I wrote this in 2001 about the great breakup of 2001. This is the last poem I wrote about this relationship. One of the aspects that I was hyper focused on during this breakup was being cheated on. Another reason, I flew into a rage was because “S” ex wife would not stop calling me after the breakup. It got to the point I had to change my phone number. She wasn’t exactly mean, I think she was trying to reach out as a fellow victim of “S” deception and wanted someone to process the pain with but I wanted no part of it. It felt too raw and painful for me at the time for me. And she wasn’t the only that called me about “S” cheating on me, there had been another chick by the name of Mariah. Also, the other part was that me and “S” communicated via email after the breakup for a few days just to fight about everything and place blame on each other. Emotions were really high not just on my part but for everyone involved. Also, this situation brought up triggers from my previous relationship with Paul. There are the reasons I went into a rage and ended up writing more than 40 poems about a 6 week long relationship.Reflecting on this now at 40, I can honestly say that I did process and heal from that breakup when it happened. I mean I did write like more than 40 poems about but maybe it’s what I needed to do at the time. I also don’t hold a grudge about “S” or his ex or anyone involved. Everyone was in their early 20s and we were all trying to do our best at that time and maybe our best looks shitty to other people.
maybe we were all counterfeits
You two were made for each other Like the sun was made to be hot To you I was just another toy To play with, But once the newness wore off You decided to go back to Your old comfortable teddy bear Unfortunately old habits are hard to break
This one is actually not salty but rather nostalgic about the great breakup of 2001.I think that one of reasons I had so much anger was that I hated myself for still having feelings for “”S” after the breakup. I felt weak for it and went against the image of strength that I had at the time.
Honestly…it will probably take 100 men to write my biography,,,lol
How I wish so much for another day with your warm touch How I would like to believe deep down that you still care about me How I would like to turn back time and go back to those days when you were mine How I would like to say Please donβt go away How I still long to dance another slowsong
So today marks my 10 anniversary since starting this blog. Iβll admit that until the summer of this year I didnβt take this blog as seriously as maybe I should have. I started this blog in December of 2011 after my house was broken into and we were robbed. It was traumatizing to me and my family and I needed a way to process it so I started blogging. Here is that blogpost:
Since starting this blog, there have been a lot of life changes. I’ve blog about those life changes few times when just writing it down doesnβt do the trick. The way that I have explained it to friends and family is that the blog is like screaming into the void of cyberspace.In October of 2019, I started posting my poetry and this was another level of intimacy for me because I donβt share my poetry with just anyone. I will share my poetry or writing with one of my close friends or sometimes at open mic at my local pub .Then I started a second job and I didnβt have the time needed to dedicate to this blog but I always kept writing. Then I got into a relationship that lasted until July of this year. While Iβm not getting into how that relationship ended or why (thatβs blog content for late next year-lol) it was one of the reasons I started blogging again. The demise of that relationship was unexpected and devastating for me so I turned to my first coping mechanism-writing. Shortly before my breakup in July, I started therapy and was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and that was a lot to process in itself. Being broken up while dealing with a new diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder felt like I had experienced 2 really horrible car wrecks within a week. I compare it to a car accident because thatβs probably one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life. Except this time, it wasnβt my car that was totaled and unrepairable, it was me. I felt like I had lost part of my identity since I was no longer someoneβs partner and I gained a new part of my identity in being diagnosed with BPD. I felt completely overwhelmed with no sense of direction; I honestly didnβt know what to do next. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and cry while Alexa played my sad girl playlist from Spotify. Here is that playlist:
And while I did do that some of the time; I understood I still needed to get up every day and show up for myself somehow. And showing up for myself meant writing. And so I wrote every day in my journal and in my numerous notebooks. I wrote letters at 3 AM that I would never send, journal entries full of immense sadness and rage, and tons and tons of poetry.
