I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
and the roses never wilted,
they just transformed into flowers
never seen before
for a while it looked like they were dying
as they slowly turned gray and then black
but then they bloomed into something different,
a unique kind of beautiful
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
gratitude taste like mami’s sopa de pollo
gratitude smells like my lover’s cologne
gratitude feels like a warm hug from my son
gratitude sounds like my sister’s car in my driveway
gratitude looks like me looking at the Goddess in the mirror
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I longed and longed and longed to feel whole
until I planted my feet on the soil I was born on
until I breathed the air my parents and ancestors inhaled
until I tasted flavors from almost a lifetime ago
I longed and longed and longed to feel whole
until I returned to my homeland
and it was the piece of the puzzle found
I needed to finally complete me
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
Lukewarm response as I suggest coming to see you
and my gut tells me something is amiss
telling me you miss me
but dodge an opportunity to see me
Can’t say why or make plans to see me
and I change my relationship status to single
confused, frustrated
not understanding how I got here
almost begging another man for crumbs
of affection for the bare minimum
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
the gaslighting, the love bombing, the disappearing
weren’t the worst of your crimes
but together they added up to a mountain of trauma
It was the mt.everest of traumatic experiences
constantly making me wonder about the karmic debt
I was paying
making me wonder why I kept you in my life
allowed you to take up space in my mind and poems
sometimes I think I kept you solely for the fountain
of inspiration you drew out of me
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
I’m an expert at navigating the gray and vague trying to romanticize
and make fires out of the smallest of sparks
deluding myself into thinking if I stick around long enough
He’ll realize I’m the one
I wrote this poem in September of 2021.
I long to run free in a world free from prejudice and pride
I long to run free in a world free from judgment and ignorance
I long to run free in a world that accepts people like me
I long to run free in a world where I’m not hypervigilant
about toning myself down
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
karma bit me and now I’m paying for all of my emotional crimes
now I’m met with silence and indifference
and I go and examine what was the final straw
which post led you over the ledge
from friendship to being acquaintances once again
I wrote this in 2019 when I was reflecting about the way men have often objectified in a way that they almost always seem to just want the fun and sexy part of me but seem to often have problems seeing the rest of me. I’ve almost always felt like I’ve been good enough to be their lover but never good enough to be introduced to their mother. Do I still feel this way? I honestly don’t know. I like the attention and validation I get from men because of my looks but sometimes it feels so hollow. **This poem went through heavy edits in June of 2026.
Tell me I’m beautiful, tell me I’m sexy
Objectify me, sleep with me
breadcrumb me, ghost me,
then try to come back to me
And when I deny you
insult me, threaten me,try your best to hurt me-
Your words mean nothing to me
You’re not the first but will be the last
who tries to destroy me
You’re not the first but will be the last
who treats me like your on call whore
You’re not the first but will be the last
who tells me I’m not good enough
and after all that, try to come back again
and
Tell me you miss, tell me you want me
Tell me you’re sorry, tell me you LOVE ME
Be persistent in your quest in trying to bed me with empty promises
about how this time it will be different
and how we have history
so I can laugh and laugh and turn you down
and watch you sulk
honey, I know you watch me on social media
so you should know better than to ever come back to me
I wrote this in September of 2019 after I read somewhere about some politician making fun of AOC for doing the “Latina Thing”. It annoyed the fuck out of me.
Edit: I revised this poem heavily in 2025 when I performed it in open mic. Here’s a link to that performance
make fun of our accents,make fun of our names-
call us feisty, caliente, spicy. too loud, too sexy
try to bully us into silence
try to put us down with racist and ignorant insults
try to stereotype us-
try to make us feel less than
try to kill us-
but understand that we’re here to stay,
and we’re not letting anyone get in our way
don’t you know that we’re descendents
of Mayan, Aztec, and Incan Kings and Queens
and survival and resilience is embedded in our DNA
y estamos aquí para quedarnos para siempre
I wrote this poem in September of 2019 in response to El Paso Walmart Shooting on August 3rd of 2019. Here is a link to it : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2019_El_Paso_Walmart_shooting
he came for my people
followed the rhetoric of our hate fueled president
men, women, children killed in cold blood
because they were the wrong race, the wrong color
spoke the wrong language
he came for “US”
the so-called invaders
him at just 21 years old filled with hatred from head to toe
brainwashed by white supremacy
twenty two lives taken as a consequence of a monstrous ideology
twenty two families who will forever grieve and mourn
the neverending sorrow loss of their loved ones taken too soon
twenty two families with an infinity of questions and no real answers
and as usual the useless thoughts and prayers come,
and the law makers are the worst,
making empty promises to fight this American epidemic
but after a few days, they will forget like everyone else
it’s no longer a question of why this happened
tt’s become a question of when will be the next time
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My jealousy is green and monstrous-
Its big and dramatic
It’s almost epic and i’m like dammit
I wish I wasn’t like this
but maybe it’s time to accept it
it’s not that I’m toxic
Or that something is wrong with me
I just need a lover who only has eyes for me,
who doesn’t think about other options
when he’s with me
who’s so obsessed with me,
I’m like the air he needs to breathe
in order to live
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 2022.
I breathe grief in, I exhale grief out
my pain needs a way out
because despair and sorrow fill up my lungs
and anger sits at the bottom of my stomach
and I’m tired of living like this
a life full of emotional intensity
And supposedly there’s a cure for it
with therapy and radical acceptance
but how do I accept that every man
who’s ever professed his love to me
always leaves
Will my romantic misfortune one day end?
or am I destined to repeat the same story
of abandonment
over and over again?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Let’s go to war with ourselves
and speak our truth and heal unprocessed trauma within
and face our fear and insecurities
we’ll walk out with confidence and feel empowered
We’ll leave with versions of ourselves ready
to reach our full potential and ready to love
Life on the BPD 