I wrote this poem in October of 2025.

when itβs good, I float on clouds
but lately, I feel trapped
like a bird in a cage
doing everything I can to survive
enslaved in some script I follow
in order to not be alone
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.

the happiest week of my life happened a year ago
when I broke my two year celibacy vow and landed
in my situationshipβs bed and felt stupidly hopeful
we could have a new beginning where a toxic love story
could be redeemed
where I saw my favorite singer performed all the songs
that had been the soundtrack to my healing
that week everything seemed possible and that love
could rise from the ashes of past crashed
and setting into something full of promise
and potential for fairytale ending
I wrote this poem in 2019 when I got into a fight with a friend because he was cruel to one of my friends. After this fight, we didn’t talk for 2 years but we ended up reconnecting in the summer of this year.

βControl myselfβ, he said as I called out his misogyny
his fragile ego couldnβt handle hard truths thrown at him
he thinks that he has a license to offend
because of the organ between his legs and the pale color of his skin-
He thinks that Iβm wrong for not sitting still and silent
He thinks that I have no right to stand up for myself
βControl myselfβ, he said to and βfuck offβ I replied to him
you wonβt ever be able to control a woman like me
escribΓ este poema en septiembre del 2022.

los susurros de mi alma me dicen
que por fin me acepto como soy
que por fin me entiendo completamente
que por fin siento un agradecimiento
por una vida llena de dos lenguajes
dos culturas y dos hogares
soy la hija de nacimiento de PerΓΊ
y la hija adoptiva de AmΓ©rica
soy la sangre de los Incas
con la mentalidad de Washington
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

my heart sings a bilingual song in imperfect castellano
and a fluent English
entre carcajadas y calor de mi comunidad de Athens
between my few childhood memories of Lima
entre las risas de mis hijos
between my parents many sacrifices
entre Wham y Slyvia Plath
between Bad Bunny and Gustavo Becquer
llevo AmΓ©rica en mi corazΓ³n
I carry Peru in my veins
canto esta cancion con amor y dolor
I sing this song with love and pain
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.

once again the united states of white supremacy throws another wrench at my community
making it more of a crime to exist as we are
trying to erase our culture, trying to shame us for our heritage
trying to force us into assimilation by any means possible
trying to target us for simply not fitting into their idea of what America
should look and sound like
and I stand up in defiance and say, a mi me vale madre pendejos
estoy que desde 1986, sembrando raΓces en California, Hawaii y Georgia
y me quedarΓ© aquΓ como su peor pesadilla
una mujer latina, criada y educada en este paΓs
que no se dejara llevar por la marginaciΓ³n y racismo constante
de esta administraciΓ³n
y que lucharΓ‘ hasta el ΓΊltimo respiro por quedarse aquΓ
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

I found love and it wasnβt at a bar or an app
I found it on the soil I was born on,
I found it in the embrace of my homeland
I found it in welcome from everyone
I met and reconnected with
I found it in the accent I never had
I found love as the prodigal daughter of my country
I hadnβt seen in 32 years
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.

as summer wanes, and the days gets shorter and cool air welcomes me in the morning
I feel a magnitude of gratitude and grief for this summer
gratitude for all of the time spent with friends, for the poetry written, for all the growth that happened
and grief for the vacation not taken, for the depression that paused me at various points,
for the things not accomplished
and as the leaves turn, I wonder about I could have if only I hadnβt struggled with mental illness
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

weβre not promised tomorrow, so we must make the best of our todays-
creating community with our friends, reconnecting with our roots
loving our children with a loud fervor
weβre not promised tomorrow, so we must appreciate
everything we have
the legs that take us on walks and runs
the creativity that flows from our minds
the laughter shared with loved ones
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 mamiβs sopa de pollo
gratitude smells like my loverβs cologne
gratitude feels like a warm hug from my son
gratitude sounds like my sisterβs car in my driveway
gratitude looks like me looking at the Goddess in the mirror
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.

sometimes I feel like I invade places Iβm not meant to be in
I feel too immigrant, too loud, too intense, too othered
but then I remember, Iβm not doing this just for me
Iβm doing this for all of the version before me
who couldnβt have ever imagined taking up spaces
in places that felt foreign to her