I wrote this poem in May of 2019.
And so she self medicated
with sleeping pills, alcohol
and Almodovar films
she wanted to drown out
the feelings of worthlessness
within her
she was exhausted
from repeating the same lust story
she needed just for today
to numb out her feelings,
to escape the fire in her brain
that burns with self-pity and self hate
I wrote this poem in May of 2025.
temptation all around me to repeat the same unhealthy stories
to the sabotage the healthy energy in front of me
it would be so easy to do so
allow it all to combust in front of me
but I won’t
this time I’ll be different
this time I’ll do my best to make it work
this time he knew the poet in me before he met me
and I have no hidden corners of myself left
and with all that said
I know we have a chance of making it
I wrote this poem in May of 2025.
my joe goldberg is back and a sense of doom overwhelms me
especially because I know how psychol this Joe is
from thinking he’s in love with me because of my blog
to remember the constant barrage of harassment I endured from him
for a few years, I got a major case of the icks
and while I should be extra happy my blog is getting ten time the views
it normally gets
it creeps me out entirely knowing it’s him
knowing that somehow my blog and my pics on there
are fodder for his spank back and his many delusions
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
some storms are worth the rainbows that come after them
like the first steps taken after an invasive and life changing surgery
like the victory dinner after the termination of a marriage
that never should have happened
like the first drive alone after beating a 15 year driving phobia
like the child graduating at the top 10 percent of his class
even though the odds were stacked against him
like the rainbow child born after enduring the nightmare
of losing one
like still being here and writing a poem about storms and rainbows
even though many times you’ve been tempted by thanatos whispers to end it
some storms are worth the rainbows that come after them
because rainbows are hope, magic, and joy that make a life worth living
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
The first and last time I tried to die
I tried to get everything right
I wrote letters to my loved ones
and swallow each pill one by one
All that was easy enough
but really dying was tough
Something inside me was too stubborn
And sent one last text out to a friend
who alerted my husband
Between her and him, I never reached my end
but in that moment
I understood the suicidal writers and poets
Living is exhausting,living is agonizing
I yearned for the sweetness of death
to take away my mediocre breath
But the universe or God had other plans
And today I finally understand
Living is painful,living is terrible
But living is also beautiful
and really living is admirable
I wrote a poem in April of 2025.
Sharks from the screen come alive
and devour my heart
i lose all sense of time
and place
who am i?
where am i?
Is this a nightmare?
everything become nonsense
in between
of another before
and AFTER!
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
tower records at 14, the beginning of my double life
the one where I went strange boys and smoked cigarette with them
the beginning of a mental illness
I wouldn’t get diagnosed with almost 30 years later
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
When I open my eyes,I whine and grunt
Another day where I whine,whine, whine
Working to live? Or living to work?
I can’t remember which is better
Living is really just guesswork
Maybe today I won’t feel so much anger
Perhaps I should find hope in this new day
Instead of living in doom and gloom
Maybe the darkness will stay away
Or I’ll cry at work in the bathroom again
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
my first lesson in forgetting spanish came at age 6,
that first week in first grade at holy spirit
when Spanish came out of my mouth and sister Loretto screamed at tme
and threatened me with the ruler
I don’t remember what she said bu t I was deeply impacted
learned to be good, to be obedient was to forget who I was
and quickly I made my brain believe English was better,
English was the language for survival in my adopted homeland
and like a sponge, I absorbed it
I didn’t lose heart when I was placed in the lowest reading group,
didn’t cry when I mispronounced a word, and my classmates laugh
I just kept on going
understood that my parents sacrifice in coming here needed to be worth it
there was so much pressure on my shoulders to succeed at age 6
instead of playing make believe and getting lost in disney fantasies
my priority was to learn English and become my parents american dream
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
we lie to ourselves continuously about our needs
to save face, to avoid conquering our fears
to not feel insecure
we’ll tell ourselves we are better off alone and independent
when in reality as humans
we are meant to be social
we are meant to share ourselves with others
but it’s cooler to say, “I’m good with my solitude,
I’m my own best friend”
because deep down inside we don’t want to get hurt again
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
longing to escape responsibility of my suburban life
I became 21 again and did drugs and fucked stranger men
I never meant any harm, I just wanted to know
what it was like to not be looked
at as someone’s mother, someone’s wife
I wrote this in March of 2022.
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams
about America
It was beautiful and blue
I pictured a celestial and warm ocean
where the waves tenderly touch my toes
I was taught it was a better existence than
the one we were living in
but no one told me that dreams sometimes
don’t come true
and the reality of America was filled with a hardness
that even 35 years later I’m still processing
indentured servitude, exploitation, depression,
addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects
of going for the American dream
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
kept the dead rose petals along with your note as long as I could
it was the first time a man had acknowledged me worthy enough
of a rose
and at 16, that was everything
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
With a fiery madness, she survived and made it out alive
tragedy after tragedy, diagnosis after diagnosis
she questioned how or why she did it
Many stood astonished at how she kept herself together
and composed even as her life and her body fell apart
but after a while it was easy for her to triumph
after every devastating plot twist
she was something else
a mixture of manic pixie girl and goddess
she was special
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
scattered memories of you and I are tossed into the bonfire
pictures, poems, and letters never sent burn and burn
and I watch understanding this is our closure
and our chapter is finally closed
and I needed the bonfire and a final curtain call
on an early February night to put us behind
