escribí este poema en septiembre del 2023.
mis antepasados me visitan en sueños para darme ánimos,
para que no me hunda en mi amargura
para que me cubra con esperanza y fe
Que nunca pare de mejorar y evolucionar
poesía: antepasados
poesía: hincado
escribí este poema en septiembre de 2023.
me haces sentir algo que pensé
era imposible
y casi me hundo en un mundo de remordimientos
Porque olvide mi promesa a nunca ser vulnerable
en creer en el amor-
pero ya es demasiado tarde, no hay marcha atras
estas hincado en mi sueños, mis pensamientos
y mi corazón
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poetry: smile and pull the trigger on your pistol
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
the evidence of my emotional affair stares back at me-
taunting me with a smirk-
sexy photos exchanged while both of us were legally bonded
to other people
flirty emails sent back and forth to satisfy my craving for attention
I couldn’t get from my husband
It was fun and sexy, wasn’t it?
We were our own Gen X, low rent version of Ashley Madison
seeing how much both of us could get away with-
except that for years, it hurt me and caused me so many trust issues
after learning you had been married the entire time
of our decade long flirtation
and you acted like a psychopath when I confronted you with it-
like my feelings of betrayal weren’t valid,
and you tried to gaslight me into believing I was a crazy bitch
and a few years later, I’m divorced and reflect on our torrid affair
and shame takes a hold of me
as well as regret over that day in the parking lot
of second and charles when I gave
into my yearning for you-
I try to hold compassion for the atrocity of our infidelity
and for the younger version of me who was so selfish
and allowed her ego to guide her
And allowed herself to continue her pseudo friendship
With you-
allowing you to use me for emotional labor
while you slept next to your wife and lied to her and me
I’ve tried for years to find forgiveness for you
even empathy, tried to not always see you as villain
in my story
But forgiveness, compassion, and empathy for you
Evades me
And I’ve come to the conclusion-
You’ll always be the most toxic story in my life-
One of the three things in my life I’ll forever regret
the one who should have left my life
once I made vows to my husband
but instead you stood there selfishly
pushing your lust driven agenda on me-
not respecting my marriage or yours
one of the three people in my life
I’ll never forgive
for the impact of trauma
You made on me
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poetry: free
I wrote this poem in September of 2021.
I long to run free in a world free from prejudice and pride
I long to run free in a world free from judgment and ignorance
I long to run free in a world that accepts people like me
I long to run free in a world where I’m not hypervigilant
about toning myself down
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poesía: tormenta de ira
escribí este poema en septiembre del 2023.
La tormenta de mi ira después de otro rechazo viene en español
y lloro de cólera y furia
porque de nuevo confíe en la persona equivocada
y mis antepasados se me acercan y me abrazan
me hacen acordar de mi valor
y que ninguna persona tiene derecho a menospreciarme
pero también me dicen que aprenda de esta lección
y que tengo que ser más cuidadosa en seleccionar mis amistades
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poetry: home
I wrote this poem in September of 2021.
I looked for a sense of home,
a sense of identity
in all of the wrong
Places –
man after man
Shopping spree after shopping spree,
drink after drink
all were temporary fixes
for something I never had
a stable home, a true
sense of identity
until one day I realized
these temporary bandaids
were never or will
ever be my home
because that sense of
home, that sense of identity
lies within myself
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poetry: Oconee County Problems
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
Susan from Oconee County calls concerned about the smell in the air
from the sludge in the farms-
and my Latina working class immigrant self rolls her eyes in disgust
silently mouthing off-
“are you fucking kidding me? another rich bitch on a mission
to solve her problems of discomfort in her every day
bane of existence”
but I quietly listen to her as she talks about how
it’s impacting the environment
and the drive to the pilates studio
because she just has to drive with her windows down
to breathe in the autumn air as her PSL cools down
in the drink holder
but now she can’t enjoy her drive because of the sludge
and then she breaks down and cries
because of the inconsiderate farmers
and I think of 1001 ways her privilege white woman ass
is being a bitch and the audacity of how, me,
a Latina immigrant working class woman is being forced to listen
to her idiotic and inconsequential problems
but rent needs to be paid and my kids need to be fed
so, instead, I say
“m’amn, I understand”
in my best and whitest customer service voice-
while calling her a pinche estupida pendeja
in my head-
and I reassure with a smile in my voice and tell her,
“I’ll make sure someone get your messages
which is of utmost importance, and calls you back”
and as I hang up the phone,
I want to scream and vomit at the same time
thinking
“I don’t think this was part of my American Dream”
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poetry: different
I wrote this poem in September of 2021.
