Many people underestimate the struggles first-generation college students face, and as a Central American woman who is conquering academia, I can say that there are many people who pray for my downfall. But, through writing and freedom of expression, I am able to have the outlet I need to create pieces of poetry that Central American women (or anyone that appreciates poetry) can connect with and feel at ease with because someone else in this universe has felt what they have felt in some way, shape, or form. I want my writing to be an outlet for myself, but also for the reader, these pieces were more intimate and private in comparison to the work I did back in 2019, but I have grown into the version of myself that knows my ancestors would be proud if I continue to create and conquer the world one piece at a time.
I have always dreamt of a love so pure and kind.
And throughout the years, I realized that I wanted someone to be my best friend, lover, and teacher.
Someone who had the endless knowledge to educate me, love me, and at the same time make me laugh like the child that I am.
I knew I needed and wanted all these things, But I never learned how to love myself first.
Not enough to understand that all those qualities are qualities I acquired.
Instead of teaching our young girls and women to find the qualities they want or need in someone else, we should teach them to accept and love themselves for who they are.
For the quirky laughs,
The childish smile,
The messy hair,
Their stretch marks,
The endless tears,
And their perfectly imperfect downfalls.
Maybe, just maybe if someone would have taught me to love myself first, I wouldn’t find myself
in the predicaments that I do when it comes to love.
A bittersweet inconvenience.
That’s what I have always been.
Here we are.
You’re in bed.
I am awake.
You’re on your phone.
Your consciousness is clean.
While my heartaches.
I wish you would’ve made it to my heart with an instruction manual.
Maybe I wouldn’t feel as inadequate as I do now.
Never really knowing the why or how.
I ponder on the thoughts that eat me inside out,
the triggers, the gut-wrenching emotion.
I truly apologize for the correlation between my heart and brain, I know it drives you insane.
God knows I understand your frustration. Some dreams are
more vivid than others; fixating myself on the idea of what I
can’t stop thinking about. And,
out of all the things in this world,
I always think about that one moment. Some days are more vivid than others, those days
seem to be yours and mine to share.
But, out of all the faces, yours seems to make its way to my brain quite frequently.
The dreams always end in us fading, is that why you don’t come back to me anymore?
Were my thoughts too vivid?
My eyes are open but rarely focused.
The correlation between my heart and brain drives me insane,
Were they too loud?
I think to myself.
My eyes see you, but rarely with any focus... it’s all too hazy now.
A la mitad del cielo
Growing up I always felt conflicted when trying to process my emotions.
Mis padres siempre fueron la mejor versión de ellos mismos para darme la vida que ellos nunca tuvieron.
And that is why I could never hate my parents, or ever stop loving them.
La vida que les toco no fue la vida que ellos merecían, pero siempre trataron de darme la vida que ellos querían y nunca tuvieron.
My father. A child at heart who loves his friends as family and sees himself as a protector to all who face the inequality of life.
Mi madre, la persona a quien quiero mucho. La mujer que dios escogió para ser la madre ideal y la serenidad de nuestra familia.
La media mitad de mis padres.
I am the ship that sails in my father’s harsh currents, and my mother, the moon.
Calming us both and bringing our family together at the end of each day.
Cada día trato de sanar las cicatrices de mis padres y las mías también.
Trato y trato de sanar para seguir amando, respetando y apreciando lo especial que son mis padres.
The toughest battle as a Latina I have ever faced in a country that does not appreciate me or my people is learning how to heal my family’s generational trauma and the trauma that was inflicted on me as a result of negligence towards my parents as children.
Mis padres siempre serán el pan a mi café, la música a mi canción, y el sol a mi luna.
Siempre siendo la parte de mi que nunca se perderá.
I am the child of my mother and father. Siempre seré la hija de mis padres.