Day 10 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. The prompt was “Leaves on the Road “.
Poem of the Day: Being Human
poetry: playground
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My bra is the milkshake that brings men to my playground
It gives me the cleavage that makes them feel like they’re in love
They’ll claim it’s my words or my eyes they’re in love with , but let’s not kid ourselves
It’s really my majestic breasts that pop out with their own personalities
they fuel their many exotic and erotic fantasies
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poetry: anything
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
anything resembling love threatens the home I’ve built
over the past two years
and yet the romantic threads in me won’t disappear
they want to weave another love story
they want to be pulled into the magic to getting know
someone new
and having arms to call home
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poetry: failure
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Flowers bloom with patience and care
where there is sunlight and love
Flowers remind me of relationships
when relationships are not given
the right environment or patience and love
They die
I’m a failure at both-
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poetry: my next ex
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Gotta flex for my next ex
let me post some thirst trap pic
of my cleavage
and add a profound quote
about my self discovery journey
but nothing too crazy
I don’t want to scare him away
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poetry: TBH
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My love data tells me I shouldn’t try again because every time
I crash and burn and cause trauma and drama
because every time it ends, I get hateful and want revenge
and While I do appreciate the poetry that comes
after every broken relationship
I don’t think I can withstand the heartbreak and hardship
the next time it ends
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poetry: doomed
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Am I doomed to men trying me on
just so they can change their minds-
days, weeks, months, years later
is it some kind of karmic energy in me
I still haven’t found the remedy for?
Perhaps I really need to stop trying
to find hope in love
and stick to what’s working for me
and that’s being alone
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poetry: IHOP
I wrote this poem in August of 2020.
I met you on a cold January night at the IHOP
across your apartment complex
As I was eating up my loneliness
with scrambled eggs and coffee
I hoped you couldn’t see remnants
of tears that had fallen before you came
and you sat across from me
and as we awkwardly made conversation
I wondered if you would be the one
to breathe new life into my almost dead existence
I wondered if your kiss would help me
reignite a fire of desire, would remind me
I’m more than a wife and mother
But most of all I wondered if maybe, just maybe
someone would finally love me
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poetry: tradition not kept
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Children should be seen, and not heard is one tradition I’ll never keep
It would mean invalidating my children’s feelings
It would mean for them to have years of therapy trying to find their sense of identity
It would mean to reduce them to shadows who only speak when spoken to
It would mean passing them the torch of a generational curse that makes them question their self-worth over and over again
So everyone can judge me or criticize my parenting all they want
I like my children to not just be seen but also heard
even if it’s sometimes loud and boisterous
even if it sometimes sounds disrespectful
It’s important for their emotional growth, for their confidence
and to break and heal the generational curse where children are silenced
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poetry: could we have done more?
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
could we have done more?
could his story have had a different ending?
could we have all been more compassionate-
more open instead of entrenched and absorbed in our own worlds?
all of these questions are asked, days or week or even months
later, wondering-if we carry any blame or responsibility
when someone ends their life with their own two hands
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poesía: agua
here’s the English version of this poem:
poetry: short circuit
tuvimos un cortocircuito
y nuestro lucero de amor
se apago
ni siquiera queda una chispa
de la pasión que alguna vez
compartimos
y me pregunto una vez más-
¿Será que para mi, el amor
Siempre será algo como agua
que se escapa de mis manos?
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poetry: useless
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
talking about how mental health is health is useless in times like these
times when someone takes their own life
not enough actions or preventative measures were taken
it’s always too late to say “this was preventable”
when really we’re all too selfish, too lazy to extend a helping hand
to someone in pain, to someone who is an enemy to himself
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poetry: short circuit
I wrote this poem in 2006.
we short circuit once again
and back to our monotonous
everyday existence
passion once again becomes
an abstract thing of our past
and I wonder
if this is all there is to love
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poetry: patriarchal bullshit
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
complaints about the Barbie movie appear
only from the privileged white men on my timeline
and I shouldn’t be surprised
even if those men call themselves allies or feminist
it speaks volumes to me that they voice their opinion at all
about it and decide to post their sexist bullshit
and maybe this is coming from a middle-aged woman who’s crazy
but it’s hard to see that in this instance
Why men can’t stay in the backseat and allow women to shine brightly
without the patriarchy trying to dim their light
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poesia: es mi vida
here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Did I Ask For Your Advice?
los consejos y críticas de los otros
me hacían sentir como una fracasada
como que no estaba haciendo lo suficiente
para mejorarme
y cuando era una chava esto me volvía loca
pero ya que soy una señora
me rio, tomo lo que útil y rechazo lo demás
y sigo con mi vida
Life on the BPD 