poetry: two miguels
I wrote this poem in February of 2021.
One was born in the beginning of the 20th century
the other was born in the beginning of the 21st century
one was born out of unplanned wedlock
one was a planned product of his parent’s love
one was taught hatred for blacks and cholos
the other was taught blacks lives matter and equality for everyone
one had misogynistic tendencies thanks to his machismo culture
the other other is that gender roles and conventions are a joke
One went through the Spanish flu times
the other is going through Covid times
both shares similar genes generations apart
both share the same Spanish name
one could not been possible without the other
Share this:
poetry: candle
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
I light a candle, put on music, and pay tribute to all that I will never be-
it’s not like I’m denying myself possibilities or opportunities
I’m just acknowledging certain realities
I’ll never have the proper words, the necessary pretentious words
of the upper class pedigree to be published in one of those prestigious journals
or win a pulitzer prize
I’ll never be seen as an equal in American because I’ll always be a foreigner
and while this brings me a certain kind of grief
I also celebrate how different I am
I’ll never filter my words or fake eloquence or elegance
to make myself digestible to those with multiple degrees
Nah, I’m a mosaic masterpiece, with my bad grammar,
my simple vocabulary
and my powerful and emotionally charged phrases
I’m not and never will be for those with sensitive ears or palettes
and I’ll always take pride in that
Share this:
poetry: Peruvian ME
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
if my parents hadn’t chosen america as their new homeland
I wonder who I would’ve been
a woman of priviledge married to a man who loves me for me
or would it have been inevitable for me to turn out as a rebel who’d cause many scandals
would I have take my education more seriously because of the pressure from society and my parents
or would I have still struggled with my ADD and said fuck it
I wonder who Peruvian me would have been if I didn’t have a bilingual and bicultural identity
Share this:
poetry: another day
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Solo y Agotado
another illegal dies under suspicious circumstances and no one cares
or mourns him,
some even comment on how he should have stayed in his country-
and it’s hard to understand the inhumanity, the hateful rhetoric
Is his life worth less because of his ethnicity and immigration status?
Share this:
poetry: target
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman
constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm
putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us
insulting my father or sister
what about us made her project her insecurities
Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty?
or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have
a loving and doting husband
and all healthy children
What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?
Share this:
poetry: first grade
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was,
and where I came from
maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing
and since that time I’ve had identity issues
for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in-
to have proximity to being an American
but all it did was fuck up my identity
and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done
I have a hard time finding compassion for myself
I have a hard time letting go the guilt
For the pain I caused my family
I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid
desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted
to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
Share this:
Poetry: Daydreaming about America
I wrote this in March of 2022.
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams
about America
It was beautiful and blue
I pictured a celestial and warm ocean
where the waves tenderly touch my toes
I was taught it was a better existence than
the one we were living in
but no one told me that dreams sometimes
don’t come true
and the reality of America was filled with a hardness
that even 35 years later I’m still processing
indentured servitude, exploitation, depression,
addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects
of going for the American dream
Share this:
Poetry: A Brand New Beginning
Have you ever broken the law and didn’t get caught, if so how?
Share this:
Poesia: Maletera Del Carro
Escribi este poema en enero del 2022.
Iba en la maletera del carro
llena de las mentiras de mis padres
que toda estaría bien
y nos íbamos hacia la alegría
a un lugar misterioso y mágico
Iba en la maletera del carro
asustada y llorando lágrimas
mientras mi mami me abrazaba
me decía”cállate, pronto llegaremos a
nuestro destino”
Iba en la maletera del carro
y casi me sentía sofocada
pero mi mami me susurraba
“duérmete, casi llegamos”
Iba en la maletera del carro
y cuando salimos
el sol no sonrió
y fue el primer dia
en nuestra nueva patria
Share this:
Poesía: Navidad
Escribí este poema en Diciembre del 2021.
La navidad se escucha con los parchis
cantando navidad, navidad
navidad se ve como el árbol lleno de muchos adornos
coleccionados hace más de 30 años
el nacimiento cusqueño con las estatuas
de la virgen, josé y el bebe jesús cristo
que tienen más de 33 años
navidad se saborea con un polla peruano sazonado
con especies únicas
con un chocolate y panettone siempre en la mesa
navidad se siente con la felicidad pasando tiempo
con tus seres más queridos
que te llenan con amor y calor familiar
la navidad se huele en el perfume imari de Mami
La navidad siempre será una de las tradiciones
más bonitas e amorosas en mi familia
Share this:
Poem of the Day: The Dissociative American Dream
Share this:
Poem of the Day: Tell Me a Story
Day 13 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge . Today’s prompt was “On a Moonlit Stage”.
Share this:
Poem of the Day: 1989
Day 9 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge . The prompt was “Drenched in Memories” .
Share this:
Poetry: Resignation
From the ages of 18 to 23, I worked for a government agency as an interpreter. I was well-liked by many of my coworkers and my first supervisor was appreciative of me. I was very good at my job and even cross-trained in many other areas that didn’t “pertain to my job”. However, at that job, I was also bullied and discriminated against for being Latina. I was also slut-shamed by my second supervisor and coworkers the latter 2 years I was there. I don’t want to say I deserved being slut-shamed but I’ll just say that I trusted the wrong coworkers with my private life and they went on to gossip about me to everyone. It was also a very stressful environment because of the work I did and clients I had to interact with. My depression and anxiety went haywire. In 2003, I decided to enroll in my local community college and major in English. In 2004, I was trying to go to school full time, work full time, and deal with my child’s new autism diagnosis. I was breaking down mentally and something had to give so I quit this job. I was fucking done. And this poem was inspired by that moment. I thought I had processed this trauma until it came back up in therapy in the summer of 2021. I didn’t realize it at the time but I had suffered a deep racial trauma that impacted me and still triggered reactions in me. I was angry. There is actually way more to this story and one day I’ll share it when I’m ready.
This was the hardest thing I did
but it had to be done
I couldn’t stand the gossip
or the two faces of everyone
the way they pretended to be my friend
but the minute I turned my back to them
they talked like I was the biggest wench
so much envy and hate
I HAVE TO ESCAPE
FROM THIS MISERABLE FATE!
so today I resigned
I didn’t tell them why
all I know is that for the first time
in a really long time
I feel something like happy
so long to the only place I have known
for an almost five year term
for once I breathe a sigh of relief
I finally had the courage to leave
so long to the hypocrisy of this place
to let myself stay here for another day
would only be a fucking waste
Life on the BPD 