Poetry: Control Myself

I wrote this poem in 2019 when I got into a fight with a friend because he was cruel to one of my friends. After this fight, we didn’t talk for 2 years but we ended up reconnecting in the summer of this year.

random pic of me pissed in 2019

β€œControl myself”, he said as I called out his misogyny
his fragile ego couldn’t handle hard truths thrown at him
he thinks that he has a license to offend
because of the organ between his legs and the pale color of his skin-
He thinks that I’m wrong for not sitting still and silent
He thinks that I have no right to stand up for myself
β€œControl myself”, he said to and β€œfuck off” I replied to him
you won’t ever be able to control a woman like me

poesΓ­a: susurros

escribΓ­ este poema en septiembre del 2022.

los susurros de mi alma me dicen
que por fin me acepto como soy
que por fin me entiendo completamente
que por fin siento un agradecimiento
por una vida llena de dos lenguajes
dos culturas y dos hogares
soy la hija de nacimiento de PerΓΊ
y la hija adoptiva de AmΓ©rica
soy la sangre de los Incas
con la mentalidad de Washington

poetry: my song

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

my heart sings a bilingual song in imperfect castellano
and a fluent English
entre carcajadas y calor de mi comunidad de Athens
between my few childhood memories of Lima
entre las risas de mis hijos
between my parents many sacrifices
entre Wham y Slyvia Plath
between Bad Bunny and Gustavo Becquer
llevo AmΓ©rica en mi corazΓ³n
I carry Peru in my veins
canto esta cancion con amor y dolor
I sing this song with love and pain

poetry: pesadilla

I wrote this poem in September of 2025.

once again the united states of white supremacy throws another wrench at my community
making it more of a crime to exist as we are
trying to erase our culture, trying to shame us for our heritage
trying to force us into assimilation by any means possible
trying to target us for simply not fitting into their idea of what America
should look and sound like
and I stand up in defiance and say, a mi me vale madre pendejos
estoy que desde 1986, sembrando raΓ­ces en California, Hawaii y Georgia
y me quedarΓ© aquΓ­ como su peor pesadilla
una mujer latina, criada y educada en este paΓ­s
que no se dejara llevar por la marginaciΓ³n y racismo constante
de esta administraciΓ³n
y que lucharΓ‘ hasta el ΓΊltimo respiro por quedarse aquΓ­

poetry: seasons change

I wrote this poem in September of 2025.

as summer wanes, and the days gets shorter and cool air welcomes me in the morning
I feel a magnitude of gratitude and grief for this summer
gratitude for all of the time spent with friends, for the poetry written, for all the growth that happened
and grief for the vacation not taken, for the depression that paused me at various points,
for the things not accomplished
and as the leaves turn, I wonder about I could have if only I hadn’t struggled with mental illness

poetry: not promised tomorrow

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

just me and my entire universe

we’re not promised tomorrow, so we must make the best of our todays-
creating community with our friends, reconnecting with our roots
loving our children with a loud fervor
we’re not promised tomorrow, so we must appreciate
everything we have
the legs that take us on walks and runs
the creativity that flows from our minds
the laughter shared with loved ones

poetry: beautiful

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

a unique kind of beautiful

and the roses never wilted,
they just transformed into flowers
never seen before
for a while it looked like they were dying
as they slowly turned gray and then black
but then they bloomed into something different,
a unique kind of beautiful

Poetry: gratitude

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

look at that Goddess, very awkward, very full of herself

gratitude taste like mami’s sopa de pollo
gratitude smells like my lover’s cologne
gratitude feels like a warm hug from my son
gratitude sounds like my sister’s car in my driveway
gratitude looks like me looking at the Goddess in the mirror

poetry: sometimes

I wrote this poem in September of 2025.

sometimes I feel like I invade places I’m not meant to be in
I feel too immigrant, too loud, too intense, too othered
but then I remember, I’m not doing this just for me
I’m doing this for all of the version before me
who couldn’t have ever imagined taking up spaces
in places that felt foreign to her

poetry: complete

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

about to make a life changing trip

I longed and longed and longed to feel whole
until I planted my feet on the soil I was born on
until I breathed the air my parents and ancestors inhaled
until I tasted flavors from almost a lifetime ago
I longed and longed and longed to feel whole
until I returned to my homeland
and it was the piece of the puzzle found
I needed to finally complete me

poetry: free

I wrote this poem in September of 2021.

for real

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

Poem: Nothing

I wrote this in 2019 when I was reflecting about the way men have often objectified in a way that they almost always seem to just want the fun and sexy part of me but seem to often have problems seeing the rest of me. I’ve almost always felt like I’ve been good enough to be their lover but never good enough to be introduced to their mother. Do I still feel this way? I honestly don’t know. I like the attention and validation I get from men because of my looks but sometimes it feels so hollow. **This poem went through heavy edits in June of 2026.

Often men want this girl…the ones that’s always down for a “good” time
BUT run away from this one….the other girl …the vulnerable one that has a realness hard to accept

Tell me I’m beautiful, tell me I’m sexy
Objectify me, sleep with me
breadcrumb me, ghost me,
then try to come back to me
And when I deny you
insult me, threaten me,try your best to hurt me-
Your words mean nothing to me
You’re not the first but will be the last
who tries to destroy me
You’re not the first but will be the last
who treats me like your on call whore
You’re not the first but will be the last
who tells me I’m not good enough
and after all that, try to come back again
and
Tell me you miss, tell me you want me
Tell me you’re sorry, tell me you LOVE ME
Be persistent in your quest in trying to bed me with empty promises
about how this time it will be different
and how we have history
so I can laugh and laugh and turn you down
and watch you sulk
honey, I know you watch me on social media
so you should know better than to ever come back to me