It’s the history of man
poetry: June 2014 Me
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
The ME from June of 2014 sends me a message asking, where are you?
I tell her, life didn’t go as planned-you’re divorced and looking for a place for your ex
but your kids are thriving-your oldest son has his driver’s license and is on his last semester of college
Your middle son will graduate from high school this year-
and your baby is now taller than you and becoming his own person
You’re working 2 jobs and you’re a citizen now and you’ve been to therapy
to learn healthier coping mechanisms-
you even drive now-you’re independent as fuck and live life on your own terms
you’ve even been to Peru twice-
You’re learning to follow your intuition and how use discernment in your choices
in how you live your life-
you’ve discovered your values underneath everything society brainwashed into you
and at the end of the day all you want be is a good mom and a good person
that’s the extent of your life’s purpose-
now that we know who we are
our next step is to plan the future we want-
we’ll keep on thriving girl-you were the go getter and determined woman in me
Even among one of my greatest depressions
You still got up and followed your passions-
And you laid the foundation-we’ll be okay-I promise
I’ll make you proud of me-
Love patty
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poetry: chicha
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
today I woke up overwhelmed, exhausted and in a fit of rage
feeling underappreciated in all of my efforts
to move my family forward
not remembering the last time I had a full day of rest
wondering how to continue this existence
of 60 something work weeks,
and of course the guilt over not spending enough time
with my kids-
I was downtrodden with grief and mad at the world
until my abuela’s story made its way to a conversation
with my coworker and a small light of hope dawned on me
if my illiterate and indigenous abuela Mercedes,
alone in the world could make generational wealth
in the early 1900s
despite the racism, the obstacles, and many tragedies faced
I, too. will not only survive but will also thrive
and continue to shine my light
it’s in my bloodline, my ancestry to evolve,
push myself forward despite obstacles, mental illness,
or life’s tragedies-IT’S UP TO ME!
as a Peruvian woman living in America in the 21st century
to make the best of what’s been given to me
which sometimes feels like the sourest of maize
and turn them in the sweetest and tastiest Chicha
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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: 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
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Lover Girl Playlist-Ew Crush Season
Crushes–we all get them at some point or another. It doesn’t matter if we’re 13 or 43. They’re unfortunate or fortunate circumstances in our lives depending on how we look at them. I’ve had more of my share of them, and of course, there’s a playlist I listen to when that happens. As jaded in love as I am, there’s a small part of me that’s still a lovergirl. I’ve tried every way to squash the lovergirl in me but apparently it’s resistant to all of the misandrist poetry I write and all of the books I read about hating men and how love is just the most terrible thing in the world.
So I’ve just learned to just let her be and write corny AF love poetry and listen to the most romantic music even if it’s nauseating to me. One of my friends told me the nausea part is some kind of trauma response, and she’s probably right, but that’s another blog post for a later time.
Anyways,here’s a few poems I wrote about having a crush and my lover girl playlist. The playlist is filled with that, “wtf, I have butterflies in my stomach at my age, let’s goooo!!!” kind of energy or “lmao,I’m living some kind of modern Victorian infatuation story or I’m straight up delusional” energy. My most recent crushes have been on Ben Affleck, Benjamin Franklin(cause I’m a materialistic bitch) and of course, Yung Gravy. See y’all, I’m not always a hater when it comes to love (contrary to a lot of what y’all see in the blog) , I, too, have a little romantic girl somewhere in me. Maybe I could manifest that Ben Affleck, Yung Gravy, or a millionaire, sees this blog post, gets a crush on ME and makes their way to my hometown and takes me away in their private jet.
Here are the poems:
Not in my plans
I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t in my plans for self improvement
But I fell for you in spring
I don’t even know when it started to happen
All I remember is absolutely hating it
hated how soft and corny it made me
hated how I started smiling at your messages
hated how you started to melt my jadedness about love
and how I finally felt like love was a possibility for me
5/2/23
Fight with the romantic girl
The romantic in me riots and protests and says
this solitary confinement is bullshit
It’s been over a year since we’ve been intimate
with anyone
or felt a romantic connection
and I try to reason with her
“We’re still healing
and we’ like to stay emotionally regulated
And healthy”
and she yells, “no it’s time to take all
of our therapy skills out for test drive
and find someone we vibe with’
And I answer, “but we’re not”
And she screams, “stop with your excuses
go find the next muse of your poetry
7/29/23
So embarrassing
thought I was done with this part of my life
accepted solitude was now my new life
but you had to smile at me
butterflies appear and I want to vomit
my heart races every time you’re near
And ugh, I fucking hate you for this
so embarrassing at my age to crush on someone so hard
and to write poems about a new unrequited love
And I tried to ignore and quell this feeling
but you have the audacity to appear in my dreams
maybe it’s your fire energy, maybe it’s your poetry
I’m not sure exactly what it is
but fuck you for bringing out the romantic in me
2024
Lover Girl Playlist: Ew -Crush Culture
Crush Culture-Conan Gray
I’m not in love- Will to Power
Begin Again- Taylor Swift
Bad Habit-Steve Lacy
The Prophecy- Taylor Swift
Late Night Talking-Harry Styles
Sanctuary-Joji
Dreaming of You-Selena
Nonsense- Sabrina Carpenter
Overdrive- Conan Gray
Still Falling for You- Ellie Goulding
Ceilings- Lizzie Alpine
People Watching- Conan Gray
Footnote-Conan Gray
Dress-Taylor Swift
Means Something- Lizzy McAlpine
Enchanted- Taylor Swift
Clementine-Yung Gravy
The Louvre-Lorde
Pessimist- Julia Michaels
Risk-Gracie Abrams
HOT TO GO-Chappell Roan
Mastermind- Taylor Swift
So High School- Taylor Swift
Still Chose You- The Kid LAROI
Invisible String-Taylor Swift
Long Story Short-Taylor Swift
So American-Olivia Rodrigo
Disaster- Conan Gray
Lover- Taylor Swift
Below is are the links for Spotify and YouTube in case you do want to get in touch with your inner romantic:
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poetry: failure
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Flowers bloom with patience and care
where there is sunlight and love
Flowers remind me of relationships
when relationships are not given
the right environment or patience and love
They die
I’m a failure at both-
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poetry: doomed
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Am I doomed to men trying me on
just so they can change their minds-
days, weeks, months, years later
is it some kind of karmic energy in me
I still haven’t found the remedy for?
