poetry: repurpose
I wrote this in February of 2019.
out of the most depressed minds comes the greatest creativity
I wonder why that is–
Is it because there are no limits in our imagination?
Is it because we live 100 lives in 1 lifetime?
Is it because we are easily inspired by devastation and loss?
It is because pain and sadness flows out of us
more easily than others and we have a necessity
to repurpose it as art?
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poetry: I warn my sons about falling in love with poets and writers
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I warn my sons about falling in love with poets and writers
I try to dissuade them from it
They’ll use any insensitive comment you ever made
into a salty verse dripped with not so subtle insults
They’ll use your most intimate moments as metaphors
for heaven or earthquakes
They’ll describe you as God or the Devil depending on how you left them
They’ll make you a villain in their stories or worst, the hero in them
And the worst part-
They’ll make you way bigger in their mind than you ever wanted to be
so , I plead with you, fall in love with a boring accountant or a teacher
or even a lawyer
You’ll avoid the stress of being someone’s inspiration, someone’s muse
and the chaos and drama that comes along with it
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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
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Sick of the “kissing cult” my Wednesday started off right with a side of conan gray 🤣🥰🤷
poetry: happy valentine’s day 2023
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
valentine’s day is around the corner
so we’re bombarded by teddy bears,balloons,
greetings with corny shit like
“for my wife, the love of my life”
and flowers, the fucking flowers
there are even journals for couples to fill out
in hope of getting closer-
I still can’t figure that one out
and stupid heart shaped everything,
from cookie cutters to pillows
and flowers, the fucking flowers
and most of us eat it all up thinking
if our partner doesn’t buy us anything
or doesn’t meet our romantic expectations
on the most materialistic of holidays,
then they must not really love us-
never occurring to us how this business of love
preys on us and our fear of being lonely
it capitalizes and profits from it
sending us messages that we need
to buy this or that (get the flowers,
the fucking flowers) to show our love
it’s a trap that followed us since our school days
maybe it’s time to riot and burn down anything
related to this dreadful holiday
especially the fucking flowers
or maybe I’m just a crazy and jaded bitch
alone on valentine’s day
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Happy Galantines Day!🥹🥰❤️🎉
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poetry: one day
I wrote this in February of 2020.
One day you’ll be a bad dream I’ll wake up from
One day someone will come along and you’ll be a distant memory
of an intense and toxic past who took over my life for a while
One day I’ll be loved by someone the way you could never love me
One day I’ll look back on our time together and regret every moment wasted on you
One day you won’t haunt my soul and mind
One day you will no longer be my muse
One day is here, now and forever
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poetry: it stops with me
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
If only I could bypass the trauma lived and experienced
my life would be a lot easier
Perhaps I’d be fulfilled and not on this neverending heroine journey
to acknowledge how trauma happened to me
to understand how it changed me
to tells the stories from it so I can begin to heal from it
to do all of the work so I don’t pass it on to my sons
and their children
because this legacy of intergenerational silence with violence
needs to stop with me
even if it’s sometimes a painful nightmare to deal with
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poetry: reassurance
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
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This tortured poet…is a desastre.
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poetry: unraveling
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
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Poetry: World Wide Web
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
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An ideal day
Describe your most ideal day from beginning to end.
1. I got a good night’s sleep and feel recharged
2. Put on music on Alexa and dance my way to the bathroom to get ready
3. Coffee and breakfast include bacon, over easy eggs
4. Writing, writing, writing while listening to my playlist
5. Reading time
6. Fun time with my boys
7. Writing, writing, writing
8. Tacos for lunch , maybe friend time
9. Writing, Writing , writing
10. A mindless show on Netflix
11. Steak dinner with wine
12. Reading time
13. My head hits the pillow, and I fall asleep immediately
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poesía: otro berrinche
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
Life on the BPD 