escribà este poema en 2003.
de nuevo estoy aquÃ
en el mismo sitio
De los dÃas de mi rebeldÃa
De los amores sin amor
De las aventuras sin cobardÃa
De los lazos que nunca existieron
De la soledad que me brindó tristeza
Y el amor
Que fue una mentira
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
With excitement in his eyes, my son used to bring me pictures of made up monsters
Drawn with crayons-
With pride in his stance, he now brings me target sheets showing me how he’s well on his way
to becoming a decent shot with a revolver
When did my child go from crayons to guns?
It seems like I blinked and he went from four to twenty four
He went from being a rambunctious little boy who was hard to keep up with
to a strong and independent man who no longer needs me
And while I’m full of joy about this transformation-
I still miss the carefree days of crayon drawn monsters
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Strange
me tienes en la esquina de confusión y desilusión como un animal
tratando de entenderte, siempre persiguiendote,
Viviendo de los trozos de atención y afección que me tiras
cuando te da la gana
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day
I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year
I’ve felt the screams of those close to me
asking God why he took their babies too young
Young men who will never be fathers,
Young men who will never see their children grow up
into rebellious and sassy teens
and while I understand conflicts happens between
parent and child
I also know we’re both on borrowed time
and I don’t want our angry words
to be the last exchange between us
if its his or my last day today
here’s the english version of this poem:
Meaning
el propósito de mi vida nunca será un trabajo o una relación
Ni siquiera será en obtener un estatus lleno de lujos y respeto
el propósito de mi vida me vino claridad este otoño
el propósito de mi vida es ser una buena persona y madre
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
The wild elephant visits me and threatens my sanity and I can’t breathe-
Waves of trauma hit and overwhelmed my mind and body
It’s time for fight or flight and I choose flight-
A few minutes in the bathroom when I count my breaths and calm my inner child
who is screaming internally because she feels unsafe, helpless, and scared
And middle age me quells her-puts on a blanket of strength and resilience
Tells her, it will be okay and she’s safe-and I’ll protect her-
And within minutes I’m back to my normal self-
go back to work and take out any remnants of my panic driven energy
on the product I have left to stock
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: To the Man I Can Never Have
Es casi un chiste decir pero todavÃa pienso en ti
todavia de extraño
aunque ya se que me has olvidado
porque vi el anuncio de tu matrimonio en el periodico
ojala que a esta le seas fiel,
que a esta la ames de verdad
y no le hagas otra vÃctima de tu desamor y infidelidad
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Maybe it’s lack of sex or lack of sleep but I must declare-
Christopher Columbus is a piece of shit
Maybe it’s my own insecurities or maybe it’s a projection
but I must say you can get away with murder
if you’re a white male
Maybe it’s the BPD and the depression
But I must scream FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY
Life on the BPD 