Menses

Menses

Surfing the crimson waves
Seeing bright red
Purple red clots
And brown
Between my panties

Periods are full
Of irony

My belly bloats
As if
I’m 3 months pregnant
except I’m not

My breasts swell
Like they have milk
But they don’t

Sneezing
Unleashes
Niagara Falls

Blood clots
Like thick
Jello
Except the gross kind

Tracking my period
Taking Motrin
Praying I took it
Early enough
Otherwise
It’ll cause goosebumps
And feel like an iron fist
Clenches
And lets go of my uterus

I’ve never understood
Why
My body tortures me
For not having a baby
If and when
I have a baby
It’ll just get
Tortured in a
Different way

And all I can do
Is sit here in my
Misery
Crying for no reason
Hating my boyfriend
Annoyed by his breathing
But knowing that
He’s seen my blood
And didn’t runaway
So he’s a keeper

Riding a rollercoaster
Of emotions
Because of mood swings.

My monthly bill
Has come
Deciding between
Tampon
Pad
Or cup
Costing me money
To control bleeding
That has a mind of it’s own

I paid
The cashier
He wished me
A good weekend
Both knowing
It wouldn’t be
For me

Staining everything
That’s why you have
Period underwear
On reserve
Memories of failed attempts
At having sex
Stained towels
All to messy
For my taste

It’s sometimes
Like that uninvited family member
That overstays its welcome
But brings a good gift

Grateful that I’m bleeding
And have no baby
But sadness for those
Trying to have a baby

Periods smell
I splash every crevice
Out of paranoia
To not let the world
Know

But maybe I do
Instead of giving
The typical how are you
Response

Maybe I’ll just answer
By reading this poem
And politely
Ask for chocolate
If they’d like me
To stop

The woman scientist said PMS
Isn’t real
Probably
Wants a career
In politics
Because periods are a weakness

However
Every month
I show up to work
Wearing black
Forgiving Clothing
Giving pads to
My students who have
Synced up
Faking it till I make it
With my chin up.

Baby

Baby

The warmth of your
furry little body
the sweetest of sensations

Freed from your cage
Reborn as my lady
Liberty

Velvet black coat
like a tuxedo
with a white patch

you meow hello
you meow wake up
meow meow meow
feed me

the best alarm clock
snuggling me at a
quarter to five

sleeping at my feet
above my head, on my chest
or next to my bosom
and hum a purring melody

you patiently wait
every morning as I
fight past my morning haze

as my left foot
searches for one slipper
and the right follows next

our noses kiss
to say goodbye
and hello

every day you adjust
into the sweetest
nap time poses

one paw lazily
extends past another
or covers your face

sleep sleep sleep
yawn yawn yawn
and belly rubs

innocent face hunter
you pounce, wail
determination etched
on your face

eyes green like grapes
widen every time
I eat chicken

You’re like Garfield
trapped in a skinny
body

Harder for you
to get adopted
because you have FIV
which is cat HIV

Grateful that I found you
because you’re the perfect
kitty to me.

Takeaway

Takeaway

Reality is richer
than fiction

I found the dress
I was raped in
and didn’t know
what to do with it.
I haven’t for years

You know the dress too,
Marilyn Monroe’s iconic
white dress
cooling herself
over a subway grate.
It happened on a Halloween
I was her
he was pimp
reality, richer than fiction.

The first poem
I ever wrote
was titled, “Dirty White”
written at 12
about a woman
raped
feeling dirty
in a dress
on her wedding day,
foreshadowing my own
event.

I’ve contemplated,
burning it
as if the fire
could burn away the memory,
I’ve thought about
giving it away
but fearful that
it will be someone else’s
misfortune.

I’ve thought about
washing and wearing it
a bizarre testament
that I’ve healed
then dread washes over me
like unexpected rain
that it will happen again.

Marilyn and I are bonded
insight into
a polarizing figure
the sadness behind her eyes
the madness that consumed her
but shines effortlessly on screen
Impossible to look away from
her reality greater than fiction.

I’ve thought about
my experiences
Trying to justify
Find reasoning
Accepted that I’m given what
I can handle.
My poetic purpose interpreting
reality richer than fiction.

Shallow/depths

Shallow/depths

I wish I could
be seen
inside
out

Maybe it’d be easier
to see the complexities

you would see
how much
I’m covered
in cobwebs
commonly known
as anxiety.

I have scars
inside
and out
You’d see
jagged wounds
that never properly
healed.
The outside is scarred
by neurosis,
I compulsively
pick
at anything
that doesn’t belong.
I scratch off scabs
I hate
the way they feel
and look,
rough
I pick
searching for new skin
to be seen.

I force myself
to embrace
my bare face
my version
of aversion therapy.
Last week
I wore my armor,
make up
But when I glazed
in the mirror
I didn’t recognize myself

I love my ninja turtle shirt
just as much as my maxi dress
love flip flops
just as much as stilettos
Neither defines me.

My imperfections
are magnified
in my eyes

and it’s always relative
you never appreciate
the present enough
till it’s the future

If I’m inside
out
you’ll see my fat
just hanging
in all it’s flabby
glory
not hidden
under black clothing
or
forgiving fabrics.

If only you’d see me
my muscle tendons
stringy like red yarn
instead of my
involuntary vanilla complexion,
my genes decided to arbitrarily
adhere to European
standards of beauty
without my permission
I’ve heard confessions
admiring my Casper complexion
“Todo te queda bien con tu piel”
Everything looks good with your
skin tone
admissions of colonized mentalities
“You don’t look Peruvian”
as if they had seen
all the millions of us
because when I walked around
in Lima
I saw a bunch of my clones,
my Peruvian people recognized
me as their own.
“You’re too pretty to be Peruvian”
Instantly degrading
devaluing Indigenous
and African beauty
which is my real make up
I’m sure my bones
have etched on them
the entire Andes mountain
range
and my heart
beats to the rhythm of el cajon.

I wish you could see me
as I see you
inside,out
all it takes
is a look of the eyes
The cliche holds true
The glaze of envy
that for your own sake
I hope is temporary
the narrow minded
the angry glint
of ignorance
but
I’m comforted when I meet
kindness
compassion
and general goodness.

I wish I was inside out
see my soul
the color it is
I’ve always been fond of pink
maybe the soul is the aura
of the heart

That’s the part of me
I really wish you could see
how vulnerable
and sensitive
it beats.