I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
To my sons, when I leave the earth
Remember I am with you always
I am in my oldest son’s resilience
I am in my middle son’s dark humor
I am in my youngest son’s bright energy
I exist in your laughter, in your cries,
in your failures, in your wins
I am and always will be with you
Here’s the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: Home
llegó al sitio de mi juventud y recorro en mi mente todo lo sucedido
días de mi felicidad, días de mi amargura
y todo me aloca al llenarme sentimientos encontrados
que se habían perdido en la esquina oscura de mi mente
pero poco a poco regreso a mi presente
y se que ya no soy la niña ingenua e engreída de ayer
ahora soy una mujer hecha y derecha
lista para enfrentar mi pasado lleno de heridas emocionales
que todavia sangran
lista para sanar todo lo que ignore alguna vez
es una necesidad para seguir adelante con mi vida
sin que los fantasmas de mi pasado mi sigan persiguiendo
y haciendo un desmadre de mi presente y futuro
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
The transformation is complete
from caterpillar and butterfly
It was full of painful epiphanies that brought an epic catharsis
It was life changing and transcendental
Facing my fears, driving out the toxicity within
Acknowledging brutal truths, letting go of regrets
and embracing my divine duality
I’ve finally become the butterfly I was always meant to be
who flies and lands on her own terms
Here’s the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: Remembrance
cierro los ojos y un maremoto de nostalgia viene hacia mi
y corro y corro y corro pero me alcanza que me ahogo
y parte de mi quisiera regresar a mi pasado contigo cuando era feliz
y casi, casi te mando un mensaje preguntándote
Como estas? Si todavía sigues con ella? Si, por fin encontraste la felicidad que tanto anhelabas?
pero, mi abuela interviene y me sacude, abro mis ojos y regreso a mi presente
y encuentro mi razón y susurro al universo que te deseo lo mejor
pero acepto que lo nuestro cuento de amor es algo definitivamente acabado
como los cuentos de hadas que papi me contaba cuando era niña
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
the nostalgia of Lima sets in
and I ache for the sights, sounds, and warmth
of my homeland-
even though it’s been a few days
I want to go back already
I don’t feel myself fully in American
my body’s here but my spirit was left in lima
maybe because the few memories I have of Lima
are happy and mostly pure from trauma
whereas in America
it’s been tragedy after tragedy
disappointment after disappointment
and while I’ve planted my roots here with my children
my spirit now resides somewhere in Lima
Aqui esta la version en espanol de este poema:
Poesía: Parar de Amarte
One day the memory of you will fade away
and my heart will be grateful for that-
because I can’t move on to a new love story
until I stop dreaming of you
until I stop writing about you
It wouldn’t be fair to me or to him
to attempt to write a new love story
when remnants of the old one
still show up in my poetry
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
Poesia: Quisiera Ser
let’s forget our past love stories
and focus on the one we’re living
the one we’re still writing
let’s agree that anyone before you,
anyone before me
were just practice for the honest and magical
love we’re experiencing
let’s focus on our present
and start planning our future
that’s waiting to be lived
that’s waiting to be written
Aqui esta version en Espanol:
Poesía: Bellos Sentimientos
you burned down my impenetrable wall
with your kisses, with your caresses
with your honesty, with your authenticity
and while I’m terrified that one day you’ll leave
I’m reminded every day you’re not temporary fantasy
by never feeding me bullshit promises
by never avoiding conflict
by never treating me like a princess
And by always inspiring me
and evolving along with me
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
My son holds the universe in his eyes
with his potential, with his sense of wonder
his eyes are not yet jaded by the inhumanity of this world
and I dread when the day comes
as his innocence starts to fade
Here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Pathetic Games
la culpa es mía por confiar en ti,
la culpa es mía por casi acostarme contigo
entonces no debería sorprenderme que ahora
juegas con mis sentimientos
evadiendome un dia y llamandome al dia siguiente
y estoy harta y agotada de ser una víctima
de tu toxicidad
es mejor acabar con lo nuestro
y que empieces a olvidarme
porque es obvio que un niño como tú
nunca estará preparado para una reina como yo
In the beginning, it was just me and you –
and it was hard making sense of being a mom
the heavy weight of caring for another human
felt like it was going to crush me at times
and I tried my best with my lack of knowledge
with my lack of judgment
so your lullabies were the goo goo dolls and sugar ray
and your bedtime stories were stephen king and cosmo
the pediatrician did tell me to read to you-
at 17, I thought he meant anything
at 17, I was far from June Cleaver
and I felt so inept at times
and while other moms read parenting books
on how to become mommy dearest
I focused on school books to graduate from high school
so we’d have a fighting chance
so while you never had a typical mom
you still lucked out with a mom
who’ll always fill you up with love and strength
a mom who’ll always have your back
Here’s the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: No Clue
Fui una estúpida al pensar que tu serias algo diferente
alguien que se quedaría
pero repetí el mismo error
enamorarme de otro hombre confundido
enamorarme de potencial y cerrar los ojos a la realidad
esto me pasa por seguir creyendo en cuentos de hadas
donde el príncipe salva a la princesa
donde el príncipe se queda para siempre
y no se va cuando le da la gana
I wrote this poem in September in 2022.
without a care in the world-we danced in the rain
enjoying the last vestiges of childhood
feeling the wet ground against our feet
stomping and laughing
and enjoying the miracle of this moment
as it rained in paradise
Here’s the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: On My Mind
me encierro en sueños y fantasías del pasado
porque mi presente está lleno de amargura y odio
sin saber cómo convertir la tragedia de mi vida
en una historia de victoria
por eso prefiero encerrarme en la nostalgia
de mi pasado romántica cuando todavía tenía esperanza
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I call to the waning moon for inspiration, for motivation
Some days it’s hard to keep going, to keep trying
I call to the waning moon to turn into Mama Killa
and bring me comfort and growth
Life on the BPD 