escribí este poema en agosto del 2022.
El dilema de darte mi amor
me causa ansiedad e insomnia
como se que no seras otro error
otro príncipe azul falso
que me quiere hasta que se harta de mi
como se que de nuevo no acabaré
con mi corazón en pedazos
por lo que no pudo ser
I wrote this poem in August 2023.
I’m curious about the aliens on earth
and if they’re into NSA, telepathic sex
the kind where I get to lie down
and sleep, and they come into my dreams
and make me have multiple orgasms
Over and over again
perhaps these are crazy thoughts
from a middle-aged woman
who’s been celibate for more than a year
And is oh so thirsty for intimacy
but can’t stand the thought of a man
getting near me
it makes me want to vomit
at this point I’d take some extra terrestrial
Out of the universe sex without any feelings involved
the kind that fixes my craving for connection
and intimacy
the kind that doesn’t bring me another episode
of psychosis
Day 10 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. The prompt was “Leaves on the Road “.
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
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
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-
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
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
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
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
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
Here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Dying Innocence
Temblaba con vergüenza por la electricidad
que sentía entre sus piernas
sería esto la maldad del cual las monjas
que le habían advertido
estaba desesperado por parar
pero no podía
seria que acabaría quemándose en el infierno
por ser adicta al placer que sentía
cada vez que se entregaba a él
una caricia de él y ella
se convierte de santa a pecadora
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
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?
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
Life on the BPD 