I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
to reach the next level of my life
I need to stand firm in alignment
with my values
I need to be brave and take the necessary steps
for my full autonomy
even if it’s painful, even if I start to question
the process
the end result will be the betterment
for me and my sons, a life full of purpose
a life where I’m no longer attached to anything
and anyone who held me back from reaching
my potential
I wrote this poem in September of 2019 and 5 years later, I’m posting it on my 1 year divorce anniversary so this poem is extra special to me.
It seems that my freedom is a long time away
it is almost hopeless to get away from my prison
of obligations and responsibilities
I yearn to escape!
I love my kids
but I’ve stopped loving their dad
the space between us
became too wide a long time ago
and we can never go back
to who we were, who we wanted to be
So now I long to be free of these marital chains
that once upon a time I longed for
As hopeless and as hard as it seems
I’m determined to be free
from my suburban confinement
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
summer feels eternal
it’s the sixth of september
and we’re still in 90-degree weather
melting in this heat
it’s a global warning with no sign
of reprieve
it’s a never-ending season
that has me sweating and cursing
constantly
saying FML and calling my friends
during panic attacks in the bathroom at work
it’s my insanity I can’t seem to rein in
all the way, no matter how hard I try
and the frustration of it wears me out
and make me want to throw in the towel
and give up
I wrote this poem in September of 2019.
maybe this is as good as life gets
a life half lived but with few regrets
Who needs adventure and love
when you have the stability of family?
Who needs spontaneity and excitement
when you have the comfort of home?
Who needs connection and chemistry?\
when you have routine and predictability?
Maybe this is as good as life gets
A life half lived but with few regrets
Bored, bored, bored with it all
living a woman’s suburban dream of mediocrity
to want anything more
would break this so-called
domestic bliss
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
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
in purgatory, I live
waiting for the finality of my longest chapter of love
to end
In purgatory, residual anger and resentment
Invades me-
and I turn into an emotional time bomb
Waiting to explode
In purgatory, I wait for my sentencing,
praying the judge sees things my way
and honors what is best for broken family
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
September comes in with a rage and determination in my heart
to keep on moving with a new purpose
to heal and evolve into the healthiest version of myself
without condemning myself over my past misdeeds
and obsessing over how toxic I once was
so what if I allowed myself to be a doormat,
to be stepped on over and over again?
so what if I wasn’t the mom my kids deserved?
Every day is a brand new start to live a life
Intentionally and with purpose
to continue to grow, build, and expand exponentially
because while my past has impacted me
and I’m still dealing with the consequences of it
I need to move past it, leave it behind
I’ve learned everything I need to learn from it
now it’s time to build my present for the future
I deserve to live in
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the shelf of my bookcase breaks, and my poetry notebooks fall
every single one of my love stories scattered on the floor
Failure after failure
Were any of them worth the effort?
Was the experience worth the suffering?
Maybe it was for the inspiration behind my prose and poetry
and the growth I’ve had
Still, that doesn’t seem like an adequate answer
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
In humility I ask mama Killa for guidance
To send me a sign of some kind
as I start to unravel and lose myself in my anxiety
and insecurities
As I start to question if I’m on the right path
and throw myself a pity party and cry
because no one is coming to save me
And how despite all the empowerment
I feel with my autonomy
I still miss being in a relationship
and cover myself up in defeat
Thinking I’ll always be this lonely
But mama Killa sends me a reminder of the love
of sisterhood in my dreams
to remind me I’m on the right path
Mama Killa, in her own way, reassures me that staying
true to myself and continuing what sometimes feels like
a challenging and cringy journey of self-discovery
Is the right thing for me to do in order to heal, to grow, to evolve
and to remember everything will fall into place
as long as I keep going and never give up
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic outweigh any rewards
everytime I start to believe in love it never works out
Everytime I start to believe in love it ends up in chaos and destruction
and i try and try again only always to have the same ending
and after 26 years of doing this-I don’t have it in me
to endure around love failure
someone who appears sure of me-only for them to change their mind
about me on a whim
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic has filled a dozen
notebooks and journals with sorrow and grief
escribí este poema en agosto del 2022.
El dilema de darte mi amor
me causa ansiedad e insomnia
como se que no seras otro error
otro príncipe azul falso
que me quiere hasta que se harta de mi
como se que de nuevo no acabaré
con mi corazón en pedazos
por lo que no pudo ser
Day 10 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. The prompt was “Leaves on the Road “.
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My bra is the milkshake that brings men to my playground
It gives me the cleavage that makes them feel like they’re in love
They’ll claim it’s my words or my eyes they’re in love with , but let’s not kid ourselves
It’s really my majestic breasts that pop out with their own personalities
they fuel their many exotic and erotic fantasies
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-
Life on the BPD 