I’ve tried on the role of the fun and sexy mistress
and failed every single time
I need to be the main character in my lover’s story
and not relegated to a dirty secret
the side chick that’s good enough to fuck
but not good enough for a relationship status
my love is immense and beautiful
and not for those cowards who don’t want all of it
I’m an Incan Goddess mixed with Peruvian aristocracy
I’m royalty and will treated as such
Here’s a poem I wrote about being Peruvian American:
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
my culture is not up for appropriation, my culture is not up for colonizers to profit off from it
I can hear my ancestors cursing in their graves
haunting white people in their dreams over the atrocity they’re committing
it’s blasphemous to use their most sacred ceremony for the business of “healing”
why must white people in 2023 continue to steal from the indigenous community?
it’s the same white people who forced assimilation on us
the same white people who made us give up our religion and traditions
the same white people who shamed us for our indigenous traits
and the reason I don’t know how to speak quechua today
why can’t the white man stay in his lane instead of trying to profit from our culture
and the insecurities of others
how is it possible that in this day and age
these so called enlightened and elitist whites are still fucking over the indigenous community?
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
my exes get off easy when they leave
because they never hear from me
and while they become the muse of my poetry
I pretend they exist in a different universe
at times I’ve even pretended some of them were dead
none of this was ever done with ill intent
it’s just the only way I know how to deal
with catastrophic heartbreak
I’d rather close their chapter in my life indefinitely
than deal with some pseudo friendship
and it seems cruel and harsh
In the long run, I’m doing them a favor
Sparing them from me hurting them
in an unexpected explosion of emotions
when I can’t reign my rage in
even in the end, I’m still protecting them
out of respect for the love we once shared
I wrote this poem in April of 2023.
the freedom and independence in my son
brings me a sense of pride with so much happiness
I see his fiery spirit shine from within
and his light is so bright-
I know I’ve done something right
he’s not afraid to take risks, he’s not afraid of failure
He’s not afraid to be himself
and I breathe a sense of relief
he will not bear the sense of forced obligations
or burden of expectations I had-
instead he’ll make himself and his happiness
a priority above all else
while still caring for humanity
it’s the beginning of breaking a generational curse
of obedient and silent martyrdom
that’s been inherited for generations
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
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
if my parents hadn’t chosen america as their new homeland
I wonder who I would’ve been
a woman of priviledge married to a man who loves me for me
or would it have been inevitable for me to turn out as a rebel who’d cause many scandals
would I have take my education more seriously because of the pressure from society and my parents
or would I have still struggled with my ADD and said fuck it
I wonder who Peruvian me would have been if I didn’t have a bilingual and bicultural identity
What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?
I’ve taken off my mask and stop repressing my true self-
And while it’s terrifying at times, I show the world my authenticity
and vulnerability
I share the parts of my story that are terrible, happy, sad, lovely, crazy, beautiful, and tragic
so others don’t feel alone and find solidarity
in my chaotic and bicultural story of love, rage, defeat, hate, and resilience
And bring to light my rich and vivid experience of the duality of being a rooted and rootless,
Peruvian and American, a hateful and kind woman living her life fearlessly and shamelessly
4/24/23
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my final step in returning to myself was returning to my homeland
once I finally found my stable sense of identity I had desperately searched for
since I could remember-
I felt like Alice in Wonderland
my eyes wide open, my mouth opened in awe-
taking in the glorious sights and sounds
of my birthplace
the 32 years away from it didn’t matter
the ocean, the mountains, the city welcomed me back
Reminding me it had always been there for me to come back to
and the powerful and profound emotions I felt in standing on the ground
that saw my birth and early childhood
made me understand there really is no place like home
Day 23 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt was “From the Ashes of the Phoenix” . The artwork is “Mama Quilla” by artist Rodrigo Elgueta in 2001.
Life on the BPD 