so this was written about a former muse.lol.
I love you like the alcoholic loves alcohol
I can’t live without you
And have a deep never ending desire for you
when the sun rises you’re my first thought
and before I fall asleep, you’re my last thought
I don’t know if you’ll ever reciprocate
but for now I’m content with seeing you almost
Daily-admiring you from afar
8/31/22
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I look to the cards for reassurance things will turn out alright
that I am doing all of the important things to light the flame to a bright future
that my past is now behind me and I will no longer be chained to it
that I’ll fully live in my present
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m healing and unraveling at the same time
I’m unraveling the parts of me that no longer fit
in my new narrative
I’m unraveling the ugliness, my vengeful spirit
full of spite and jealousy
talking to it, deconstructing it
cause to live with so much anger and resentment
in my heart is draining
and leaves no room for lovely and hopeful beginnings
The most important invention in your lifetime is…
the world wide web has been an important part of my life story
without it, there wouldn’t have been AOL chat rooms
without AOL chat rooms, I wouldn’t have met the man
who would drastically change my life path at 16
to become a mom at 17
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: My Son Throws His Blocks
otro berrinche y casi pierdo la paciencia
le podría amenazar con la chancla
pero le dejo hacer sus desmadres
tengo que entender que todavía está chiquito
y no tiene otra manera de expresarse
es mejor no repetir la misma historia de trauma
y por el bienestar de él
me armo de amor y compasión
y dejo que sacude su ira hasta que se canse
y se quede dormido
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m so fucking triggered-I can’t see past my tears
when the fuck does this healing journey end
Because this constant confrontation with trauma
leaves me drained and constantly causes chaos
and devastation within me
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Young and Dumb
no saber mi valor me costo-
mi inocencia, mis valores, mi cuerpo
pense que era un precio mínimo
para sentirme amada y bella
fue un cuento falso que yo creí
Por falta de autoestima, por no amarme lo suficiente
y aunque perdonó esa version de mi que era impulsiva
y vivió un vida lleno de peligro
a veces me pregunto
como seria mi vida si hubiese sido diferente
i wrote this poem in February of 2023.
life is smiling on me once again after a rough start to the new year-
I find myself almost open to new love
and everything’s inspiring me
and my King Joe is back on the screen
and now I got more money on the horizon
I’m feeling this state of euphoria by celebrating each blessing
and looking forward to new and exciting things
new creative endeavors, another trip to my homeland
and maybe even a new muse
It’s February and I feel myself glowing and growing
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Despicable
de palabras a hechos tu no sabes como hacerlo
para ti es más cómodo sentarse esperando
que siempre yo tome toda la iniciativa para mejorarnos
estoy cansada, estoy harta de siempre haciendo todo
mientras tu haces nada-
busco maneras para escapar la baraja cruel
que la vida me mandó
al escoger una pareja que está atado
y cómodo con su miseria
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
I reflect a lot on who I was, who I am, and who I will be-
and I’ve reach the conclusion that I’m proud of all three versions of me
Constantly fighting my demons no matter how viciously they came after me
Constantly reinventing and rebuilding myself even when the chaotic earthquakes
of life broke me apart
I reflect on the goddess, the beast in me who always refuses to give up
who continues to get and keep going no matter how hard life tries to break me down
reopening my pandora’s of trauma makes me tear the old version of me apart
makes me revisit parts of myself I’d rather forget
and makes me angry at how my insanity was enabled
I know I should be compassionate, I know I should understand that the past
can no longer hurt me
but -oh-every time I open that pandora’s box of trauma
the fire of self loathing and rage threatens to consume me
and while I could leave that pandora’s box closed-
I have no choice but to open it over and over again
it’s one of the most important parts of my story
Emotional scars need to be ripped open and analyzed
to heal and make sense of who I am now
1/9/24
here’s the english version of this poem:
poetry: charade of love
se que en las mejores relaciones hay monotonía
pero lo que estamos viviendo me llena de ira
me esta volviendo loca,
esto se siento como el fin de nuestro cuento de amor
y los dos somos demasiados cobardes para aceptar
que la vida que hemos construida se está volviendo
una montaña de resentimiento y desilusión
donde estamos atrapados por conveniencia
I always joke around that if I won the lottery that the first thing I would do is get pay for therapy for my parents and siblings. I’d send them self help books and a dbt workbooks. Haha. In actuality, one of the first things I’d do if I won the lottery is quit my second part time job at the grocery store but keep my day job for a while since I am a child of routine. I’d probably proceed to find ways to invest money so my kids could have generational wealth. Perhaps do one of those adult things like hire a financial advisor. I’d also start planning trips with my kids and my parents to Peru. I’d pay for a place for my ex to move into and pay for all of the moving costs. I’d get the braces I’ve always needed. I’d buy friends extravagant gifts and help them with any annoying household expenses they’ve had pending. I’d probably look into taking one of those gourmet cooking courses to learn to cook some fancy ass dishes. I would buy my oldest and middle sons cars. In the long term, I would plan to buy houses in the States and in Oxapampa, Peru. My long term plan would be to take my youngest with me for 2 months to Oxapampa and write in my little house in the mountains. Oh and of course, I’d buy a shitload of poetry and self help books along with pretty journals to write in.
I wrote a version of this poem in 2005. It was about my frustration with the relationship I was in at the time.
I’m hanging on to my last thread of sanity
trying to accommodate to our new reality
I know monotony happens even in the best relationships
but this feels like the death of our love
Where did your yearning for me go?
You used to worship me and call me Godly
now I can barely get you to look at me
and when I say anything, you call me crazy
so I’m going to swallow my words
and pretend I’m okay with this charade of love
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
Life on the BPD 