I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
home is the here and now-
Enjoying the peace and tranquility of this moment
no drama, no conflicts
just a busy life filled with love,
creativity, and routine
home is the presence of my inner calm
finally achieved
home is me
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
warm and wild thoughts go through my mind
if only you looked my way one day
and saw me as an object of desire
ugh, it’s that time again
I must be ovulating
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
Lately I feel too big for my current pot
I need somewhere else to bloom
this is too comfortable
too stagnated
it’s almost suffocating
I need another place
full of challenges
and opportunities
I need a place where
I can full fill the extent
of my potential
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
soon we’ll be back to business as usual
obsessing over taylor and travis
clicking on clickbait about ben and jen
finding another celebrity to cancel
over some politically incorrect crime
of their past
soon we’ll go back to business to usual
as mothers still mourn their children
over another violent tragery
that never should have happened
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
as my son and his friends are hypervigilant
over anything suspicious
at 13, this world has taken away their innocence
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
as we go back to our stupid jobs
whether that’s a 9 to 5 office setting
or back breaking labor
as if evil didn’t happen at our community’s door
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
and I’ll write another poem about unrequited love
or the ex I dreamt about last night
soon we’ll go back to business as usual
except this time I’ll carry a when and where
in back of my mind
waiting for it to happen again
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I never did get my happily ever after
but I did get my happily divorced after
and a year after it was all done
and signed by the judge
I feel gratitude for solitude
and breathe a sigh of relief
that I won’t settle ever again
for fear of being lonely
never again will I ever allow
Societal pressure to write my life’s
Narrative
and never again will I stay somewhere
Past the expiration date
because of fear or for the sake of appearances
I never did get my happily ever
but I did get my happily divorced after
and life feels joyous and glorious
and I am the most empowered version
of myself
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I tell my son I’m proud of you
and he’s like why, because I’m alive
I nervously laugh even though
my heart aches over what he said
Why does America like to play
Russian roulette with its children
Why can’t I have a normal conversation with
my kid over too much screen time
and reminding him to brush his teeth
instead of conversation over what
he should do in a mass shooting
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I feel left out by my friends and I cry and whine
“they hate me, I’m not good enough for them”
my voice of reason tells me
“it will be okay, you don’t need them”
it’s my sister
I break down in the middle of the sidewalk
and cry and scream
“I’m unworthy of love, I’ll be alone forever”
my voice of reason tells,
“that’s not true, you just need to focus on you boo”
It’s my son
my voice of reason has comforted me and loved me unconditionally
my voice of reason keeps me from going under
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
this time it hits too close to home
this time it feels like a matter of when
in America my children learn run, duck, and cover
before learning to spell the word “Gun”
but this is the deck of cards dealt to all of parents
living in America
safety in schools is an illusion long gone
since the days of Columbine
but with each massacre we all break a little more
and our anxiety skyrockets even more
the closer this epidemic gets to us
this time I’ll hug my teenager as tightly as possible
when he gets home, even as he rolls his eyes at me
and says, “ew”this time I allow my fury and rage
at this continued senseless violence to pour out of me
and on paper
collective and personal grief covers me
accepting once again, no matter what I do
or how hard I try or how much I love my child
I can’t shelter him, I can’t protect him
from the epidemic of violence in this country
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
the storms this summer have been intense and scary
Some days I had to run for cover, other days I ended up
saturated in self hate
the storms this summer tried desperately to tear me apart
ruin my reputation
everyone watched me waiting for me to turn into
a trainwreck
but instead I do what I always do
rise out of the ashes most triumphantly
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
In Faro, magic took place
In Faro, Liv lost her mind
trying to conform
to Ingmar’s vision
of serenity and love
In Faro, Liv and Ingmar’s
story of love started with
silences, longing glances
and art made on the beach
with Godly cinematography
In Faro, Liv felt constricted,
restrained and isolated
and had Ingmar’s love child
In Faro, Liv tried for a year
to salvage a relationship
that was far beyond repairable
and in Faro, Liv put up
her white flag and decided
she couldn’t waste any more
of her life on something
that was never going to work
so she took her daughter
and left
the man, the life she thought
was going to be her forever
people wonder how I do it all
two jobs, three kids, the stream of poetry
and still finding time for friends
and honestly sometimes i don’t know
perhaps its because i’m crazy
and have the determination to live
to live the fullest life I have
even within the limits I have
maybe I don’t to waste a single minute
of regret wishing I could have done that
or this like I used to and now just do
I’m no longer a woman of mere words
I’m a woman of actions
8/28/23
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
Mae West and Liz Taylor knew how to take up space in a man’s world
and that was the problem with them
it intimidated the fuck out of the men who worked with them,
who loved them
so they were ostracized, made to be cautionary tales
the minute they got out of line
so much beauty partnered with intelligence
made them a target in a patriarchal society
that like their women cute and mute
like the marionettes they can pull strings on
The experiment of life leaves me breathless with rage
Why keep trying love on over and over again
when it continually abandons me
It’s like a balloon
I’m filled up with joy and happiness
and then there’s life’s pin of reality
makes my balloon burst
and I’m reduced to nothingness until I find rage
to fuel me to move forward
it’s exhausting, it’s madness
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
this day of the dead, I’ll pay reverence to my female ancestors
i’ll build a shrine with their pictures and letters to honor them
it’s the least I can do do the generational gifts passed down to me
this day of the dead, I’ll pay reverence to my female ancestor
write down their stories and later on share them
remember that doing this heals something in me,
something in them
blue beetle, spanish music, latinx immigrant representation
inner niña healing
quechua music blast from my car rain, bird flew over my car
my ancestors giving me encouragement me to share my story
it’s my way to peace and freedom
