here is the link to the english version of this poem:
Ser poeta es una locura, una aflicción
es un desmadre que hago cada vez
que palabras de ira, de amor, de desgracia
aparecen en mi página
solo a una loca maldecida
se le ocurre hacer poesía
de sus aventuras y tragedias de su vida
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
we won the national championship and everyone is so happy
and I feel nothing
I graduated from UGA but never felt included
so while I’ve pretended to care, I’ve always felt like an outcast
in a town who cares more about football and idiotic art
and bike lanes for woke and privilege white people
than for their poor and marginalized communities
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Trapped
sigo la trayectoria de martirio de las mujeres en mi familia
sacrificando mis sueños y deseos por el bienestar de mis hijos
sofocando mi creatividad y verdad para seguir siendo aceptada
por la sociedad
y esto me llena de ira y remordimientos que trago, trago, trago
hasta que casi me estoy ahogando
In an ideal and magical universe, the one thing I would do differently if I had magical powers is turn into a potato. A potato that becomes a beautiful and most delicious plate of french fries bringing happiness and joy to some random person when they taste me. To become a potato would mean I wouldn’t have to be human and constantly exist which gets extremely exhausting and annoying at times. To become a potato means that for most of my life I would be surrounded by other potatoes, just chilling with absolutely no drama. It would be a swell life, I think.
However, I don’t live in an ideal and magical universe so I guess what I could do differently is to become more organized in my life. I have struggled with the curse of disorganized thoughts and a disorganized life since I can remember. I’ve tried and tried and have somewhat succeeded in some areas of my life in becoming more organized. For example, I have a routine that I try my best not to interrupt. It’s important to maintain this routine so I remain semblance of sanity for the most part. It’s hard because I’m pretty sure I have undiagnosed ADHD that’s followed me since I was a kid. That’s also why I struggled with disorganized thoughts which the silver lining in is that I get very creative when I’m in the thick of it. However, it’s also fucked with my sleep schedule which means I rely on sleepytime tea and meds to be able to go to sleep. Having disorganized thoughts also means I get overwhelmed and overstimulated at times in my environment if it’s chaotic. It turns my cortisol levels all the way up and I have to find a way to cope ASAP. It’s my flight or fight response turned on and I usually choose flight. Like for example, during my PMDD period (worst time when I have disorganized thoughts), I’m moody AF and if I get triggered by someone or something, while I may want to hurl insults or punch that person, most of the time I pause, assess, and go for a drive or a walk. Most of the time it’s a drive though because that seems to be the faster way I calm down.
This post is a perfect example of my struggle with organization. I went from talking about wanting to be a potato to talking about disorganization to my PMDD. This fucking struggle is too real. Anyways, to answer this question, I could make more lists of shit I need to get done, schedule my breakdowns more often when I can (haha), make more time to meditate and relax (Idk how this will happened, I can’t even remember ever taking a nap in Kindergarten). It’s starting to feel like a hopeless situation but Idk maybe I’ll find the answer in a book. Who knows? Crazier things have happened. Also, I’m open to suggestions.
I wrote this in January of 2023.
Yesterday I wondered how it would feel like to travel at the speed of light
I almost thought of trying it as I drove-but knocked out that intrusive thought
as the faces of my sons came to my mind-even in the worst of my crazy moments
my boys come to rescue me-reminding me I have so much to live for
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Movements
como poetas, escritores, y artistas
nuestro poder es crear cambios radicales en el mundo
nuestra bendición es poder recordar a la gente
de su humanidad, de la esperanza
cuando el mundo se siente como un abismo oscuro sin luz
When I think about the greatest gift someone can give me, it’s trust. I feel like trust is something that comes with being a safe space for them to share their troubles, their concerns, their most private thoughts with me. The inner circle I have now with my family and friends gives me that and I feel honored that I can be that person to them. It is important to have community and be safe spaces for each other when the world continues to be a never ending dumpster fire.
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: The Full Moon
hay que decir al carajo con todas las expectativas que la sociedad
y nuestros padres no adoctrinaron
y aprender a escuchar nuestra intuición y apoyarnos en nuestra salvajismo
aullar a la luna llena para encontrar nuestro ser primal
que nunca pudieron respirar
quizas asi empezamos a sanar y a encontrar comunidad
en gente que nos apoya, nos apapacha, y nos ama
con autenticidad
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
I can tell when my depression is getting the better of me
I uninstall most of my social media apps-
Start isolating from friends and family-
dissociate to whatever sad songs I have on repeat
Today’s music is Jojo and Taylor Swift
and I write anything and everything that comes into my head
about what has been or is my current tragedy
it’s almost comedic how dramatic I can
On days like these I feel too sensitive for this world
everything burns, everything is a trigger
and I almost hate myself and fall back into self destructive patterns
Seek out validation of my existence from others
it would be so easy to reach out and get help
but today, I want to fully feel my misery as it takes over me
let it speak in my writing
Me, my music, my paper and pen is all I need to get through
this latest depression spell
here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Unhappiness
me pierdo bajo tantas responsabilidades
y odio a la mujer que miro en el espejo
mi llama se apaga mientras me hundo
en la monotonía de mi rutina
todos me dicen que estoy loca
que debería enfocarme en mis bendiciones
pero mi mente me cuenta un cuentos diferente
I never asked to be born, much less to be a mosaic of trauma, insanity, and creativity
I prayed many times to be normal-to be someone else
but the day came when I had to embrace the masterpiece of duality and insanity that I am
to understand not everyone will understand me
to do the best I am with the deck of cards I’ve been handed
12/13/23
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
On new year’s day of 2023,I have resolutions but they’re simple
a trip to my homeland that’s been set in stone
teaching my son to drive
a divorce as a late birthday gift to myself
keep my bangs because that’s really who I am
pushing my oldest son to be more independent
Continue to share my poetry with the world unapologetically
Be wary of anything that pollutes my energy
try my best to ebb and flow with the turbulent waves of my emotions
take any obstacles that might occur in life in stride
make more time for my friends and family
become a new kind of brave woman
and continue to do things out of my comfort zone
to help me grow and evolve
become an example of determination, discipline, and creativity for my kids
to follow-
and continue to inspire others with my journey of self discovery
2023 will be chaotic with everything I’m planning
2023 will be the year where I’m the definition of bravery
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is to tell my story, my truth in order to recover
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I want the transparency of your being-
the stuff you won’t show anyone else
the secrets you’re afraid to share
I want your vulnerability in our intimacy
Even if you think it’s messy or cringy
I promise I won’t judge and there will be no need
for sorries
now that I’m falling for you
I want to know every part of you
I won’t do what the others have done to you or me
I’ll stay because love means loyalty and honesty
I wrote this poem in november of 2023.
I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone
most people look at her with curiosity
some people are horrified
my family cringes and and whispers to me,
“it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy”
I get mad and flip everyone off
and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way
to share her story and create drama and chaos
who cares if no one understands our process
of how sharing her story is the key to my recovery