I saw my mother kill the spark in my father
He was my age with many dreams,
But I’m different,so different
No matter who or
What gets in my way,I’ll Knock them out
Figuratively or literally
to get the life I deserve
to accomplish my goals
The spark in me stays in me
and giving a determination
to keep going
and to NEVER, EVER GIVE UP!
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poetry: I’ll be okay
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I know I’ll be okay, I know I’ll be fine
I’m the queen of resilience, coming back triumphantly
After each tragedy
but right now, I need to honor the heaviness of grief
that resides within me
Acknowledge that for a while, my kids may view me
as a villain for breaking up their family
for making them products of broken home
I gotta feel this residual anger and resentment
Directed at myself and my ex
for not being able to make our marriage work
At least I can say it wasn’t me who gave up easily
I was the one who gave my all and best efforts
to make it work
but one day, I had to accept it for what it was
a marriage damaged beyond repair
And no amount of meds, therapy, acceptance
or healing on my part could have saved it-
not when I was always doing 80 percent of the work
and he barely gave me any effort
and while yes, he did care of our kids and of me
he still didn’t help in providing for them,
show initiative to better our family
or even tried to love me
the way I needed to be loved
Instead, he hid behind his fatherhood and age
To distract me
And it wasn’t until the healthiest version of me showed up
and got the courage to put a stop to this facade of a marriage
and stop our codependent story of love
We’ve been modeling for our kids
It’s up to me to break this generational curse of toxic love
or else our kids won’t know or understand
what a healthy and real love story looks like
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poetry: nonsense
I wrote this poem in September of 2019
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poetry: leveling up
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
to reach the next level of my life
I need to stand firm in alignment
with my values
I need to be brave and take the necessary steps
for my full autonomy
even if it’s painful, even if I start to question
the process
the end result will be the betterment
for me and my sons, a life full of purpose
a life where I’m no longer attached to anything
and anyone who held me back from reaching
my potential
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poetry: a long time away
I wrote this poem in September of 2019 and 5 years later, I’m posting it on my 1 year divorce anniversary so this poem is extra special to me.
It seems that my freedom is a long time away
it is almost hopeless to get away from my prison
of obligations and responsibilities
I yearn to escape!
I love my kids
but I’ve stopped loving their dad
the space between us
became too wide a long time ago
and we can never go back
to who we were, who we wanted to be
So now I long to be free of these marital chains
that once upon a time I longed for
As hopeless and as hard as it seems
I’m determined to be free
from my suburban confinement
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poetry: eternal
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
summer feels eternal
it’s the sixth of september
and we’re still in 90-degree weather
melting in this heat
it’s a global warning with no sign
of reprieve
it’s a never-ending season
that has me sweating and cursing
constantly
saying FML and calling my friends
during panic attacks in the bathroom at work
it’s my insanity I can’t seem to rein in
all the way, no matter how hard I try
and the frustration of it wears me out
and make me want to throw in the towel
and give up
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poetry: Domestic Bliss
I wrote this poem in September of 2019.
maybe this is as good as life gets
a life half lived but with few regrets
Who needs adventure and love
when you have the stability of family?
Who needs spontaneity and excitement
when you have the comfort of home?
Who needs connection and chemistry?\
when you have routine and predictability?
Maybe this is as good as life gets
A life half lived but with few regrets
Bored, bored, bored with it all
living a woman’s suburban dream of mediocrity
to want anything more
would break this so-called
domestic bliss
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poetry: NEVER!
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I’m looking forward to that pisco sour I’ll have
after the judge declares me divorced and free to remarry
-ha- that’s the biggest joke ever
maybe I’ll land in someone’s bed once again
But a ring on my finger -NEVER!-
not in this lifetime, not as long as I breathe
instead I’ll claim my single status
And relish in it as long as I can
Life on the BPD 