I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
just call me J.Lo without the ass because my ex
(if we can even call him that) came back to me
after 2 years of sobriety
we’re the low rent version of Bennifer
since we’re not millionaires
or celebrities (yet)
I’m just a working class immigrant poet
and he’s my ex whatevership nordic muse
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
He swallowed 2 years of my life without meaning to.
He swallowed 2 years of my love that he never intended to
He swallowed all of my intense and innermost feelings
and left me with an emptiness inside.
He swallowed my confidence and turned me into a broken shell of a woman.
And slowly I’m trying to gather the broken pieces and repair my soul–
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
There were parts of myself
I forgot when I was with you
I forgot my self worth
I forgot my dignity
I forgot my self confidence
I made the mistake
of placing my worth and happiness
in your unsure hands
I made the mistake
of giving you my heart
I made the mistake
of not knowing when to walk away
I made the mistake
in believing you would change
I made the mistake
of wasting my time and love
on you
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
telling our stories, reading our poetry
building community
is the salve for humanity
let’s start another revolution of love
except this time without the drugs
this time let’s make something more inclusive,
more accepting of everyone
let’s keep the music, the frolicking in the fields,
the free spirits,
and let’s become a sanctuary for one another
if we do this, we’ll have a shot at breaking away
from the curse of violence that plagues this nation
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
to really love me, you have to know every part of me
and not just the parts I show you
but every single inch of my soul
it’s observing me when I’m quiet
or when I laugh in the most uncomfortable moments
to really love me, you have to learn about me
read my essays, my stories, my poetry
and understand what is not written between the lines
to really love me, you have to know not just what I like
but what I really loathe and why
to really love me, you have to accept everything about me
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my emotional hangover drains me
and anxiety and insecurity sets in –
He makes my heart race-
He inspires poetry
He’ll be another tragic love story
I know he’s not a “finally”
He’s more of a “maybe”
maybe he’ll leave , maybe he won’t
I wonder how he’ll grow tire of me
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Your butterfly kisses trace the small of my back
and as I lose control with fiery desire
you take me in your arms
and drown me in your love
until I scream
and then mark me with you lips
to let the whole world know
about your passion for me
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Stepping out of my chrysalis I stare with awe at everything
I see a world in color and no longer in black and white
I feel a true sense of freedom and no longer restrained
by society’s expectations of who I’m expected to be
and I am finally free to be who I was always meant to be
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
The moon guards and protects me as I lose my sanity
as I drink too much
as I search for someone’s touch
the moon sends the Goddess
with a message of awareness
and I wake up from my trance of self destruction
and start an inner healing revolution
my purpose was never to be diminished and objectified
it was my judgment gone awry
and I try respect and worth on for size
my beauty is not all there is to me
I’m a mosaic of intelligence, love, and creativity
never a barbie to be treated as a reward or trophy
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my guardian angel sighs in exasperation and frustration
she’s tired of my self destructive behavior
she’s tired of being hyper vigilant
as I tear my life into shambles
and now she sees it’s too late
there was nothing she could’ve done
to stop me from giving into attraction and chemistry
and she wonders how this story will turn out
Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.
the ceilings of America are laced with poison ivy
every time I act out of the norm or forget to code switch
people tell me I’m too dramatic -ouch-
accused of being toxic and crazy-damn
and a rash of doubt takes over my mind
I’ll never fit it, no one will ever love or accept me
and I turn down who I am
but even that doesn’t work
it makes things worse
and I explode and project-
fuck you, you’re blocked
then I discover therapy -slowly I heal
accept the pieces of myself that will never fit in
exhibit myself in my most authentic form
and slowly the poison ivy becomes an ivy of love and growth
and I understand that to be happy
I need let go of normalcy
and embrace my unconventional and eccentric self
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I feel left out by my friends and I cry and whine
“they hate me, I’m not good enough for them”
my voice of reason tells me
“it will be okay, you don’t need them”
it’s my sister
I break down in the middle of the sidewalk
and cry and scream
“I’m unworthy of love, I’ll be alone forever”
my voice of reason tells,
“that’s not true, you just need to focus on you boo”
It’s my son
my voice of reason has comforted me and loved me unconditionally
my voice of reason keeps me from going under
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my mother tells me to dress modestly
no loud lipstick, short skirts,tight or revealing clothing
I represent my family and currency in my country
is prestige and social status-
so I need to dress like the hija del ingeniero-
it’s the remnants my parents hold on to from their former lives
so I’ll put on my mask of señora de la sociedad
pretend I care about trivial things
mask my true identity of being a socialist, a feminist, and a crazy bitch
It’s the least I can do for the people who sacrificed themselves
for a better life for me
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
the prodigal daughter returns to a homeland that she barely remembers
it’s been 32 years since she stepped foot on Peruvian soil
and this feeling is unworldly-indescribable-unimaginable
she was a child when she left
never quite understanding the whys or hows of her family’s immigration journey
in her adopted homeland, she suffered through hardships and failures
but the ancestors always protected her
from drowning in the immense waves of chaos and disasters, she ended up being tossed in
and she’ll go to their graves and pay reverence to them for shielding her from danger
the prodigal daughter returns, and she feels nostalgia rushing into her body and mind
she is finally where she belongs
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
the storms this summer have been intense and scary
Some days I had to run for cover, other days I ended up
saturated in self hate
the storms this summer tried desperately to tear me apart
ruin my reputation
everyone watched me waiting for me to turn into
a trainwreck
but instead I do what I always do
rise out of the ashes most triumphantly
Life on the BPD 