these are just a few of my journals and well Sylvia Plath is of course one of my favorite poets
A few days after my breakup, I decided to blog about my diagnosis to start to make sense of it and hereβs that post:
After writing that post and it got more than a few views and a couple of likes, it made me realize that there are other people like me. I also got the idea at that time that healing for me would look like me revisiting past traumatic situations through my poetry and reflections or writing a blog post. And this was chaotic in itself because I started posting poetry from all stages in my life. So around late October and early November, I started posting poetry for the most part chronologically from the early stages of my writing with the very first poem I wrote when I was 15 and hereβs that poem:
My writings and poetry are confessional, sometimes childish, and at times super emotional. Itβs meant for people who have felt misunderstood in their anger and grief, it’s meant for people who feel everything at once and feel overwhelmed by it, it’s meant for people who have traumas theyβre still not over, and it’s meant for people who have given their trust and vulnerability to the wrong people only to be broken over and over again by doing this.
so I kept writing
My future plan for this blog is to continue to post poetry, essays, playlists, and other writings. Without intending to, this blog has become a storytelling blog. And itβs a story about a woman who is far from perfect. Itβs a story of woman who lies, who loves hard, who hates even harder, who loves sex, who has been abandoned by lovers and who has abandoned lovers, whoβs crazy, and who feels immense sadness and rage when trauma hits. Itβs a story of a woman who fucks up continuously but still manages to get up and try to become a better version of herself than she was yesterday. Itβs also a story of a woman who has continued to triumph after trauma. Most importantly itβs a story of a woman who is done accommodating to peopleβs and society’s expectations of who she should be and at 40 has realized that being authentic and true to herself is the only and right way for her to be. I may have changed a lot within a decade but what will never change is my love for writing and my purpose to continue to share my story.
Here’s to 10 more years of writing about my vida loca
I hope you know that YOU really shouldn’t think about dating me unless you want me to write loads and loads of sad and angry breakup poetry about you once you leave. Just kidding. Maybe. LMAO Anyways, here is another salty poem about the great breakup of 2001.
I hope you know you made a mistake The day you decided to go astray You have just lost the best thing Itβll get under your skin And you will one day regret The day you decided to forget It was just supposed to be about me and you And youβll feel like such a damn fool For Iβll never let you walk back into my life Knowing you made love to me with your disgusting lies I hope youβre miserable with her and karma comes for you and her and for me you’ll just be another nightmare
Today marks my 11 year anniversary with my husband and while me and him areno longer in a romantic relationship; Iβm still celebrating it. This might seem strange to a lot of people including myself. I honestly didnβt think I would write this blog post for today. I thought I was just going to post a salty ass poem about him and I still will but why not celebrate this man that has been my ride or die for the past 18 years. While yes, I still plan on separating and divorcing this man in the near future; my heart does not hold any resentment and anger towards him like it has in the past. I love him because he is my chosen family that has and will always be there for me no matter what. Iβve told my perspectiveabout our relationship in this blog and while that is my truth; I feel that in someways Iβve painted him in a very negative light and may have been unfair to him. A lot of that was anger and resentment that I felt towards him at the time and towards myself for our relationship not working out. Now that he and I are in our third year of being co-parents and friends, I look at him in a different way and really accept him for who he is. Itβs been a long journey to get here but Iβmglad Iβm here.
us in late 2005
As I look back and reflect on mine and his journey what strikes me is how loyal heβs been to me throughout my worst of times. He could have abandoned me when my oldest son was diagnosed with autism early in our relationship, when I got unexpectedly pregnant with our first child together, when I use to yell at him and emotionallyabuse him, after my suicide attempt in 2016 and after I askedhim to open up our marriage. But he didnβt. He stayed and was supportive in his own way and yes sometimes that came off as controlling but I think now that it was his way of being over protective. Heβs accommodated to whatever crazy andimpulsive choices Iβve made and heβs stood by my side when Iβve had mental health crises. Heβs not the type of man to ever run away when things get hard. In fact, heβs the type to stand by you until you get back up and after. Maybe thatβs why I was in a romantic relationship with him for 15 years, he stayed no matterwhat. He also could have given up on me many times before we decided we wouldnβt continue our romantic relationship. He could also have kicked me out even after I flaunted my situationship and new boyfriends in front of his face.
our last picture in 2018 as a romantic couple, I only took this pic to post it on social media to make my boyfriend at the time jealous..lol..yeah I was fucked up
Also, I could have not lucked out more with having the best father for my children. This man is extremely devoted to our three children and loves them more than life. He makes sure that they are always very well taken care of. And co parenting with him has been an easy ride with a few mishaps.
