I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
Universe, send me a silver lining
send me a sign, send me a message
things will be alright
lately everything feels so awry
lately May feels like the longest month of my life
lately everything feels like chaos and darkness
I can’t seem to get rid off
And lately I’m afraid I’m about to lose my mind
I wrote this silly poem in April of 2024.
ancestor, ancestor-
which alcohol goes best with making shitty life decisions
ancestors says, not the PBR, not the michelob ultra light, it’s too basic of an energy
for the kind of epic shitty life decisions you tend to make
don’t reach for the margarita wine either, too obvious, too much of a cliche
and you already have plenty of them in your poetry
Go for the Guiness six pack
make your shitty life decisions with some English class
since most of your terrible decisions tend to include some asshole
whose ancestors are colonizer Englishmen
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.
for almost three years I’ve been waiting for the next guy to appear
as some kind of hero, as some kind of reward for all of my effort
I’ve put into myself and the life I’ve built
Subconsciously I did this
Even as I publicly roared about being empowered on my own
I still wanted someone to be my sanctuary to lay my love in
And I wrote, manifested, schemed, flirted
got obsessed with men who were just meant to be friends
Thinking, gosh, if I hang on long enough, he’ll come around
this might work out
but today I discovered the only hero for me
is the woman in the mirror
who still manages to get out of bed
even on the bad days when she’s too tired to function
when she’s exhausted by all of it
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
it’s where my demons decide to come out to play
they dance with traumatic memories
making my fears and insecurities come out to the surface
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
being insane becomes my personality and aesthetic
scaring away any potential love candidates
it’s been a long time since I held someone’s hand
much less been in someone’s bed
It’s the wild wild went inside my head
And I wonder when will the demons get tired and leave
so maybe one day I’m not so jaded
so maybe one day I give someone the chance
to take me out on a date
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
take slow breaths and wash your hands
you’re fine, you’re okay
in fact you’re more than okay
you’re fucking wonderful darling
this moment of intense grief and anxiety
reminds you that you’re human
and you can’t always play the role
of strong and resilient Queen in front of the world
sometimes you have to pause, calm down, breathe
and let everything out
be vulnerable, be soft
this is how you start to feel integrated and whole
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
erotic stories from my ancestors are still seen in the caves
and uncovered in archaeological digs
people intertwined in every imaginable position-
showing their sexual pleasure shamelessly-
it makes the American and Colonizer catholic girl in me blush and say,
damn, the Incas were some kinky people
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I swipe and swipe on anyone who looks appetizing,
on anyone who looks interesting
and then the messages swarm in-
I must be honey to the bees who buzz and buzz around me
and I’m not impressed
Hey, beautiful says the guy with his catch of day
in his profile pic –
Are you DTF? Says the zoomer almost young enough
to be my son-ew-blocked
insert a pretentious line with a quote
From a Wallace Stevens poem , it’s the Genxer
who’s gross-ethically non monogamous-
I must not have been paying attention
while I was swiping
And the messages keep coming
And I’m overwhelmed by the amount of them
and underwhelmed by quality of them
and I’m nauseated and want to vomit
at the thought of giving any of these men
an ounce of my energy
maybe a past version of me
would have given them a chance
but this new and empowered version of me
Nah, none of them seem worthy
so I deactivate my profile
and uninstall the app
Understand I’m too evolved to find love online
and put my trust in the universe that one day
The right guy will find me
and I won’t even have to try
and until that time comes,
I’ll keep being an independent Peruvian Queen
Focusing on myself and my kids
without any mediocre energy
trying to intervene
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
It’s time to say goodbye to the notion of love
I know I’ve said this more times than I can count
but this time, I really mean it
lately, I prefer my life of solitude
the one where I’m my own hero, my own savior
And I don’t wait for anyone to validate my worth
it’s so calm, it’s so peaceful
it’s actually bullshit
the romantic girl in me can’t be cured
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
the breakup was always a larger than life event in my mind
because of the catastrophic pain it caused
because it was someone I thought could be my forever
so when he gave me the electronic pink slip
I used it as a catalyst for change
I broke away with my idea of what made me attractive
and accessible to men, and instead, I focused on what made me feel good about myself
and learned to accept myself as the complicated and crazy
woman that I am
I finally understood I was always a Queen
Underneath layers of princess skin
Armed myself with poetry and confidence
that breakup changed me like previous breakups did
however, this one was the key to the transformation
I needed to become the woman I was always meant to be
The Duartes
my family is quiet about their sorrows
they put up a mask of strength and resilience
its not that they hide their tragedies
they talk about it openly
but heal with energy from the trees,
with their busy and monotonous routines
on their farm
with the understanding that terrible things happen
in their lives and finding resilience
in the most extenuating of tragedies
in order to move forward
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence
accepting we were always meant to be friends
no longer harboring resentment about our failed story of romance
Focusing on the long road ahead of us
Divorced and raising kids in a world full of oxymorons,
in a world that will try to make them fit
into unrealistic expectations of what it means to be human
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence
putting away our differences and any conflicts
And putting our childrens’ best interest first
understanding they’re the best thing
to come out of the failure of us
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I have a bad habit of making poetry out of almost anything
it’s annoying, it’s cringe, and downright embarrassing at times
how shameless I can be
it teethers between the line of genius and insanity
This monster of creativity of mine
from trauma to my kids to childhood memories
To the latest villain in my story to office supplies
To my dreams to the trees to the clouds
To my kroger apron to energy drinks
To that ex from my 20s
No one and nothing is saved from being used
as a fountain of inspiration for my creativity
Sometimes it’s a curse, sometimes it’s a blessing
Most of the time, it’s just downright entertaining
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is tell my story, my truth
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
abandonment wounds run deep in my bloodline
I’ve lost count of how many woman in my family
whose lovers absconded, who’s lovers left them
for their own version of Heather-
maybe this explains my epic overreaction every time a lover absconded
their departure triggers trauma in my DNA
from the abandoned women ancestors before me
