I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I spiral into a circle of mommy guilt
guilt over being the selfish and self absorbed
during your formative years
guilt over giving my attention to futile and idiotic love stories
when I should have been focusing on you
guilt that maybe if I had been more patient, more nurturing,
you wouldn’t be filled with so much uncertainty about your future
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
whoever is worthy and good for me will have to be more than worthy,
more than good enough for my boys
above everything else they’ll have to understand and respect
the relationship I have with my sons
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I gave birth to the sun on the sunniest of June days
and almost 13 years later
he’s becoming the moon
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
there are days I don’t feel strong enough to be their mom
maybe it’s insecurity that weighs heavily on me
after every fight, after every conflict
it was easier when they were small
and I was their favorite person
the one they ran to the moment I opened the door
nowadays I work much and they have their own interests
to have much to do with me
nowadays they bring up grievances of everything
I’ve done and am doing wrong
is this karma for being a bad daughter to my mom
is this karma for being selfish and self absorbed
for a few years of their lives
Who knows-
maybe it’s not about being strong, being right,
or being respected
maybe it’s about them knowing they are loved
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
miss the days when I was your favorite person, when you greeted me with excitement
when we played candyland for your hours
Nowadays. I’m lucky to get a “hi” from you, nowadays, I hear more from you
through cashapp than IRL
nowadays when I ask you about your day, you murmur a one word response
and overnight you went from my sweet cherub to a tall and lanky stranger
I don’t recognize and while I still hear you play with your legos
I know those days are coming to an end soon
While growing up is inevitable to the passage of time
it’s still heartbreaking and painful
because you’re the last one of my trinity
making the transition from boy to man
I wrote poem in May of 2023.
my son is bright green as he explores the world
as he learns to communicate his needs
as he learns to navigate life
and comes across joy and heartbreak
and comes to me with questions
when something doesn’t work out
I wrote this poem in May of 2023.
It’s fading fast, the time where you willingly spend time with me
Soon you’ll prefer your friends to me
Soon you’ll lock yourself in your room and only come out for food
Your voice is changing and you’re already taller than me
and your hormones makes you all kinds of angry
and me and everyone in the house are in denial
that you’re growing up
because you’ve been the baby for so long
our little rainbow who lights up our family
and it’s hard for us to accept our baby is blossoming
into a young man
and every day my heart hurts more thinking
how fast it’s all going, and how soon I’ll be forgotten
slowly fading into your background
I wrote this poem in May of 2023.
My son giggled as he fell in the pumpkin patch
his laughter brought back the reason
for my existence and purpose
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
My son is blossoming and becoming the man
I always knew he could be
He’s ambitious, he’s kind,he’s a hard worker
He’s a mother’s dream come true
And while at times he may still stumble and occasionally
He’s inherited strength and resilience from me
It keeps him from giving up
It keeps him moving towards a life full of success and happiness
I wrote this poem in May of 2016.
I didn’t think this day would come so soon
I wasn’t prepared for the emotions I would feel
“doomed to be another “statistic” “when I had you at 17
they said
And when at 4, when the diagnosis of autism came
“Good luck to him to becoming a productive member of society
they sai
“No way, will you succeed ,brown autistic boy,
son of a teenage mom”
they said
Yet here you are –
proving THEM wrong
Here is where you belong
not yet graduated from high school
but starting your first college classes
Tonight
Here is where you belong
despite the obstacles,the haters, society
trying to diminish your light for being different
here is where you belong
-on the start of a journey to success
and here I am beaming with pride
And love for you, my beautiful brown boy
defying odds and statistics,
and everyone who ever stood in your way.
as you write your own David and Goliath story
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
abuela, today is your 94th birthday and I still look for you
in mine and papi’s face
I still wonder how your story would have turned out
if you hadn’t been taken away from us at age 50
I still wonder if your spirit was with me and my son
on that magical day 2 years ago
I still weave parts of your story into mine
since our paths were so alike
and today I wonder if along your goddess cleavage,
I also inherited your fiery spirit and generosity
I wonder if right now you’re looking down on me
confused with the life I lead
or accepting and understanding I was made different
from the women in my family
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
not much of choice, get married or become a whore
at 19, she was trapped between a sword
and another sword
either way she’s trapped and kept away from the life
she really wanted to live
either way, her fate would be sealed
with her ink of shame
I wrote this poem in January of 2020. Maybe I was mad at the patriarchy or just feeling weighed down by the expectations that society has on women. I know that for me, it has been a huge burden at times to constantly keep up an appearance that I am put together balanced woman even if I am falling apart.
The strength we have to carry as women
is obscene
Endless expectations weigh on us
generation after generation
We are buried in the burdens
that society has placed on us
since before we were born
Be pretty but don’t show your body
Be smart but we don’t want your opinion
Be motherly and nurturing
but still a working and productive member of society
It is a never ending nightmare to try to reach
the ridiculous standards placed upon
our beauty, wealth, and motherhood
Some of us seem to do it with grace
Some of us are barely hanging on by a thread
Quite a few of us would rather die
than continue with the facade and the myth
of a balanced woman.
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
the more I disconnected from motherhood and compartmentalize my life
the more damage I did to myself and others
taking accountability and bonding with my children
is necessary for healing
Life on the BPD 