I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
Hope lies in the next minute,
the next hour, the next day,the next week
Hope makes us believe
there is something to look forward to
even in our darkest hour
Hope gives us the strength
to continue on when we don’t want to
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
tower records at 14, the beginning of my double life
the one where I went strange boys and smoked cigarette with them
the beginning of a mental illness
I wouldn’t get diagnosed with almost 30 years later
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
My heart blooms like a flower in the spring
taking in the beauty of everything
I’m no longer so angry
and feel a freedom to just be
I take things in stride
and no longer feel the need to fight
Is this what healing looks like?
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
the nuns and mami started into obedience and I reverted into a world of silence
And everyone praised mami about what a good little girl I was
and no one thought much about this
until my parents demanded answers for the rebellious streak in my teens
couldn’t understand the numerous absences, the subpar performance in school,
why I sulked in my bedroom for hours on ended, the disrespect from my mouth
as I stood up for myself, they wondered where their sweet and quiet princess went
all the while they should have looked back 6 or 7 years ago
when they indoctrinated me to hold it all in or else they wouldn’t love me
should have known one day I’d rebel and explode as I was finding my spirit,
my voice once again after it had been buried under layers of good behavior
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I am a witch and sometimes a bitch
if you’re lucky
You’ll see the sweet side of me where I’m your real life magical wet dream come true
If you’re unlucky, you’ll meet the BPD me
the worst bitch you’ll regret meeting in your entire life
because if you treat me badly, I’ll make sure
you’re laugh at when I read a poem about you
at open mic
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 April of 2022.
If failure was a task I would be the poster girl for it
I’m a failure at love, I’m a failure at life,
I am a failure at Being Human
but all of these are thoughts of the past me
the new me doesn’t see herself as a failure
or that she has ever failed at life
she sees failure as a stepping stone and learning curve
the new me sees herself as a winner of life
and not the loser of 1
because she never gave up or didn’t give in
or because she’s a resilient queen
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
short gray hair, steely blue eyes, red nose, transparent white skin
stern hands with a wooden rules in them
always ready to correct an unruly and wild child
who talked too much, who wiggled in line or at their desk,
who walked a thin line between angel and mortal
her presence intimidated me and scared me to tears
and a Godly fear of disappointing her quickly set in me at age 6
and quickly I learned how to swim
found that the key to never feel her wrath was silence
and unconditional obedience
by blending in with the walls, with my desk, only speak
when spoken to, ask permission for everything
even to breathe, become a good little soldier of the Lord
forget Spanish and leave my immigrant identity at home
it’s how I survived 5 years of religious indoctrination
it’s how I became an american
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
When I open my eyes,I whine and grunt
Another day where I whine,whine, whine
Working to live? Or living to work?
I can’t remember which is better
Living is really just guesswork
Maybe today I won’t feel so much anger
Perhaps I should find hope in this new day
Instead of living in doom and gloom
Maybe the darkness will stay away
Or I’ll cry at work in the bathroom again
I wrote this poem in April of 2022:
I’ve been called an exclamation mark before
But I feel more like a question mark
Because I always ask questions like:
Why am I like this?
How do I get rid of anxious thoughts?
Where does my heart really reside?
What is best for me?
Who will love me?
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
I manifest a new boyfriend
he’s a poem in the making
he’s someone I’ll meet unexpectedly
He’ll come when the marigolds sprout
and spring is here
He’ll be brave enough to try me on
after I trauma dump
he’ll be my new spring waiting
to bloom with me
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
a lot of us search for someone or something
to complete us or make us feel like we are enough
we’ve been brainwashed by society’s conditioning
that we’re incomplete without a lover
or without our career goals satisfied
and this is really toxic and false narrative
we need to stop believing in
we should look instead for the amazing in the ordinary
and appreciate how it’s a gift to just be human and exist
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
try to keep my romantic spirit alive
with a swenting of a man who doesn’t exist
Yet
a man I will call my boyfriends y el amor de mi vida
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
we lie to ourselves continuously about our needs
to save face, to avoid conquering our fears
to not feel insecure
we’ll tell ourselves we are better off alone and independent
when in reality as humans
we are meant to be social
we are meant to share ourselves with others
but it’s cooler to say, “I’m good with my solitude,
I’m my own best friend”
because deep down inside we don’t want to get hurt again
I wrote this poem in March of 2025.
subtitles jump from my phone screen violently
one of the few films from 1950’s mexico
that address domestic violence
one of the few films to portray the man
as the crazy one
but instead of him going to prison
for his many crimes against his wife
he ends up locked up in a monastery
Life on the BPD 