escribí este poema en junio de 2022.
Te dije que no estaba preparada
pero no me quisistes escuchar
Y insististe, insististe que yo era la única para ti
que tu me amabas
nunca me preguntastes sobre mi comodidad
nunca me preguntaste si estaba bien
mandarme piropos y fotos sensuales
Y cuando te pedí respecto a mi persona
me acusaste de ser otra loca más
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
my beloved LA is under siege
the place that saw my immigrant child self grow,
and learn English
the place my parents decided to make their new home
the place with tastiest hot dogs at culver city mall
my beloved LA is under siege
and all I can do is watch the carnage be livestreamed
and I’m transported once again to the L.A riots in 1992
when I was 11 and violence and madness
was a stone’s throw away from our small apartment
while mami pretends nothing’s happening
as she cooks dinner
and we’re all glued to the TV
my beloved LA is under siege
and I couldn’t be prouder of my people standing loud
and with a firm grip of love and justice
for the most vulnerable of us
whose only crime was to come this country
in search for a better life
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
closing the door to love is filling up every moment I’m awake
with work,therapy, my kids activities, time with friends,
Exercise, facing fears, writing, writing, and more writing
because I want to be so busy I don’t have time to think-
to think about romance, to think about what could have been
to think about how nice it is to have someone
so instead, I fill up every second of my life
with everything that fuels my growth
so I don’t have time to think about this love nonsense
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
we get up and live our daily lives, work, go to school, show up to jury duty
while the new regime is on a warpath to destroy the lives of the most vulnerable
of the marginalized, of those who are not white, cis, and male
we get and continue to live as if the American Gestapo isn’t ripping families apart
and as if city after city isn’t been torn apart and turned into a warzone
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
not feeling romantic lately as my community is torn apart
and cruelty is served to them by this administration with no end date
as I watch America’s Gestapo treat my people as worse than animals
but somehow I’m suppose to block this all out
and reply to your sext about all the ways I want you
to ravage me
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
put me on a pedestal and watch how quickly I fall
for saying no to you
For standing up for myself
for making myself heard
You’ll cry foul and wonder, where did my dream girl go?
but don’t you see-
I wasn’t made for altars and pedestals
I was made for thrones
A throne where I know my worth
A throne where I’m valued
A throne where I’m appreciated as a whole person
and not just seen as an object as affection and masturbation
So quit seeing me as a saint or angel
and understand I’m a chaotic queen
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
women’s empowerment is sold and neatly packaged with sabrina carpenter’s new album
always the heroine for this consumerist society even if the intentions feel a bit icky,
feel a bit 1950s, with a man pulling her hair like a bitch giving off sub energy
that feeds into the handmaiden narrative of America is trying to write for women
and with the shitstorm of the past 2 weeks, I don’t feel sane enough to form an opinion yet,
except that this feels like a weirdly perverse distraction from the rise of fascism
taking place in our country
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Once again I’m thrown off the pedestal for standing up for myself
for wanting respect
I’m accused of being a stranger and crazy
My response is :
I did warn you, I did tell you
I have no space in my life for you, I was never looking for romance
I never asked for your love, and now i’m the villain
and you’re another victim
a victim who love bombed me over and over again
a victim who harassed me with unsolicited dick videos and pics
who never asked for my consent and forced himself into my world
Sorry for not being the girl of your dreams
but I’m also sorry for any ounce of my energy I was pressured to invest in you
maybe now you’ll leave me alone
and maybe even one day, you’ll learn to ask for consent
and perhaps even learn to treat women with respect
I wrote this poem of June of 2025.
a feeling of desire for you,
anticipating our next kiss,
anticipating the first time you
make me yours and I almost die from our mutual pleasure
anticipating the first time we’re somewhere
where you make me coffee
and those 3 little words I haven’t heard in a long time
slip out of your mouth
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
consent is honesty and respect
it doesn’t matter how many time I’ve kissed you
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve slept with you
Always ask me if I’m okay with whatever you wanna do
Instead of pressuring me, instead of harassing me
with your supposed admiration for me
with your stupid pet names for me
I’m not dear, hottie, beautiful, girl or princess
Call me by my god given name
and maybe then I would take you seriously
instead of ignoring you, pretending you’re a mosquito
Impossible to get rid off
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
I try to banish the clouds of doubts and insecurities in me
everytime I’m in love, I get like this
everytime I start to feel comfortable in a new sanctuary
I start to question
if i’m worthy, if i’m deserving
is it possible that really, I’m the problem
and the one who sabotages everything
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Cover me with a blanket of lies and tell me you love me
tell me I’m the only one for you
and false promises about you’ll never leave
and how you’re not like the other guys
Love me at your convenience, love me when I’m easy
I’ll believe the fantasy and play my role
of the perfect and polite princess
until one day, I grow out of my role and explode
and I’ll discover once again
you’re like everyone else
who can only stand me for a short while
and accuse me of being a crazy bitch and leave
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
putting in bold letters I support ICE in your facebook profile pic
I quickly unfriended yours and your husband’s joint facebook account
the one created after he stepped out on you
and karma was served to you for being a homewrecker
several years ago
the one created to keep tabs on him so he wouldn’t do it again
and as I write this, I almost laugh hysterically
because of course it makes sense that you support Trump, ICE,
and everyone who wants to destroy and rips rights away from everyone
who’s not white and straight
After all, didn’t you yourself tear a family apart?
so it makes perfect sense
also I always wondered who the other woman was
from your hateful vitriol of immigrants and latinas
she must be one hell of a Latina who almost took your man
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’ll leave an emotional stain on your life that will be hard to get rid of
You’ll curse the day I was born
You’ll regret the day you ever meet me
because I demand respect, because I’ll never be your safe place
because I’ll say “no” to being relegated to the role of mistress
and you’ll accuse me of being crazy and narcissist
just because I wanted to be treated with dignity
just because I want to be seen as more than another girl to pass the time with
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
going from “people watching” energy to “Juno” energy is not for the weak
it’s accepting that finally your time has come and your turn is here
despite your many attempts to build an impenetrable wall no one can get through
someone was brave enough to get to know you, to claim you as theirs
and while there is still a jaded part of you that attempts to not make much of this
because at the end they all leave
the romantic in you wins and you fall like alice into the wonderland of love
Life on the BPD 