written down
itβs just meant to be felt, held intimately in my heart and mind
maybe itβs a private thing between me and the universe
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

In my car-I scream, sing, write, and cry
I dissociate to my radio-blasting out Conan Gray
I can be as crazy I as want to be-
without the fear of being judged or talked about
the seat is molded to my petite frame
perfect for meditation
or for allowing myself to fall into my insanity
makes videos about how beautiful life is-
or how I no longer want to participate in it
my car used to feed into my deepest fears
and insecurities
but now I worship it
if it wasnβt for this sacred space away
from my office and home
I donβt know how I would cope
when the intensity of my thoughts
knock on my mindβs door
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Callar
our love dream has turned into a nightmare of stagnancy and routine
I walk carefully on eggshells to not disturb your peace so you donβt leave-
Is this how love is supposed to be?
More questions than answers, more confusion than clarity
More tears than laughter-
I want to stay for the sake of our family
but Iβm starting to burn with resentment and anger
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

fragments of who I was weave in and out of my prose and poetry-
I keep trying to honor the old me
when she comes back with my insecurities
and reminds me of how I constantly screw up anything
resembling love
I no longer shame her or call her the worst version of me-
she was just trying to navigate life not understanding
she was an undiagnosed hurricane of emotions-
that couldnβt control or manage
She didnβt go to therapy or know about DBT
And sheβs still full of grief for the life she couldnβt live-
so she keeps on showing up trying to shake up
my newfound confidence and power
itβs her version of jealousy, and I walk with her for a while
Console her, and let her know how because of her
I did the work, and now she can feel happiness and joy through me
I will forever be grateful to her and pay tribute to her when I tell her story
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

my transformation and rebirth meant giving voice to my shadow
whoβs vindictive, petty, and mean
Iβve never really allowed her to breathe
much less be seen
and now sheβs almost everywhere-
taking space in uncomfortable spaces
learning sheβs not bad-
she just needed attention and to feel valued
Iβve finally accepted sheβs an important part of me
who needs to be seen

As I sit here squished in my writing space because the damn Christmas tree is taking up the other side of the room, I still feel incredibly blessed and fortunate that Iβm writing this post about how the 11th year of blogging was. To still be here telling my story though this platform with the most incredible followers is a true blessing. To the many people who have been supportive of me as I vomit out some of the cringiest and craziest shit, yβall are the real MVPs. I feel so encouraged and loved by every like or comment. I would say that it was a low key year because I didnβt experiment as much as I wanted to. What I did do is tell my story from January of 2022 through December of 2022 with my poetry along with my translated poems from my early writing days. Iβve translated a total of 215 pages of poetry from 1997 to 2004. Itβs been a challenge for sure but it was important for me to take on this project because it allows me to reconnect with my first language in a creative way. Also, my main purpose for taking on this project is because I’d love for my parents and other Spanish speaking relatives in Peru to be able to read my poetry. Iβd even started putting some of these poems on tik tok which has been somewhat of an interesting experiment considering I donβt know what Iβm doing and still figuring out the best way to create content there. I guess one could say that I’m passionate about telling my story. Hereβs my tiktok handle if yβall want to check it out: https://www.tiktok.com/@lagringachola81
Another new thing I did this year is start using my real name on this blog and across all of my social media. After my divorce, aka, my liberation day, I was finally able to let go of my pseudonym Eliza Dalton and use my real name Patty Tacuri. So, hi everyone, my name is Patty and I have issues. I love to use that opening line at open mic. Lol.

Iβve also been going to open mic at my local pub and itβs helped me connect with other poets which has helped me grow as a writer and poet. Being up there on that stage sharing the most vulnerable parts of myself has felt incredibly empowering and healing. Iβm grateful to the Athens Word of Mouth community whoβs been so open and receptive to whatever trauma laden or angry poem I decide to read that night.

As to what kind of blog content I have planned for 2024, I plan to leave the format as it is in telling my story of 2023 and including the translated pieces in between those poems. I hope that I can do more collaborations and review some more poetry books. I donβt have much more planned than that but who knows, sometimes my crazy mind comes up with the most off the wall ideas and an unexpected playlist or an essay about some kind of trauma happens. I know that in 2024, I want to be more open and vulnerable in telling my story and how my recovery journey has been going. Weβll see what happens. I can tell you that this blog is my happy place and something that keeps me going when my depression wants to get the better of me. Planning blog content this year has kept me grounded more times than I can count this year especially with some of the big emotions that have come up with the major life events Iβve had. Itβs become part of my recovery process from mental illness and a safe space for me to be honest and vulnerable. Also, since Iβm such a main character now, haha, I decided to give y’all a preview about whatβs to come next year in telling my story. Iβm calling it the twelve days of Patty starting on December 20th. Again, I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read my crazy and sometimes cringe poetry. To my fellow bloggers, poets,and storytellers-my message for you is to keep going! Your art and stories are important!
aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Vete de Aqui
Weβve lost our beginnerβs luck and now see who we really are
two incompatible souls too stubborn to be alone
and let go of our made up illusion of love
and between our uncomfortable silences,
your distant demeanor, and my growing resentment
itβs better to close our chapter of love
before I start to really hate you
letβs end this while we can still walk away as friends
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

Iβm tired of same repetitive compliments
Youβre so pretty, so sexy and if theyβre really βtryingβ
youβre BEAUTIFUL
but never in my life
have i been call a masterpiece, intelligent,
or have I been told that I inspire poetry?
and old lonely me would entertain
these flimsy lust or love possibilities
kept my standards low to keep my bed warm
and to escape my chronic emptiness
but after almost a year of solitude
my standards have been raised to the ceiling
and now Iβm protective of my energy
anyone who wants to get near me
will have to make a solid effort
write me poetry, take me out to steak dinners
and buy me pretty dresses and notebooks
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

It wasnβt that I wouldnβt have done the work-
I loved you more than enough to change, to accommodate
to make compromises, to share my vulnerability with you
but you werenβt ready to match my efforts
and love only grows when two people are ready to evolve