



I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

my body keeps score even when I think I’m better
even though Iβve found closure and made peace
with most of my demons
my body keeps score on certain dates
and remembers unintentional trauma inflicted
and the great impact it had on me
great emotional earthquakes that shook
and broke the core of my soul
leading to breakdowns and breakthroughs
understanding and accepting who and whatβs
right for me and what isnβt


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

ancestor, ancestor-
which alcohol goes best with making shitty life decisions
ancestors says, not the PBR, not the michelob ultra light, itβs too basic of an energy
for the kind of epic shitty life decisions you tend to make
donβt reach for the margarita wine either, too obvious, too much of a cliche
and you already have plenty of them in your poetry
Go for the Guiness six pack
make your shitty life decisions with some English class
since most of your terrible decisions tend to include some asshole
whose ancestors are colonizer Englishmen


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
desperate for attention, desperate for love
desperate to cover myself up with another soul
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
I didnβt have an identity, I didnβt have any self worth
I didnβt have any self love
Once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
to find validation in my existence
to use compliments to feed my ego
to lose myself in someone else
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
I was undiagnosed with BPD
I was incredibly insecure
I was following the script prescribed to me
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
and that was a long time ago
and now itβs been 3 years since Iβve been in a relationship
almost 2 years in my journey of celibacy
and 6 months since Iβve been declared officially single
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards
and now I block anyone who tries to get near me
and want to vomit when I interact with my crush
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

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 βno thanksβ
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)
heβs the sexiest man Iβve 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,
βSorry, I introduced you to himβ


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

thousands of indigenous children never made, never born
Fujimoriβs 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 Peruβs 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 weβre never know
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

mami dressed me up in ruffles and pastels whenever she could
Iβd swirled and twirled in my dress until I got dizzy
loved when everyone told me, βay que bonita te mirasβ
and I awkwardly bowed, smiled, and hid
sashayed to every single one of my relatives
and did the same thing
itβs one of the few times I remembered being vain as a child
one of the few times I didnβt feel weird and like an outcast
external validation learned at the tender age of 8
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=12321
no me puedo pasar desapercibida en esta mundo privilegiado
edad equivocada. apellido equivocado, etnicidad equivocada
sintiΓ©ndome destinada para fracasar en esta universidad
mientras que la presiΓ³n para triunfar cuelga
como una soga sobre mi cuello
pero no me doy por vencida
y me presento todos los dΓas
si solamente para darle una enseΓ±anza a mis hijos
a como seguir adelante cuando quieres renunciar
escribΓ este poema en Marzo de 2024.

la ira y furia de mis antepasados femeninas viven en mi
ellas me visitan en sueΓ±os y me mandan mensajes
que cuentan sus historias, sus verdades aunque duelan,
aunque algunas me llamaran sΓ‘dica y dramΓ‘tica
ellas me inquietan y me dicen
es tiempo de gritar todas las injusticias
y trastornos vividow
que nuestras muertes no han sido en vano
y aunque lloro y trato de ignorar la llamada de la sangre
es inevitable-fui escogida-
para sus venganzas, para sus historias de redenciΓ³n
this poem is inspired by the 2007 poem “small”

canβt blend in with this privileged world
wrong age, wrong last name, wrong ethnicity
I stand destined for failure
on this institutions steps
as the pressure to succeeds hang around me
like a noose around my neck
and yet I still keep going
and show up every day
if only to teach my kids a lesson
in how to keep going when you want to quit
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.

for almost three years Iβve been waiting for the next guy to appear
as some kind of hero, as some kind of reward for all of my effort
Iβve put into myself and the life Iβve built
Subconsciously I did this
Even as I publicly roared about being empowered on my own
I still wanted someone to be my sanctuary to lay my love in
And I wrote, manifested, schemed, flirted
got obsessed with men were just meant to be friends
Thinking, gosh, if I hang on long enough, heβll come around
this might work out
but today I discovered the only hero for me
is the woman in the mirror
who still manages to get out of bed
even on the bad days when sheβs too tired to function
when sheβs exhausted by all of it