Him with our 3 kids
As I write this, Iβve realized how incredibly lucky and fortunate I am to have him in my life. It sucks that our romantic relationship didnβt work out but what doesnβt suck is still having him in my life as my co parent and friend.
Maybe I am the girl version of Joe Goldberg after all. LMAO. Of course, this was written about the great breakup of 2001.
Maybe I am sad finding out you were such a cad Maybe I am blue Knowing you were never true Maybe I was too blind to see you werenβt really into me Maybe I was a fool To never have seen past your bull Maybe I am done With guys like you using me for fun Maybe just maybe I can get past all this Knowing one day youβll have to pay for this
I wrote this in December 2001 after seeing my ex “S” from the “great breakup of 2001”. I saw him at mall while I was shopping. I remember not being able to breathe and having to get out of there.
forgiveness is hard
I was minding my own business when I came upon your ugly face I started right away to get restless Thinking how you had been such a fucking waste I hope you didnβt notice How I had forgotten to breathe How the memory of your kiss Came back to me Thatβs when I had to turn around and leave
I wrote this in January of 2002 about Lucas , my married coworker. We are finally at this chapter of my life; yeah, the one where I fell “in love” with my married coworker. I was 20, almost 21 and he was 31. This was one of the most interesting and tumultuous seasons of my love life due to the crazy circumstances surrounding it but that’s another blog post. Lol.
attraction
And so I finally meet The man of my destiny But of course There is a minor oversight He is bound to another by law But does his face light up when she enters the room? Does he desire me as I desire him? Does he care for her the way I care for him? Does he still want her as bad as I want him?
This was the second poem I wrote in December of 2001 inspired after seeing my ex “S” at the mall. I was still feeling all of those raw emotions after this breakup when I wrote this. Looking back on it, I’m glad that at the time, I took my emotions out on paper instead of finding other means of escape with alcohol or someone else.
There you were In front of me My love murderer I wanted to yell and scream and say You are the most deceitful, lying, scum king I wanted to throw at you my fist with all my might And punch those lips I had once kissed I wanted to kill you with a look that said You bastard, look at how much you took away from me Instead, I had to walk away and take back with me All I wanted to do or say
I wrote this about the great breakup of 2001. I guess part of the reason why I reacted the way I did was because my ego took a big hit. I mean, I’m already a person that has identity and self esteem issues and each breakup triggers a feeling of worthlessness inside that’s hard to get rid of.
So true
Youβll never know How much youβve hurt me so Youβll never see The mess youβve made of me Youβll never hear The words β I love you dearβ Youβll never ever find out That loving you was what I was about
For I am too damn proud To admit I was a fool out loud For I have too much pride To ever let you see me cry For I have too much dignity To ever let you return to me For I have too much respect To ever let you turn me into a wreck
I wish I could’ve spent more time picking up a hobby than writing all of this salty poetry about this dude. LMAO. This is of course another poem inspired by the “great breakup of 2001”.
I wish I could Forget all of you And take back the time Spent loving you I wish I could make you see All of the misery you caused me I wish I could make you feel My pain that is so extremely real I wish I could see you hurting It would be something I would take comfort in I wish I could just not care But life isnβt always fair
I wrote this in 2001 about the great breakup. Looking back at this I almost BUT I’m glad that at the time I was resourceful enough to turn to write poetry instead of doing more self destructive things. My favorite phrase from my 20 year old self is “low scum ho”. Damn, I was salty. LMAO.
Thank you for letting me know I was with some low scum ho Thank you for making me see He was just using you and me Thank you for making me realize My lover was just telling me lies Thank you for driving me into this misery I really thought he cared for only me But most of all, Thank you for taking this burden off me he didnβt deserve someone as good as me
This is yet another poem inspired by the great breakup of 2001. Most likely, I wrote this poem right after it happened as I still raw processing what happened.
