Overturning my right to choose feels like a slap to my face it is my american dream of liberty turned into a nightmare of reproductive imprisonment because of my 3 unplanned pregnancies, because of my 4 IUDs birth control pills and a patch because I am a woman scared for my niece, for my future granddaughters scared for the generations of women who come after me and I sit here at a complete loss for words and understanding at a loss for how this could happen a fundamental right ripped from right before our eyes while we were distracted with the modernity of society a fundamental right ripped from us that will take us back to the 1950’s
People say I shouldn’t give up on love and it’s really just my bad luck But how do I explain How love makes me insane It’s not the men I pick It’s really me, me, me I’ll become the version they want me to be thinking they’ll stay with me- behave, swallow my words, hide my anger, implode on myself in the privacy of my journal but keep my mask of sweet princess on- but this never last for long something always happens it’s just a matter of when when will I get tired of hiding who I am and start being erratic and crazy When will they get tired of my bullshit and decided to leave and almost always, this ends up as an emotional catastrophe for me so I’ve come up with a solution I’m going to make my newfound solitude a haven, a sanctuary to fall into give myself as much time as I need to enjoy the gift on my own company understanding that this isn’t an ending but rather a brand new beginning for me to write and edit my own unconventional love story
I wrote this poem in June of 2022 inspired by my youngest son.
me and my youngest in April of this year
At Tae Kwon Do class my son kicks with a determined look on his face It’s strength and resilience inherited from me and his ancestors It’s a competitive spirit passed down generation after generation from people that had to fight to compete to survive and it fill me with excitement and pride because even at ten my son shows traits from his ancestral warriors
I wrote this poem in October of 2022 inspired by my middle son.
me and my middle child in March of 2022
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year I’ve felt the screams of those close to me asking God why he took their babies too young Young men who will never be fathers, Young men who will never see their children grow up into rebellious and sassy teens and while I understand conflicts happens between parent and child I also know we’re both on borrowed time and I don’t want our angry words to be the last exchange between us if its his or my last day today
Happy Mother’s Day! I wrote this poem in April of last year inspired by my sons.
us in May of 2022
finding someone to love used to be a priority until love burned me one too many times besides I’ve always had 3 somebodies to love that always deserved all of my attention with them I’m never alone with them there will always be inspiration with them my love overflows at this point, it would be useless for anyone to compete with this complete kind of love
Happy international Nurse’s Day to all the nurses and especially my favorite nurse, my sister. We’ve had a complicated relationship through most of my life but within the past few years, our relationship has gotten a lot better. I have more to say about this but that calls for a longer blog post in the future. Today, I want to honor her for being the awesome human being that she is. Below is a picture of us at a concert we went in July of 2022 and a poem I wrote in December of 2021 when she turned 47.
me and my sister in July of 2022
To My Sister On Her 47th birthday
you’re 3 years away 50 but still look like you’re in your 30’s Has anyone told you how amazing you are? Have our parents loved you out loud?
I’ve always admired you for your fortitude and resilience but wish for you to have peace and an opportunity to be soft
I get it though – It is hard to be soft in a society that expects you resemble a tower of strength, where you take care of everyone first and put yourself last It was something you had to learn at a young age
you used to be the Villian in my book at times, but lately I think of you as the victim and the victor_
You’re a victim of life- the victim because of the pressure you were put under for being the oldest the victim for being a woman of color in a racist and sexist society
But you’re also the victor- the victor never giving up- no matter how fucked up life got for you the victor for facing shit head on without any fucks and with an intimidating confidence (maybe that’s why I was jealous)
oh sister of mine, on your 47th year-I hope. you get to sit and enjoy the wonderful life you’ve created
I wrote this poem in May of 2022 inspired by this “woke” white woman. Lol.
you’re nothing but a selfish and narcissistic attention whore constantly craving the limelight by posting long and stupid ridden Facebook statuses about the “truth” of the injustice you see injecting yourself as the voice of minorities it all unveils your world of deep seated insecurities and the irony of all of this is should you know better since you’re a therapist but apparently you’re still dumb as fuck It doesn’t matter how many degrees you have-you still reek of ignorance
I’d rather live in music, daydreams, and fantasies than face the monotony and routine of real life who wants to deal with spreadsheets when I can get lost in dreams about finding the one who wants to answer to karen’s idiotic questions when I got taylor swift on repeat who wants to open and read another email about another stupid workplace policy when I can fantasize about the best sex I had the a few nights ago real life is too boring for me when I have music, daydreams, and fantasies waiting to inspire the writer in me
busco la adrenalina de amor en los brazos de otro pero no siento nada cuando el me toca, cuando el me hace el amor y finjo sentir algo para que el acabe y me pueda levantar y irme a mi casa donde lloro y lloro lágrimas inútiles mientras escucho a Alejandro Sanz y escribo poemas acerca de la soledad infernal que vivo cada día que trato de superar
Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Month! I wrote this poem inspired by my favorite Asian American, my oldest son.
me and my oldest in 1999
I was young and so stupid a kid having another kid but with you I grew up and learned the meaning of love you’re everything a mother could want a wonderful and amazing son and while I’ll feel some grief the day you’ll your spread wings I’ll feel a special kind of pride as I watch you shine your golden light
I wonder where all of my money goes but then I go home to the bottomless pits that are my kids and then I go upstairs to my bedroom where my closet is exploding with clothes and then I look under bed full of shoes and then I go downstairs to my record player and looks at my various vinyls and we won’t even talk about my newly acquired furniture from Amazon now I understand my money goes to my busy life and my BPD spending impulsivity
vivo de recuerdos y sueños de lo que alguna vez fuimos y quisiera morir que vivir en esta soledad opaca y amarga donde lloro lagrimas que tu nunca veras y escribo cartas y poemas que tú nunca leerás
your wretched goodbye brought a radical change within me left behind was the naive girl who fell in love with you left behind was the stupid bitch who made a home in you left behind was the insecure woman who made you her world the woman who stands before you made a 360 turn the woman who stands before lives life according to her own terms without apologizing, without accommodation, without toning herself down the woman you left behind no longer exists she turned into ashes and out of the ashes turned into a brave and powerful queen who learned that her love is the rarest type of jewel that she reserves only for those who love her and accept her exactly as she is
el miedo de compartir todo demasiado pronto corre por mi entonces me hago la chica de tus sueños la que se viste sexy y se ríe de todas tus bromas la que da su cuerpo fácilmente sin preguntas o demandas la que no exige respeto por miedo de vivir el cuento de mujer dejada de nuevo
Life on the BPD 