I wrote this poem in May of 2024.

brown eyes
scorpio energy
takes my hand
Iβm in trouble
warm rush of emotions
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.

never understood why you took us with you
maybe it was to assuage your guilt
maybe it was say you really did nice things
for me and my brother
inviting us to an all day road trip to Tijuana
in your air conditioned Blazer
silent as mice and on our best behavior
to not disturb you, your husband and your son
it was all so strange
the only thing I can remember
was the messiest hamburgers
we needed a hundred napkins to eat
and the picture with the donkey
maybe you were kind and graceful
with us at times
but all of that has been lost with the trauma
you incurred on us Iβve blocked out
and 34 years later in my middle age
sitting in my hot car in between jobs
I still donβt understand why you took
us with you
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.

at 9, Mariah Carey taught me to look pretty
even as Iβm suffering, even as Iβm cast aside
for someone else
even as Iβm crying and dying from grief
at 9, Mariah Carey taught me about
all of the lovely and terrible things
that come with falling in love
at 9, Mariah Carey gave me lessons
about life and love
Iβve carried into my middle age
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

Ostracized, alienated, and abandoned for being too odd, too much
cried a million tears over the same story
too stubborn to learn from the tragic lessons sent from the universe
naively believed this one will complete me, this one will save me
it wasnβt until my middle age, I had a great catharsis and said
βOH SHIT, I AM ENOUGH!β
I let go of my damsel in distress story
wrote a new story of empowerment and love within
the pages of my journal
Wrote and wrote like a madwoman until I found peace
and closure from anything that traumatized me
come to the conclusion
the only hero I ever needed was the woman in the mirror


I wrote this poem in April of 2024.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back to being a princess
go back to being a damsel in distress
needing to be saved, maybe then I wouldnβt be so lonely
but then I think of the sacrifices have to make
to keep up that persona
and every time itβs costs me my dignity and sanity
every time Iβve ended up almost committed in the psych ward
so for mine and my kids sake
Iβve burned my dreams of becoming a princess again
and keep on being the powerful and independent queen I am
living life according to my terms, being selective
who I give my lips and hips to
and understanding that to become a princess again
Would be a demotion to my identity








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
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
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.

last time I had my last first kiss
it was wasted on a middle age scorpio
I wore a cute summer dress with red lipstick
along with my feminine charm
I didnβt have to lay it on thick for him to desire me
for him to want to kiss me
he wouldβve fuck me I hadnβt been on my period
his hands roamed almost every inch of my body
as if it belong to him for the 5 minutes we made out
while I dissociated and pretended I was somewhere else
I was numb and devoid of feeling anything
Am I even a person?
He said things about how I was so hot and sexy
and how sad it was that couldnβt screw me
And I laughed flirtatiously following the script
Iβve had since I could remember
and I felt no desire or any pleasure
if anything I was repulsed
by him, by myself
hating how even at 40,
I was still pulling the same bullshit since I was 16
making myself an object of desire for me to play with
and then something snapped in me that day
a couple of hours after that date
I sent him a snap along with all the other 7 dudes
I was entertaining and keeping as options
the same message,
βIβm sorry, Iβm not in a place to date or even
to have men as friends, I wish you the bestβ
it was hard as I had always been addicted
to menβs attention and validation
but something told me it was time
to switch the narrative
even though I knew it would be lonely
Happy World Poetry day! Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot about how my relationship with poetry has changed the past few years. I’ve always said poetry-reading and writing it has been a type of therapy for me. And while, this is still true, this relationship has evolved in me finding community with other poets online and in real life. I’m actually really lucky that I’m able to call a few of them my friends. This community has also helped me become a better poet in many ways. With all that being said, I wanted to share a few poems I’ve written about this community and how it’s impacted me.
tonight
we gather here tonight
to share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves
through poems written on a whim, in cars,
inspired by dreams and tragedies
and everything in between
some of it will be meaningful
some of it will be nonsense
most of the time, it will be someone
trying to make sense of the world
with a few phrases and sentences
clumsily strung together
and calling it poetry
1/2/24

finding community in athens
when I finally took myself seriously as a poet and writer, I was 40
before that I thought I was some cute and crazy girl
who used poetry and stories to express on paper
whatever she couldnβt burden loved ones with
but now at 40, between the july heat and mental health diagnosis
I had a nervous breakdown
and I used my creativity to get through it
so I started blogging and used my poetry as content
I had no idea anyone would like it, resonate with it
and subscribe to it
and after a year, I went back to open mic
and keep going and bared my most vulnerable
and intimate thoughts
this lead to me finding community with the local
poets of Athens
and itβs what I had always wanted but was always
too scared, too insecure to seek out
and also too busy with everything else in my life
but one day I got tired and finally embraced the fire
of my creativity
and decided to share the artist in me with the world
once I did that, I created a community
and eventually found a community of writers and poets
who accept me, encourage me, and inspire me
2/20/24

safe harbor
I landed in my safe harbor after I almost drowned
and Iβm greeted by strangers who welcome
me with open arms
they donβt turn away or tell me Iβm too much
when I tell them my lore of trauma through poetry
they applaud me, they accept me,
they encourage me
theyβre the sanctuary Iβve been searching for
since I can remember
these strangers who call themselves poets
have now become my chosen family
