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
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
my rage comes in like a bright orange burst and it explodes in social media posts,
my notebooks, and journal
it’s my inner child scared and anxious who feels threatened
and take it upon herself to call on middle age me
to defend her, to protect her from the cruelty and abuse happening in front of her
so many families like mine torn apart
so many immigrant children like me many years ago crying for their parents
not understanding why this is happening
and I feel the heavy weight of impotence not knowing how I can help
or what to do to stop all of this needless pain and suffering happening in front of me
and all I see is a bright orange burst of rage ready to punch walls
because my empathetic and soft heart feels the cries, the whimpers, the screams
of the parents and kids whose only crime was to leave their country
in search for a better life
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’ve walked through the warzone of my love life long enough to know
when a bomb is about to explode (when I fall of some guy’s dream girl altar)
It’s a minefield full of suppressed feelings
consequences of accommodating to a man’s ego
And I’ll tread ever so carefully
I don’t want to be alone, I just want to be loved,
I’ll bend and bend until you call me Gumby
Except I’m not and then I’ll snap and another bomb will go off
“You’re crazy,” you’re dangerous” “ I don’t recognize you”
all for expressing my feelings and wanting respect and dignity
I wrote this poem in June of 2025.
to inhabit and exist in my body is exhausting
it’s constantly being in fight or flight mode
constantly waiting in hypervigilance
for the next atrocity from this administration
wondering if my son will make it home today without incident
worrying if my parents or brother will be taken away by the American Gestapo
lighting candles and praying on my rosary for my family’s safety and my sanity
try my best to function as democracy is falling and continuously reminding people
yes, immigrants are human beings and deserving of respect and dignity
escribí este poema en junio del 2022.
No me vendo por tus promesas o tus piropos
o por dinero o por tu supuesto amor
porque yo valgo mas que mi belleza
porque soy todo un mundo de magia y talento
entonces quedate con tu dinero y falsas promesas de amor
y nunca me busques mas
Life on the BPD 