The uncomfortable leather seat on this airplane makes me
of the space, I take up

too much…

My thighs spread out,
overflow to the next seat
and the passenger next to me
shifts uncomfortably

I press my legs together,
try to keep them together
but they refuse to comply
a mind of their own
they are rebellious and
spread out even more

I take up too much space




I settled for second-hand love
and became a foolish side piece

I thought you were kind enough to offer me
of the love you gave to someone else

I was content with the nights spent with you
Late nights, clothes on the floor
tangled bodies becoming one

But I should’ve realized it wasn’t enough
I secretly hoped your mouth would connect to mine
but it never did, and instead it found its way to my swollen breasts
also aching for your touch.

I got the remains, I got unfaithfulness
I got a couple hours of pleasure
I never got your love.

And how willing I was to be your side piece
How willing was I to be yours in the night time
because I craved being with you, because your touch mesmerized me.

I never got what I secretly wished for
a place at your table, a place in your life.
You hid me so well, you played your game well.

You made me believe I was important
and as the time passes by,
I realize,
your intentions were never genuine
we both broke my heart
into a million


You criminalize brown bodies
for working long days in the sun.

“Foco a Foco” my mother says
no longer does she see the sun rise
or the sun set.

She leaves for work early in the morning when the porch light is still on.
The cool morning air and the dew on the roses are her good mornings

and she is greeted by the very same porch light in the evening.
hungry mouths and dirty dishes are her “welcome home”.

You criminalize my father’s broken English
make fun of his accent and his mispronounced words
and yet your favorite thing to put in your mouth is Mexican food.
No one makes fun of you for pronouncing enchiladas all bland,
so why do you gotta poke fun at my dad?

You tell brown folks “Go back to Mexico!”

assuming Latin America isn’t diverse

but God forbid I call you gringo

You criminalize my people for being
too dark,
too hispanic,
too this,
too that
Did you ever stop to wonder why you’re
too unwelcoming,
too judgmental,
too inhumane,
too… racist?



My fingers type out your name without thinking twice.
It’s the third social media profile I’ve checked that’s yours.
It’s become a habit of mine
one I cannot seem to shake.
I try to get you out of my head
but my fingers type out the name
I’ve been typing out for months now.
I just wanna make sure you’re doing okay
I myself am not doing okay.
I’ve rejected every guy who has approached me,
I look for you in everyone I meet
but no one can compare to you.
I don’t allow them in
even if they can be the cure
to this deadly disease that’s eating me from the inside out.
I look for your crooked smile,
the dark, intense stare you would give me when you wanted me passionately.
But I can’t seem to find it.

It’s become a habit
to look at strangers coming my way
and hope they resemble the way you smirked
hoping they’ll walk like you, talk like you, act like you.
It’s an obsession I’d say,
but I loved you more than anyone else I’ve been with
it’s become a habit of mine,
to fill my thoughts with what ifs and maybe ifs.
It’s become a habit,
to go hurt myself by looking at your Instagram profile and seeing you with other women by your side.
You don’t seem to even remember the nights we spent together,
but I’ve made it a habit to keep them alive
I wish I could’ve kept the relationship alive,
now all I have are nasty habits to keep the memory of us


Más caliente
Qué el agua queme mi piel
quiero sentir algo en este rostro
el cual se ha convertido en una casa sin ama.
Más caliente
qué el agua de mi ducha me haga sentir algo
aunque sea el ardor del agua, aunque mi piel se vuelva roja, sugiriendo ayuda.
Es mejor que no poder sentir nada
es mejor que este hueco en mi corazón


Every time I blink,
my eyelids feel like sandpaper
rubbing up against one another.

My red and tired eyes
keep closing every five minutes.
I’ve been up for 24hrs and I need a break.

But the unfinished paper tells me sleep is not going to happen
and I might as well forget about the power nap I had planned

You have no one to blame but yourself,
this paper could’ve been written over the weekend.

The Idea of You

I’m in love with the idea of you

but I’m not sure if I’m in love with you.

You never gave me the time of day

But you made sure the nights were reserved for me

And you only touched me in the dark,

I don’t know if I’m in love with the idea of what could be

or if I truly feel something for you.


You shame me
for the weight, I carry around my waist

But did you ever wonder
what it feels like when you
give me disapproving looks
and when you make fatphobic comments?

Did you ever wonder how I got like this?
Did you ever bother to ask me why I eat my feelings away?

My life is in shambles and I cannot fill this
void I carry deep inside me
and sometimes food is the only thing that fills me
for a few hours.

Did you ever ask me about the medications I take,
and how it helps me fight my depression every day?
Did you ever stop to think that I rather be fat
than miserable, anxious and depressed?

Did you ask me how I weighed my options
and that I chose to take care of myself?
so even though the three little pills I take
make me gain weight
I still choose them everyday

Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe,
you’re the problem?


What’s in a name besides identification?
Thousand-year-old histories
passed down from
generation to generation

Maybe your mother held you in her arms
and simply knew
this name would fit you

Maybe your father wanted to keep his legacy going
so he named you after him
And now, to not get confused
they call you Junior

What’s in a name
besides identification?
Do you carry your name with pride?


Te compre una concha de chocolate, como se que te gustan.

Pero a mi no me gustan las conchas, mami
No se cuando empezó a pensar que me gustaban
pero ella siempre me compra una concha de chocolate.

Cómetela ahorita que esta recién hecha

La saco de su bolsa
la concha esta caliente
la muerdo y se desmorona.
Porque no me compro
una empanada de piña?
esas si me gustan

Disfruta la concha, cuando vaya a la panadería, te compro otra

No tengo el corazón de decirle a mi mami
que no me gustan las conchas de chocolate
ni de vainilla
ni de fresa.

Pero cuando veo la ternura y el amor en sus ojos
al anunciar que me trajo otra concha,
se me parte el alma de pensar que la puedo lastimar
Asi que me como otra concha mas.

Gracias mami, siempre piensas en mi