my beloved LA is under siege the place that saw my immigrant child self grow, and learn English the place my parents decided to make their new home the place with tastiest hot dogs at culver city mall
my beloved LA is under siege and all I can do is watch the carnage be livestreamed and I’m transported once again to the L.A riots in 1992 when I was 11 and violence and madness was a stone’s throw away from our small apartment while mami pretends nothing’s happening as she cooks dinner and we’re all glued to the TV
my beloved LA is under siege and I couldn’t be prouder of my people standing loud and with a firm grip of love and justice for the most vulnerable of us whose only crime was to come this country in search for a better life
we get up and live our daily lives, work, go to school, show up to jury duty while the new regime is on a warpath to destroy the lives of the most vulnerable of the marginalized, of those who are not white, cis, and male we get and continue to live as if the American Gestapo isn’t ripping families apart and as if city after city isn’t been torn apart and turned into a warzone
women’s empowerment is sold and neatly packaged with sabrina carpenter’s new album always the heroine for this consumerist society even if the intentions feel a bit icky, feel a bit 1950s, with a man pulling her hair like a bitch giving off sub energy that feeds into the handmaiden narrative of America is trying to write for women and with the shitstorm of the past 2 weeks, I don’t feel sane enough to form an opinion yet, except that this feels like a weirdly perverse distraction from the rise of fascism taking place in our country
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
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!
She’s an American I’m an immigrant She loves Trump I’m a borderline socialist She believes in money and brand names I believe in love and poetry Born from the same womb But living in different worlds She’s upper middle class I’m working class She’s latina when it suits her I’m latina every single day She’s the definition of assimilation I get called out by HR for being too Peruvian She’s the American Dream And I’m the immigrant
I actually started writing this poem sometime in 2017 and finished it in January 2020. A big part of my identity is being an immigrant. This poem was inspired by the hardships and struggles I’ve seen my parents and other immigrants go through. This poem was also inspired by the Trump administration and the xenophobia that was felt in my life during that time.
immigration leads to discrimination of immigrants into this so called united nation the ones with brown skin and dark eyes justice to them is greatly denied xenophobia is the driving sensation
their bosses sing a song called exploitation and they hum along to it to live in this democratic nation they leave their language and culture behind to endure the american lie but don’t quite fit into the gringo equation
Is their sacrifice worth so much separation from their families, their language, and their nation? Ah-America – the land of the free yet none of them are truly free living in a soulless and consumerist society
I wrote this poem in January of 2020. Maybe I was mad at the patriarchy or just feeling weighed down by the expectations that society has on women. I know that for me, it has been a huge burden at times to constantly keep up an appearance that I am put together balanced woman even if I am falling apart.
me in January of 2020
The strength we have to carry as women is obscene Endless expectations weigh on us generation after generation We are buried in the burdens that society has placed on us since before we were born Be pretty but don’t show your body Be smart but we don’t want your opinion Be motherly and nurturing but still a working and productive member of society It is a never ending nightmare to try to reach the ridiculous standards placed upon our beauty, wealth, and motherhood Some of us seem to do it with grace Some of us are barely hanging on by a thread Quite a few of us would rather die than continue with the facade and the myth of a balanced woman.
ceo assassin come find me, I bet you’re a crazy communist who can match my bpd and bipolar energy you leave me breathless with an insatiable sexual hunger to make magic between my sheets ceo assassin come find me, let’s run away together from this capitalistic bullshit society and form our own version of utopia one where universal healthcare is a real thing, one where no one has to work 60 hour weeks to make ends meet, one where we are working to live and not living to work ceo assassin come find me, I don’t care that you’re on the most wanted list, I don’t care that they call you a murderous psychopath all I can see in front of me is divine masculinity and bravery who’s fucking tired of the trickle down economics false narrative this consumerist society conditions us to believe and i, more than other people understand you perfectly I can’t recall how many times I, too have found myself in a murderous rage wanting to turn to violence to make my working class anger heard and seen to send a message to the haves and the heathers, karens, chads, and brads of the world fuck you and your vacations, your teslas, and your brand name clothing while the rest of us have to settle for crumbs of the American Dream ceo assassin come find me, between your anger and mine combined, it could be the match that ignites an entire revolution not just against those who deny our insurance claims but also going against the 1 percent who deny us the freedom to just exist without worrying about how to make it in this consumeristic society and parasitic world without going crazy
are we going in time with our lack of rights with prejudices more overt- this is suppose to be a first world country and yet no one is safe sending my child to school i pray he’ll come back in one piece going to work I hope a mentally ill or disgruntled employee doesn’t walk in with revenge in his mind and a gun in his hand and i’m even afraid of sex birth control isn’t fool proof and I’d be forced to carry an oops are we going to back in time or is this the new America?
apathetic voter
full of apathy-i no longer have the faith and hope in government I once had i’m starting to think that renouncing my homeland was a waste to become an American thinking my vote counted for something, that it meant something aside from the ease of traveling my situation is still the same a working class reality where I’m still struggling a high functioning mental case doing her best to survive in a country that thrives on capitalism
polls
must I go to the polls and vote? everyone tells me I must to maintain my rights and for my future but lately I feel apathetic about it all- feeling I’ve never made a difference feeling like it’s so much bullshit but since I’ve heard Nazi sympathizers are in this race and I’m an other I”m forced to go to the stupid polls for mine and my loved ones survival
these poems are from 2022 and I’m more disillusioned than ever with the government. I’ve always leaned towards being a liberal/democrat and while I’ll still go out there and vote for whatever is deemed the “lesser evil”, I absolutely hate that we don’t have a third option that’s way more humane. And for anyone who thinks, “well, you should go back to your country”, at this point, I am working on having that as an option in the near future. Going back to Peru last year and this year has given me a new perspective about everything my parents gave up to immigrate to this country and it’s overwhelming because it was a lot. While I understand their reasons and while Peru does not have the most stable government either, the quality of life there seems better in a lot of ways. Who knows what will happen next year with the elections but I’m making sure my kids have their passports and I keep my connections with family and friends in Peru.
their used knicknacks, their used clothes their used whatever is taking up too much space in their closet or garage all of this is given to their browner and poorer counterparts act like ever act of charity will bring them one step closer to heaven when at times their recipients feel like it’s a act of condescension, arrogance a way to remind them where they belong a way to remind them of their working class status the haves need the have nots to have someone to feel superior to while the have nots cannot escape the cycle of poverty due to the greed of the haves
thousands of indigenous children never made, never born Fujimori’s presumptuous superiority and cruel policies caused this inhumanity, this crime against the most marginalized the poorest robbing thousands of women of their right to procreate a shameful part of Peru’s history thousands of indigenous children mourned who were never planted, never had a chance to bloom perhaps their existence was a threat to those in power full of corruption, now we’re never know
wonder how it happened- the transaction between beatriz’ papi and luis did beatriz have any say in her future betrothal did she have dreams as a little girl about her future husband did she even love Luis or just tolerate him because it’s what was expected of her how did it happen did she wish for a different life for her daughters one where they loved their husbands one where they were treated like humans and not treated like cattle
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
Life on the BPD 