Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: one way street

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

me on the day I drove on a one way street

I drove on a one way street and didn’t even realize I was doing it
until a kind pedestrian pointed it out
and I was like “oh shit” and cringed at myself as I kept on driving
and my brain invoked the voice of my papi
“Idiota, estupida” and my blood pressure spiked
and I’m light headed from the embarrassment
Middle age and present me steps in quickly to fix this
I keep going and find a parking spot
and step out still flushed from the verbal beating
my inner child just took
even after I fixed my mistake
the repercussions from the shame
are still felt in my body

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: me and my trauma

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

the damn trauma

I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone
most people look at her with curiosity
some people are horrified
my family cringes and and whispers to me,
“it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy”
I get mad and flip everyone off
and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way
to share her story and create drama and chaos
who cares if no one understands our process
of healing and recovery by sharing our story

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: death to the season of fuckbois

I wrote this poem in November of 2019.

“psychopathic, don’t be so dramatic, we had magic, but you made it tragic”- Conan Gray

He comes with false promises of respect
and easy and uncomplicated lust
He promises never to hurt you
but it’s all a game to get for him to get laid
He just wants to use you for a hit and run
Once he’s done with you
He’ll discard you like trash
He’ll never see you as a person
He’ll only see you was a receptacle for his cum
He’ll only see you as an object of lust
and at times he’ll even claim to love you
when he sees he’s losing the toxic spell he’s placed on you
but once he’s got you in his bed
He’ll forget about you the next day
So it’s best to stop his emotionally poisonous game
that leaves you always feeling worthless in the end
and delete and block his number
and forget about the fuckboy once and for all

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: the thin veil

I wrote this poem in November of 2023.

so much strength passed on to me

today I feel the presence of my ancestors more than ever
they praise me for breaking through the bullshit
that society tried to sell about what it means
to be a woman and mother-
they love me despite my many sins and that mistakes I’ve made
they scold me when I call myself a monster or an atrocity
they encourage me to continue on my path
they tell me to trust my intuition more
and to take more risks with my art and in my life
it’s a disservice to myself to doubt my creativity
this only hinders me from fully expressing myself
and keeps me from being authentic and honest
when I share mine and their stories

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

poetry:beneath

I wrote this poem in October of 2022.

one day
the things people don’t say

Beneath the fallen leaves lies my footprints
and the footprints of lives unknown
on roads taken with regrets
Beneath the fallen leaves lies the stories from the trash
not picked up-a used condom here, a hair tie there
a letter lost
Beneath the fallen leaves lies everything unsaid
and tears that have fallen

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

poetry: I don’t care

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

if I’m too much for you, go find less

I’m not for the tender and meek
and because of that I might end up
lonely for the rest of my life
and before, it used to bother me
but lately I don’t care
I’d rather be alone facing the world
and my fears without anyone
who’ll judge me or give me
his unsolicited opinion on my life
I finally hold the reins of my autonomy
and I’m not giving that up for anybody

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: too much time

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

I choose to change the narrative

I wasted too much time in comparing myself to other women
and blaming them when my exes chose them
and allowed my jealousy and rage to speak for me
Never understanding how they were all just innocent bystanders
in my complicated and chaotic love stories
I’m sorry, I didn’t know any better
and I wasn’t mature enough to take accountability
and it was easier to use y’all as scapegoats
when I lost war after  war of love-
It was easier to say you won
because I wasn’t educated and white like you
In reality, I should’ve used my ammunition
only towards my exes
It was never y’alls fight to be a part of
even if some of them used y’all as an excuse
for their departure
I’m so sorry, anna, david’s ex-wife,
my ex metamours,
maybe my message will come to you in a dream
or you’ll see this poem in my blog one day
and be able to forgive me

Posted on by pattytacuri · 3 Comments

poetry: I’ll take an order of fries with my mental breakdown

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

the fries I cried over on the night of 9/30/23

I cry over my fries while I write nonsense
because nothing makes sense
I’ve worked so hard to change my narrative
of mental illness
so hard to create a new story of strength
and resilience where I’m the heroine
but tragically I’m a falling victim again
to depression, anxiety, BPD, and whatever
the fuck else it is wrong with me
and I wish to make myself small enough
to disappear into a mist of nothingness
because lately it hurts too much to exists

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: witness

I wrote this poem in October of 2023.

for real for real

in the juxtaposition of the karens and working class
I find sympathy for both
it’s hard to explain this in between-
it’s an exhausting struggle of understanding
the complexities of the human condition
of wanting to be seen
of wanted to be heard and respected
and I stared in horror, almost breathless
as the karens and the working class
exchange verbal hostile fire
and almost throw hands at each other
as one threatens the other’s livelihood
and the other stood their ground
and I –
was just a witness to the epidemic
of anger in America

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: what if

I wrote this poem in September of 2023.

what if it all works out in the end?

my heart is full of what ifs? What if it works out?
What if I’m not as dumb as I think I am?
What If I stop listening to the voices in my head
that taunt me-telling me I’m not good enough?
What if I’m brave enough today
and chase my dreams despite my haters
and my inner critic?

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: chicha

I wrote this poem in September of 2023.

la abuela Mercedes

today I woke up overwhelmed, exhausted and in a fit of rage
feeling underappreciated in all of my efforts
to move my family forward
not remembering the last time I had a full day of rest
wondering how to continue this existence
of 60 something work weeks,
and of course the guilt over not spending enough time
with my kids-
I was downtrodden with grief and mad at the world
until my abuela’s story made its way to a conversation
with my coworker and a small light of hope dawned on me
if my illiterate and indigenous abuela Mercedes,
alone in the world could make generational wealth
in the early 1900s
despite the racism, the obstacles, and many tragedies faced
I, too. will not only survive but will also thrive
and continue to shine my light
it’s in my bloodline, my ancestry to evolve,
push myself forward despite obstacles, mental illness,
or life’s tragedies-IT’S UP TO ME!
as a Peruvian woman living in America in the 21st century
to make the best of what’s been given to me
which sometimes feels like the sourest of maize
and turn them in the sweetest and tastiest Chicha

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: eternal

I wrote this poem in September of 2023.

I’m melting fr fr

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

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: could we have done more?

I wrote this poem in August of 2023.

ai generated art

could we have done more?
could his story have had a different ending?
could we have all been more compassionate-
more open instead of entrenched and absorbed in our own worlds?
all of these questions are asked, days or week or even months
later, wondering-if we carry any blame or responsibility
when someone ends their life with their own two hands