Big Lie
I was stubborn and I got burned by not believing that you were deceiving there were many signs but my heart refused to resign it didnβt want to conceive of the notion that your love was a distortion now I sit in disbelief at how wrong you done me Iβm so much better off I know even though itβs almost impossible to let you go so itβs forever goodbye to your twisted love that was a big lie
This was another poem written in early 2001 about Paul. All I can say is that at least I didn’t go on to write more than a few poems about this breakup. I probably wrote this during the time we were attempting a “pseudo friendship”. I remember getting nauseated and sick every time after I got off the phone with him. This really was the last poem I wrote about him.
honestly how it felt like
Upset, angry, frustrated Are some of the things I feel When I come in contact with Your miserable self
Depressed, miserable, pessimistic is what Iβve become You walked away
Happy, gleaming, glowing is what you are your miserable piece of scum
Itβs unfair,unjust, not right That fate led me to someone Who would cause me so much raw pain
When me and my family first immigrated to the U.S in September of 1986; Thanksgiving was a foreign concept to us. We were introduced to Thanksgiving by our extended family members who were seasoned veterans in celebrating this American Holiday. I was 5 when I immigrated to this country so my memories of our first or second Thanksgiving are pretty blurry.
What I do remember is going to my uncleβs house where my aunts, uncles and numerous cousins would gather. My mother sat with my aunts and grandmother while they shared the latest chisme (aka-gossip) while they cooked and later on served dinner to the kids and the men. Yay for machismo culture <insert sarcasm>. My father and my uncles drank together while they joked around. I remember playing with my cousins or following my sister upstairs with our teenage cousins to the bedroom with the TV to watch music videos with George Michael ,Rick Astley blasting on MTV. Maybe thatβs how I acquired my sometimes basic taste in music.
I also remember that since we were away from adults, our cousins took the opportunity to teach me and my sister all of the bad words in English. Haha. Another fond memory that comes to mind is the newest babies being passed around the aunts or the older female cousins. There wasnβt such a thing as asking permission from the parents for their baby unless of course the child is being nursed. I also remember hating the taste of turkey. It tasted like rubber to me.
me and almost all of my cousins circa 1987, I’m in front in the frilly blue dress
There was warmth and laughter in this idyllic setting of Thanksgiving but thatβs not the whole picture. There was also unpleasantness. My mom is one of nine children and with that many personalities; there was no way to avoid drama when all of them gathered in one space. There were more than a few petty conflicts between family members on Thanksgiving and other holidays gatherings.
My mother decided after a couple of Thanksgivings it would be better to celebrate Thanksgiving at home by ourselves. So my mother learned how to season and make a turkey and stuffing. Instead of the traditional green bean casserole or sweet potato pie; our sides were Peruvian Potato Salad and Macaroni Salad accompanied by Peruvian Hot Chocolate and Dadβs famous alcoholic Peruvian eggnog. We would watch movies rented from the local video store while we waited for the turkey to be ready. When my dad started getting tipsy, he would start playing Spanish Christmas Carols, Huaynos, and Musica Criolla. It was music that my teenage sister would cringe at and me and my brother would tolerate. I didnβt realize then but I do realize now that my father was in his own way trying to make sure that we wouldnβt forget our roots as we were living this new life in America. My parents tried their best to make sure that our strong Peruvian culture and traditions were not forgotten as we acclimated to the the new Americanized way of living. When dinner was ready, we would sit down at the table. I ,being the youngest and most impressionable by my then Catholic School upbringing, would ask the family to say a prayer and ask them to say something they were thankful for. I think I was seven or eight at the time but I guess my parents thought it was a good tradition to start. And of course, my siblings would get annoyed but they did it.
Despite those first few Thanksgivings when we lived very much under the poverty line; it was still a happy time for us as a family. My parents made sure that Thanksgiving was almost always filled with warmth, love, and laughter. One could say that what Thanksgiving meant to my newly arrived immigrant family then was learning how to incorporate our culture into a new American holiday like Thanksgiving. While my parents understood the importance of assimilation; they still made sure me and my siblings didnβt forget our culture. Today, Iβm filled with gratitude that my parents brought the best of both cultures to Thanksgiving and most holidays in their own unique way. Iβve been able to bring these bicultural traditions to my own family while also making new traditions.
me and my family circa 1986, I’m the one sitting on my mom’s lap