Perhaps I really need to stop trying
to find hope in love
and stick to what’s working for me
and that’s being alone
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poesía: pecadora
Here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Dying Innocence
Temblaba con vergüenza por la electricidad
que sentía entre sus piernas
sería esto la maldad del cual las monjas
que le habían advertido
estaba desesperado por parar
pero no podía
seria que acabaría quemándose en el infierno
por ser adicta al placer que sentía
cada vez que se entregaba a él
una caricia de él y ella
se convierte de santa a pecadora
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poetry: outline
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
the outline of her body in the middle of the road-
told the most tragic of stories
she wasn’t looking when she crossed the street
she was lost in her thoughts
and the driver speeding didn’t see her
and splat went her body
death came quickly to her
her last thought was mission accomplished
but the world thought
another victim of an unexpected and tragic circumstance
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poetry: heroine
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
As I let go of my self limiting beliefs,
I grieve the woman I used to be
so insecure and unsure of herself
so hesitant to take control and power
Overthinking and catastrophizing constantly
it held me back from living the life of my dreams-
Jealousy and envy filled me up
Scrolling the professional and personal successes
of others on social media
Thinking, “that could have been me”
and giving too much importance to the opinions of others
wondering constantly-
“are they judging me?”
It was a toxic story I told myself since the age of 16
and it continued on and on until one day in my middle age
I exploded and decided to fight my inner critic
and challenge everything I thought was wrong with me
slowly, I learned to turn my story around
Slowly, I went from victim to heroine
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poetry: fast forward
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I want to fast forward to the version of me
who’s not always in her head
who’s not struggling to regulate her emotions
who’s not so fucking jaded and negative
when it comes to love
who’s not terrified of change
who doesn’t take things personally
I know, I know
I shouldn’t wish to be anyone else
and fully live and enjoy this version of myself
but lately, I’m having a hard time moving on
to the next level of my life
everything feels so comfortable
everything feels so peaceful
I’m scared to make any waves and return to chaos
even if I know it’s necessary to get to YOU
the future version of me who embraces change
with courage and bravery
Only this version of can dream of
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poetry: flood
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
after the thunderstorm came and went
I wrote a hundred poems about what happened
I didn’t know how to process it
and 1 hour in therapy didn’t cut it
the epic flood of grief that followed
and while it may seem excessive and melodramatic
It was either I kept writing
or I kept dreaming of dying
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poetry: strangers
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
we could have been friends but you ruined it
by crossing my boundaries
by showing your unhealthy attachment to me
saying you’ll wait for me to change my mind
acting like I’m a challenge to take on
seeing me as an objection of your affection,
a pretty girl to jack off to
so I was left with no choice but to block you
from my universe
if you can’t respect my “no” and listen to me
when I’m assertive about it
I’m sorry it’s not me, it’s definitely you
and you can no longer have access to me
maybe upon a time I thought I needed you
to validate me, to make me feel sexy
but now I see you were just a temporary fix
to give me confidence
and when I saw how unhealthy this was
I tried my best to be honest with you
let it be known that I’m not here for any sexual or romantic energy
but you didn’t take me seriously
and now we can’t even be friends
we are far better off as strangers
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poetry: in the name of “love”
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I never paid much attention to where I put my body
I never really cared as long as my sexual needs were met
as long it was called sexy
but this habit hurt me over and over again
Until one day I was trapped and couldn’t breathe
and I watched my body from afar being desecrated
by the person who claimed to love me
after that day-
I grew protective of my precious body
ran away from anyone who might hurt it
my body is too much of a masterpiece
for me to allow it to ever be
defiled and disrespected in the name of “love”
Life on the BPD 