classified as fragile and

they told us what we could do

you can bear children, cook meals, and iron our pant suits


we are grew up on lessons of

‘ladylike’ behavior

and to stay in group and never walk alone at night


we are backbone of the nations

not fragile

and have demanded equality since our great-grandmothers


progress is ironing your pant suits

substituting wonder woman for damsels

and never taking no for an answer


we have work to do still

we have to build a ‘we are the people’ environment

for the generations to come







normal girls.

We were normal girls.

We fell in love with boys, recklessly, hopelessly, and constantly.

She would cry tears of mascara and glittery eyeshadow on the steps. And, we’d swear off them as if they were drugs.

And, maybe they were, because we always found ourselves falling again.

We worried about our bodies. We pinched our fat, and sighed. We skipped breakfast, and then she started skipping more.

It got us nowhere.

And, we had our hopes for a good times in high school, but they should’ve just put a banner over the corridor saying, welcome to hell.

Welcome to trust issues,

to mental issues,

to peer pressure, and boys chasing one thing.

We were just normal girls. Labeled and screwed into our positions of future housewife, goody-two shoes, slut, or whatever they wanted to call us.

We were just normal girls. We stopped wearing glittery eyeshadows and rolled our eyes at a hypocritical society who told us, be what you want, and backstabbed us.

We were just normal girls. Who wanted to wear a dress without getting catcalled. Who didn’t wish for perfection of their bodies, because we were brainwashed with some stereotypical model in their brain since the age of four. Who wanted to be known as more than ‘pretty.’




analysis of self.

I don’t recognize myself anymore,

who is this girl?

I never look her in the eyes

or tears will ruin her perfect facade

of foundation and mascara

and then everyone will know.


people say, “I love you.”

people say, “you’re not alone.”

but I feel alone

when they hug me, I feel numb

as if I was static on the television

as if I was peering in from the window


24 hours of misery

sometimes a break in between.

I’m lying because I’m so accustomed

to keeping my feelings to myself.

I hardly cry, instead I bleed

I hardly try anymore.


and, I’m scared to be happy

because I know what’s like to have it stolen

and, I’m scared of what people think

because I know what’s it like to be rejected

and, I’m not scared to die

because I’m so damn tired of fighting myself.





Dear Someone XXXII

Dear Someone,

He told me he could protect me.

I looked him in the eyes, and said, “No thank you, I am capable of protecting myself.”

Because, just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I’m weak.

Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I’m looking for a protector.

You show them you’re not scared. You show them you are not a girl, but a strong, independent woman.

You show them you aren’t dependent on other people to save you.

Because, just because you wear dresses, doesn’t mean you can’t knock the breath out of someone.

And, sometimes boys tell me I’m mean. No. I am guarded, I am cautious, I am ready to leave, and that’s because men haven’t proved to me they are worthy of my trust.



Dear Someone XVI

Dear Someone,


I am feminist.

not because I hate men

or I think we deserve better than them


but because

I want to see my daughter thrive

and not crumble before 16


to walk with her head high and not in fear

because someone might hurt her

like I have for years


to not be ashamed of her body

because some boy told her she should be skinny

like I have for years


to stop dreaming

because someone told her it was impossible

like I have for years


I want her to be free

and to look into her eyes and be proud of her decisions

like I wish my mother would look at me


and those boys will say,

“her beauty is pure, because of her strong-will,”

like I wish they would’ve believed about me.















Mommy, You’re Everything


You’re a taxi driver, encourager, a chef, teacher, dancing queen (when it comes to 80’s music of course.) You understand my dreams and you push me harder to become the woman God wants me to be.

You’ve taught me everything I know, how to love, work, laugh, read, write, cook, and of course, how to handle my life.

You’ve shared with me everything you know, life lessons that make me cringe or cry or laugh, you’ve shared the best music ever, you’ve given me countless advice on guys and how to deal with their personalities, but most importantly, you’ve shared and showed me how God has made such an impact on your life, and how much he’s changed you.

There are times where I’ve told you things that are hateful and hurt your feelings; because I forget the Iron Woman, who is my mom, has feelings too. And though, it looks like I mean those things, I really don’t. I regret all of them every single time I say them.

All the cards, sayings, smiles, laughs we’ve had, they’re in my heart (and the cards are in my special memory drawer.)

I know one day, I’m going to wake up far away from home, and I’ll miss you. But at least you’ll answer my constant phone calls asking for advice or just fashion tips.

Mommy, you’re everything I need. Now, later, and even when you’re dead and gone, you’ll be everything to me.

Thank you for loving me unconditionally through everything.


Your not very perfect daughter