I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
once upon a time I wrote a lovely poem about us
and called it by starlight
it told the story of our first night
but now you’re gone and all I’m left with
are memories of who we once were
and while I miss you
I know it’s better this way
we both needed a clean slate from our baggage
to start anew with someone else
we both needed to have a brand new start
with someone who fits into the new versions
of who we are now
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
My former lover prays for me because I won’t fuck him
Is this how it feels like to change my story from on call whore
to an I’m healing and deserve better “Woman
Is this how it feels like to to go from fun girl to healthy woman
I use to measure my worth by who loved me or who wanted to fuck me
but those days of impulsivity and “hey, this will be fun”
are long gone
Now are the days of painful transformations,therapy worksheets, self reflection
and most importantly self love
So I put away my sexy vixen persona
And I put on my ” “I’m authentic without apologies persona”
I’ve stopped living to please others
and now live to please myself
escribí este poema en enero del 2025.
arriesgamos todo por el amor
y fracasamos
pero por lo menos hicimos
hacemos arte de nuestros fracasos
con nuestros hijos
I wrote this poem in January of 2018 .
I’m disappointed once again -being here with you
You represent everything I thought I wanted
But-
You don’t compare to him
You make my body sing with pleasure
but don’t sweep up the mess that I am
You are there to help me escape
but never to rescue me
SO I choose him
Who chooses to be there for me
When I chase death in a bathtub or a bottle
Because while sex and lust feels good
when it’s happening
It doesn’t compare to the love
and support he’s provided in keeping me alive
So I say goodbye to a life
Full of lust filled fantasies
and accept the one and only who truly
cares for me
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
My past called to me and I made the mistake of answering it
and looked for the former main characters in my life
Stalked them on google and social media
and most of them didn’t want to be found
perhaps they did the right thing in wanting to live their lives
in peace without their ghosts haunting them
but two of the ones who had the great impact on me
both of them are happily married
one of them has a son my youngest son’s age
I’m glad he grew out of his peter pan syndrome
and the other is about to finally become a dad at 43
his lifelong dream come true after waiting for so long
I’m trying to be happy for him
and with all that I’m ready to really close that chapter
On my past because while I was distracted from my grief
And highly entertained by my theatrics and my shitty choices in men
when I was in my twenties
Its time to stop this business of reminiscing of what was
and what could have been
Its time to accept what is and what could be
and focus on making my own lifelong dreams come true
And be open to my invisible string out there somewhere
waiting for me
I wrote this in January of 2022 when I was depressed.
I welcome death to take me away tonight-
death must be better than the anger
that has made an eternal home in me
death must feel better than this emptiness
that lies in my heart
death has to be better than this sorrow
that floods my pillow with tears continuously
death would be better than my emotions
that threaten to consume me
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
grief found me on a sunday night in the shower
and cried all of the tears I had been bottling up
since my uncle’s passing
lately it feels like life is running through my hands
and there’s not enough time to do everything I want
there’s not enough time to make an impact, an imprint
on this earth
lately I feel like a footnote
just existing on the edge of life, of love
I wrote this poem in January of 2020.
She’s an American
I’m an immigrant
She loves Trump
I’m a borderline socialist
She believes in money and brand names
I believe in love and poetry
Born from the same womb
But living in different worlds
She’s upper middle class
I’m working class
She’s latina when it suits her
I’m latina every single day
She’s the definition of assimilation
I get called out by HR for being too Peruvian
She’s the American Dream
And I’m the immigrant
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
el tio Julio always spoke English to us, the kids
didn’t matter who we were with or where we were
I think he was an advocate of assimilation at an early age
I think he wanted all of us to have a fighting chance
in our adopted homeland
perhaps this was an act of kindness on his part
he knew that in order to survive in the USA
we had to leave behind the part that made us seen as a foreigner
and become as American as possible
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
my uncle’s death has awakened something in me
and while I think he was mostly good and don’t judge him
I’m sad he didn’t live his life authentically
I’m sad he couldn’t bring himself to leave his loveless marriage
I’m sad he hurt his second wife by cheating on her with the first
I’m sad that for more than half a century he was deeply in love
with a woman he could never have
I wonder what would have happened if my uncle made it to therapy
and tamed his demons
I wonder if eventually he could’ve found some happiness and love
in his life or perhaps I’m wrong
and he was content with the mess he was inside
I wrote this poem in January of 2021.
I live in a constant world of confusion
Confused about who I am-
Confused about who I should be-
I live in a strange world of confusion
Confused about how I feel
Confused about how I should feel
I live in a crazy world of confusion
Confused about who I love
Confused about who I should love
I live in a chaotic world of confusion
Constantly and pathetically confused about who is the real me
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
under a tequila sunrise in L.A,he breaks apart once again
she committed the ultimate act of treason against him
and he couldn’t forgive her again
this time he couldn’t put a bandaid of his love
to make it all better
this time he had a son to think about
this time his family would disown him if he stayed with her
so he packed up her stuff, put the boxes and suitcases
of her belongings outside
changed the locks and filed for divorce
even as he broke inside, he held all of his emotions in
and even though he considered her the grand love of his life
he had to cut all ties with her
this time she hadn’t just broken law of not just decency
and morality with her actions
this time her horrid actions made her beyond redemption
this time she had gone too far
I wrote this poem in January of 2020.
winter comes with the iciest winds
and everything inside me freezes and I fawn
is this what they call seasonal depression
yet it’s much more than that
it’s a “what’s the point” status
it’s a “I’m looking forward for this day
to be over as soon as I wake up”-
my bed becomes my church, my family, my community
where I find comfort in not thinking,
in ignoring the noise of the world
winter comes with the iciest winds
and it’s hard to function but yet I do
and I feel like a fictional character playing my part
in a society fueled by greed and capitalism
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
They’re typically blond and white
and think they’re entitled to every fucking thing
they always want to speak to the manager
their names sound like Karen and Susan
they’ll pretend to have loads of empathy
when what they really have is tons of judgment
they’ll hide behind a pseudo wokeness
when underneath they’re racist as fuck
they complain about the unfairness of their lives
when their lives are the definition of privilege and luxury
they’ll shove their higher education in your face
when their ignorance shows in their actions
they supposedly live, laugh, and love
when they really hate, judge, and shame
their names sound like karen and Susan
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
can’t shake the stink of death
and while I know it’s inevitable
and I need to radically accept it
it still doesn’t soften
the explosion of grief
that follows and leaves me wrecked
it still follows me everywhere I go
perhaps this will be the biggest lesson
of 2025
to spend time with my loved ones
while they’re still here
instead of waiting until it’s too late
and live in regret while we drown
in condolences and eulogies
Life on the BPD 