Posted on by pattytacuri

Poetry: Prodigal Daughter

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

this prodigal daughter got accidental bangs in Lima

the prodigal daughter returns to a homeland that she barely remembers
it’s been 32 years since she stepped foot on Peruvian soil
and this feeling is unworldly-indescribable-unimaginable
she was a child when she left
never quite understanding the whys or hows of her family’s immigration journey
in her adopted homeland, she suffered through hardships and failures
but the ancestors always protected her
from drowning in the immense waves of chaos and disasters, she ended up being tossed in
and she’ll go to their graves and pay reverence to them for shielding her from danger
the prodigal daughter returns, and she feels nostalgia rushing into her body and mind
she is finally where she belongs

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: heaven

I wrote this poem in June of 2024.

vibe: victorian and broody

this modern world got my victorian and pure heart all fucked up
don’t know which way is up
don’t know which way is down
don’t know what is right
don’t know what is wrong
I want someone’s hand to hold but they reach for my breast
I want innocent kisses on the cheek
but they reach for the heaven between my thighs

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poetry: rebranding

I wrote this poem in May of 2024.

soft girl energy

I look forward to the day when I’m no longer known as the writer with BPD
when I no longer make my mental illness a part of my brand
when I’m no longer dependent on my ex husband
and antipsychotics to survive
when I finally start to resemble something like a normal person
and not the vehement emotional mess I usually am

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poetry: buspar

I wrote this poem in May of 2024.

image of me when I tried to quit Buspar

I wanted to kill my sex drive so I stopped taking buspar
and while my sex drive has finally waned
the side effects are slowly killing me
between the mental fog, the constant headaches,
the nausea followed by the loss of appetite
there’s a reason they tell you to wean slowly
from psychiatric drugs, to do it under the care
of a medical provider
stopping cold turkey lends to a spiral of madness
and a physical ailment I never intended

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poetry: can’t let go

I wrote this poem in May of 2024.

age 8 before I discovered Mariah Carey

at 9, Mariah Carey taught me to look pretty
even as I’m suffering, even as I’m cast aside
for someone else
even as I’m crying and dying from grief
at 9, Mariah Carey taught me about
all of the lovely and terrible things
that come with falling in love
at 9, Mariah Carey gave me lessons
about life and love
I’ve carried into my middle age

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poetry: crush on gravy

I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

my man

he can say anything because of his pretty privilege
I don’t know a woman alive who wouldn’t sleep with him
6’7, blonde hair, blue eyed norse God with silly rhymes
I’d be his working class Peruvian version of Sofia Vergara
Get rid of my empowered Incan Goddess persona
and become sweet and submissive just for him
get wrapped up figuratively and literally in gravy magic

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poetry: she slips away from me

I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

a toast to this higher version of myself

I’m lead to a higher version of myself after integration
it’s uncomfortable and I blush red in this latest transformation
annoyed and hate everything I write as most of it
takes a romantic undertone
I started to miss the woman-scorned and empowered
who decimated her exes
the one who came up with the clever phrase
electronic pink slip
but that woman is slipping away from me
transforming into a woman who wears her heart
on her sleeve with her poetry
transforming into a woman who’s grown bored
of hating her exes
and instead wants to be on friendly terms with them
transforming into a woman who understands
and accepts she not defined by her trauma or a diagnosis
and instead should lean into the magic of love
that lurks inside of her

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poetry: NIL

I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

a heart shaped cloud

there’s a song I listen to when I know I’m truly fucked
when I know I have feelings for someone
when I get that sinking wave of romance in my gut
that makes me want to vomit and swim
in an ocean of anxiety
and like the sentimental poet that I am
I won’t tell you what that song is
but I’ll give you a hint
it’s the cover of a 70’s love song
by Will to the Power

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poetry: pirate party

I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

what that bad boy did to me

sultry July night at a pirate party
fiery red Dionysian hair, body made by Gods
caught his eye from a distance
he wanted her, he craved her, he wanted to fuck her
he approached her
right away she saw through his toxic fuck boi vibe
Said “no thanks”
and introduced him to me
I was already 3 drinks in, mesmerized by his body
Covered in tattoos from head to toe, his boyish smile
felt an electric energy between us (or maybe that was
the buzz from my third margarita)
he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, I WANT THIS BAD BOY!
within a few minutes, we assessed each other and flirted
he asked me for my phone number, giddy, I gave it to him
and that was the beginning of the end of me
and almost 6 years later, my friend still says,
“Sorry, I introduced you to him”

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poetry: the script

I wrote this poem in March of 2024.

last time I had my last first kiss
it was wasted on a middle age scorpio
I wore a cute summer dress with red lipstick
along with my feminine charm
I didn’t have to lay it on thick for him to desire me
for him to want to kiss me
he would’ve fuck me I hadn’t been on my period
his hands roamed almost every inch of my body
as if it belong to him for the 5 minutes we made out
while I dissociated and pretended I was somewhere else
I was numb and devoid of feeling anything
Am I even a person?
He said things about how I was so hot and sexy
and how sad it was that couldn’t screw me
And I laughed flirtatiously following the script
I’ve had since I could remember
and I felt no desire or any pleasure
if anything I was repulsed
by him, by myself
hating how even at 40,
I was still pulling the same bullshit since I was 16
making myself an object of desire for me to play with
and then something snapped in me that day
a couple of hours after that date
I sent him a snap along with all the other 7 dudes
I was entertaining and keeping as options
the same message,
“I’m sorry, I’m not in a place to date or even
to have men as friends, I wish you the best”
it was hard as I had always been addicted
to men’s attention and validation
but something told me it was time
to switch the narrative
even though I knew it would be lonely

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: ew, spring

I wrote this poem in March of 2024.

I hate it when I catch myself being unintentionally sweet
It makes me feel vulnerable and weak
It’s almost as if my armor of empowered Queen
is breaking and I can’t allow that to happen
I’ve come too far in my heroine’s journey
to allow romantic daydreams
to disrupt it
And I’m tempted to erase his messages
And block him
It’s not his fault or mine
It’s the faulty wiring in my brain
it causes the logic in me to short circuit
every time I talk to him