people wonder how I do it all
two jobs, three kids, the stream of poetry
and still finding time for friends
and honestly sometimes i don’t know
perhaps its because i’m crazy
and have the determination to live
to live the fullest life I have
even within the limits I have
maybe I don’t to waste a single minute
of regret wishing I could have done that
or this like I used to and now just do
I’m no longer a woman of mere words
I’m a woman of actions
8/28/23
August 2009
In anticipation of the night
I was excited to see you
But then we met
And the look you gave me
said it all
without saying anything
at all
I had warned you
I had changed
But you refused to believe it
and held onto
an idealistic image of me
in your head
Worthless small talk ensued
Even though there was
nothing left to say
Your body language screamed:
“Get the fuck away from me”
But a small trickle of hope
cemented my feet to the ground
next to you
And then a sorry excuse
trickled from your lips
And you left me stranded
that night
The journey into the broken pieces of my soul makes me cry out from agony felt
Solitude, vitamins, a healthy and boring routine
Affirmations with big and healthy dose of self compassion
are the requisites for healing and growth-
it’s a spiritual journey into healing my inner child
and it fucking hurts
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
jem, brenda walsh, peg bundy, and many more empowered women
made their way to my tv screen in the 80s
when I was an immigrant child living in poverty
these characters helped me understand women are complex
and not the meek and submissive beings
my culture and religion led me to believe
these characters made a strong impression on me as a young girl
I didn’t have to live the story of the mujer sufrida
or saintly martyr
I could just be me and that would be enough
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
this day of the dead, I’ll pay reverence to my female ancestors
i’ll build a shrine with their pictures and letters to honor them
it’s the least I can do do the generational gifts passed down to me
this day of the dead, I’ll pay reverence to my female ancestor
write down their stories and later on share them
remember that doing this heals something in me,
something in them
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
haven’t we all been pick me girls at the same point in our lives
with our push up bras, our twirling the hair, our miniskirts,
our not so subtle flirty behaviors
it’s the ways the patriarchy conditioned as to be in order
to find love, to find companionship in order to have a life
worth living in a society that tends to value women
according to who’s she’s holding hands with
haven’t we all been pick me girls at some point in our lives
have we all been brainwashed by the patriarchy?
I’ve tried on the role of the fun and sexy mistress
and failed every single time
I need to be the main character in my lover’s story
and not relegated to a dirty secret
the side chick that’s good enough to fuck
but not good enough for a relationship status
my love is immense and beautiful
and not for those cowards who don’t want all of it
I’m an Incan Goddess mixed with Peruvian aristocracy
I’m royalty and will treated as such
worpress prompt: What do you love about where you live?
when I finally took myself seriously as a poet and writer, I was 40
before that I thought I was some cute and crazy girl
who used poetry and stories to express herself on paper
whatever she couldn’t burden loved ones with
but now at 40, between the July heat and mental health diagnosis
I had a breakdown
and I used my creativity to get through it
so I started blogging and used my poetry as content
I had no idea anyone would like it, resonate with it
and subscribe to it
and after a year, I went back to open mic
and keep going and bared my most vulnerable
and intimate thoughts
this lead to me finding community with the local
poets of Athens
and it’s what I had always wanted but was always
too scared, too insecure to seek out
and also too busy with everything else in my life
but one day I got tired finally embraced the fire
of my creativity
and decided to share the artist in me with the world
once I did that, I created an online community
and eventually found a community of writers and poets
who accept me, encourage me, and inspire me
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
a year from now things will be radically different
I will not be stewing in my misery and making poetry out of it
instead I’ll be more empowered, more creative than ever
instead I’ll be wiser and stronger understanding
the rollercoaster of the storms of 2024 was needed
to inspire another cathartis, another catalyst for change
the universe had to humble me for a bit
to remind me of what’s really important
to assess how I’ve been living my life
and whether or not the many hours were worth killing myself over
a year from now this will be radically different
I’ll have a deeper knowledge, understanding and clarity
about what’s in alignment with me
life will be more balanced, more full of joy
and with an abundance of everything that inspires me
everything that brings purpose to my life
My yen to better myself is has become an obsession
causing me constant frustration
being so self aware of my unhealthy patterns
leads me to self flagellation
Oh another poem about how I’m so toxic
or I’m a perpetual love addict
or I do everything wrong when it comes to love
When will I reach a point of enough
Enough with pointing out my faults
Enough of feeling my self imposed emotional claws
Enough of acting like I’m a monster
and how I’m consumed by anger
I know that healing means being self aware
but there’s gotta be something on the other side
of this constant despair
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
when I’m bothered, when I’m embarrassed, when my inner critic
starts knocking on my mind’s door
the best thing I can do is reapply my lipstick, write some angry señora poetry
Remember the goddess that I am, and take my power back
I’m not some stupid and weak little bitch some people perceive me to be
(that narrative ended at age 40)
now, I take the disrespect and insults with grace
keep my composure, pretend I’m unbothered
even as I fume inside
I still keep on going
I won’t make a big fuss or call anyone out
that story usually ends with me being gaslit and called crazy
instead I adhere to the age old adage “aqui no paso nada”
Really being the opposite which is everything
my anger, rage, grief being the fuel to become better
to prove to myself and others
I’m not the mentally unstable bitch society perceives me to be
the roses died and turned black in fall-
and it reminded me of how many times love
turns into black roses
a sad sight indeed
a sight that makes one cry
because once love turns into black roses
it can never be revived
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
the bomb of my insanity explodes and I try my best
to do damage control
tell my paranoid inner child not everyone’s out to get me
but it’s too late and I fall once again under the spell of depression
I try every single coping mechanism and it’s futile
I just need to sit and acknowledge my inner critic
and the dark and intrusive thoughts that come up
Understand and accept that shit is temporary
there will be better times ahead
for now it’s just annoying
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
I feel timid lately and want to hide in a tomb
the kind of tomb you’d find on the grounds
in some decrepit motel
there I wouldn’t have to function at all
there I could get lost in my thoughts
and make up scenarios in my head
There’s no one’s energy would impact me
in a way that makes me feel hopeless and worthless
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
guilt and despair fills you up from the pain you’ve caused
and you’re in the thick fog of darkness
so you write poetry and cry and idealize death
because in your time-therapy was still a new thing
and the cure for your hysteria was a lobotomy
and there was no such thing as DBT
and no one to tell you that feelings are temporary
Life on the BPD 