I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
Like shipwrecks in a cavern, somehow we came together
putting bandaids of lust to sooth and cover our loneliness
causing chaos and rejecting each other
only to always come back to each other
and it was entertaining for a while
until we both realized it was a waste of time and energy
and fled to different caverns
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
a moment of serendipity happened when we ran into each other
Christmas shopping
You struck up a conversation and helped me with my bags
and I told you about my plans for higher education
and you said you wanted to help me and got my phone number
we didn’t know at the time, one day we’d form a family
get married and divorced within a span of twenty years
isn’t life, so, so crazy?
How ten minutes of conversation ended up leading to the beginning
of one of my most important stories?
escribí este poema en diciembre del 2024.
magneto y locomía sale de la tele
mi tío me llamaba su condesita y mi tía me llamaba linda
y me río porque últimamente me siento como una extraña en mi cuerpo
y mami y sus hermanas me dicen que me estoy volviendo una señorita
pero lo único que veo es un monstruo fea y gorda en el espejo
y quisiera ser delgadita y fina como mis primas
pero por lo menos mi tío y mi tía no me miran así
me miran como un tesoro bello y valioso
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
8 years ago, I didn’t want to be here and took 15 sleeping pills
one for every miserable year I found myself stuck in a story
that filled me with misery
8 years ago, I didn’t want to be here and tried to disappear
by any means necessary
my demons and inner critic were getting to me
and I couldn’t find my way out of the abyss I had fallen in
and thought it be easier to cease to exist
8 years I didn’t want to be here and felt so weak
I didn’t think I could make it
but 8 years later, I’m still here and even though
it’s kind of a shitty day with so many things looming over me
and my hormones and emotions are getting the better of me
making me borderline psychotic
I am still glad I EXIST
I’m grateful I’ve lived to see mine and my son’s many milestones
I’m grateful for the person I am now who always triumphs
over each catastrophe and tragedy
and everything experienced between the extreme highs and lows
of life
I’m filled with love and compassion and with a hidden excitement
for what’s to come
I’m filled with awe and wonder for the miracle that is me
I wrote this poem in December of 2020.
The words, the phrases, the sentences seep from me
when I think of you, my muse
Words of hate, words of love,
Words of devastation, words of lust
You inspire everything that is great,
You inspire everything that I hate
Spilled phrases about my desire for you
and my disgust for you fills pages of my journal
I hate him, I love him, I can’t live without him
Phrases that bleed from my our toxic love af
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
radical self compassion and grace falls from my life
as thoughts of crashing my car unintentionally come to the surface of my mind
but this happens every year in early december
the old me from 2016 still wants to be heard and seen
the trauma from her is visiting me mixed with winter and PMDD
and lack of sleep makes me feel incompetent and unworthy of existing
but I resist and resist thoughts of self harm and despair
there is still too much life left in me and besides it’s one bad day out of many
Tomorrow, tomorrow, is another day, another sunrise, another sunset
another brand new beginning
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
the more I lose my grip on reality
the more I try to write myself
back to sanity
it’s the only way I know
how to deal with what’s
in front of me
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
desperation and despair sounds like a former friend
calling me out of the blue,
asking me for numbers of drug dealers I used to know
saying it’s a matter of life and death
in shock, I tell him I’m a different person
from who he used to know
I couldn’t help him-the call ends-
I’m no longer the person he used to know
I finally understand my value and worth
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
there will be no more lamentations for what was once
scattered across my journals and notebooks
from now on, I hold my head up high
and look towards the sky
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wouldn’t visit your grave a second time once you died
you’re not worth my time, you’re not worth my energy
I’d already would be forced to say my goodbyes at your passing
due to our familial connections
and I want to be respectful to my sister and nephews
but after that I never want to think about you again
with your death
I want to bury the harm done-the trauma you caused and move on
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
sometimes I wish you were here-
so you could share your wisdom, so you could explain your truth
I followed in your footsteps of being a teenage mom
And it would have ripped me apart to have abandoned my son
so I’m wondering how you did it-
were you full of guilt or was it because of your lack of options
how did you survive being away from your child
and go on with your life as if he was an afterthought
Perhaps I’m judging you harshly
and I don’t understand the whole story
I just want it to make sense
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
on days like today when the world hurts
and i can’t stop doom scrolling reminding me
that everything is burning
I put down my phone, pause and breathe
and ground myself in my friendships
which are a reminder of love to me
which are a reminder that no matter what happens
in this world, I have people to hold space for me
which are a reminder of hope
and because of that
I can keep on going
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
looking back on my tbr list from 2016 I think
-pretentious much-
it feels like it was a different person
who added 600 something books to goodreads
because now I don’t have any interest
in most of these books
in fact, most of these books that I once
wanted to read would now bore me to tears
maybe in 2016, I thought reading books
about philosophy and history would make me smart
enough for those I thought as evolved
and now it just disgusts me
now,I’d rather stick to poetry and interesting stories
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I had fallen in love with brown and hazel eyes
Before the disaster with blue eyes walked into my life
Those blue eyes would make me believe in love again
Those blue eyes would be the first to make me want to die of shame and guilt
and cause more trauma than he ever intended
Then again, I was only twenty
and there were a dozen years between us
he should have known better than to fuck
with a girl who was barely a woman
but carnal desire ruled both him and I
And we were tricked thinking it was love
but we were completely wrong
and he got to walk away without any consequences
While I was slut shamed and had to endure the trauma
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
Implied I was a heretic because of my tarot cards
told me I should look up some verse in the bible
that validates your suspicion that I’m breaking bread
with the devil
because of esoteric tendencies
the funny and ironic thing in your lecture
is my tarot cards never harmed me or made me feel
Worthless
and the nearest I came to living with devil energy
is the man you look at when you look in the mirror
Life on the BPD 