maybe just maybe

I know that sometimes it can be hard to look in the mirror and feel like you’re enough.

Is my hair, body, and clothes

Good enough?

Having to adjust the way you walk or the way you talk to please them

It’s even more difficult when the biggest critics are your parents

Maybe, if I talk like this or walk like this or do this or do that they won’t say anything today

Maybe, just maybe

If I stay quiet at the right time and speak at the right time we won’t argue today

Maybe, I won’t go out today so they don’t ask for details

If I lie, they’ll know I’m lying..

If I tell the truth they’ll still think I’m lying

They already think I’m “sinning”

I know that sometimes it can be hard to feel loved

Do they really love me for who I am?
Do they love me for who they want me to be?
Do they love me because they hope it’s a phase?
Do they love me to put on a show?

Maybe it would’ve been easier if I was “normal.”

But I can assure you

You are enough


You are loved


You are valuable


You are worthy


You are normal

more than that

You are extraordinary


You are courageous

and smart

You are beautiful


Simply Perfect

Being With A Survivor of Sexual Violence

It can be frustrating, I get it. But trust me, it’s more difficult for me. (I’m only speaking on my own behalf since I’m sure everyone deals with their trauma(s) differently). 

I dealt with it by shutting myself off. No emotions. No relationships. No friendships. I stayed quiet for a few years. I didn’t even talk to my mother. I didn’t even talk to myself.

I still carry some of that with me today. And while I’m working on myself and on being a better me, sometimes it creeps up into my relationships. My abuse gets in the way. And as much as I want to care and love for someone, sometimes it gets more difficult than it should be.

So, here’s two tips I’d like to share. I think everything else may fall into these two. Things I wish partners had with me. And maybe, just maybe, it would make things easier for the both of us.

I also understand this can translate into all relationships


This is everything! Patience for when it’s difficult for me to talk to you. To be intimate with you. When I’m crying and don’t want to share why right away. When I have nightmares. When I try to share something with you and it’s difficult to understand why it has traumatized me. When something you do triggers me. When a specific song, action, movie etc triggers bad things. When my trauma is too much to explain and too much to understand. Patience for when I ask for my space. Patience for when I push you away. Patience for when I shut myself down. Patience for when it seems like I may not want you.


Please please please please. Lets talk. Talk about consent. Talk about what I am willing and not willing to do. Talk through it with me. Talk about what is good with me and what isn’t. Talk about my fears and hopes. Talk about your frustrations. Listen to mine. Lets talk about what happened, please listen. Try to understand before you insist on being understood. Don’t push me don’t rush me don’t manipulate me or make me feel guilty. I’ve already spent some time blaming myself. Lets create a space in which we feel safe enough to express ourselves honestly. And hopefully, everything else will fall in to place.  

fake lying ass "male feminists"

I need to crawl into a hole right now and surround myself with other womyn

I need to surround myself with strength and love and power of the people

I need to be embraced by other survivors

others who have been silenced, disrespected, and excluded from shit

others who have been second guessed and thought of as less for being a womyn

others whose leadership skills have been put into question/ignored all together

I’m so tired of being devalued

of my ideas being taken and used for others personal/professional gains and not getting credit

I’m so tired of being asked for ideas and input by guys but not trusted to organize shit myself

Because they’re intimidated by me.

Because they know I know wtf I’m talking about but rather not admit it

I swear I wanna kick patriarchy in the face

tired of the hypocritical fake two faced lying ass “male feminists”

tired of having to shout twice as loud to be heard

one of those days y'all.. sigh…

one of those days

my thoughts on the dream is now doc

Just finished watching The Dream Is Now documentary.

I’m thankful for the undocumented youth who allowed the cameras into their private lives and let out a piece of their souls by sharing stories and tears.

pieces of the documentary made me cry. not because of the dream is now staff narrator’s voice but because of the stories. the real human stories. From Joaquin’s suicide to Erika’s raid to Ola’s deportation. i don’t know what to do if i was in any of those situations and i’m glad these things are being talked about. because depression raids and deportations are all too real and are still happening. These are real things. real circumstances that affect us and our families. 

however, i felt like the documentary makers had their own agenda and just recruited the dreamers they needed to tell these stories. it was heavily narrated and very democratic party lovers/patriotic. i also wondered if any undocumented people were part of the process of making this documentary. not only the being filmed part, but actually directing it or providing feedback for it. 

i don’t agree with the military. this country’s wars and military have displaced so many people and is one of the main reasons people migrate. not to mention killing other human beings. the film focuses a bit on the story of a young man who wishes to join the marines. and while i respect his decision. i do not agree with it.

there is no intersections. undocumented young mothers? LGBTQ undocumented? API undocumented? black/african undocumented? nope. 

the documentary also has a message of “perfection”. that we are all great students with good grades and no criminal records. the fact is that a very small amount of undocumented youth actually make it to college and graduate.

the reality is, most of us cannot afford it, don’t make it, don’t want to attend, have other priorities, or we do make it and our grades aren’t top notch.

c'mon. i have so much on my plate that it’s hard to focus on just school/grades. and i don’t mean just other responsibilities but it’s also an internal dilemma. what will this degree be worth? will it just become a paperweight? a decoration on the wall?

the documentary made it seem like our biggest priority is to get papers and go to school/military. the perfect dream act message.

but we also deal with identity issues, depression, deportation (which continue to happen before and after deferred action and are happening right now), isolation, hate crimes, wage theft, exploitation and so so much more. 

another thing i didn’t agree with was this idea that we work hard to be accepted. model minority much? i used to believe in that while i was in high school. that i had to strive to be better. than i realized papers and diplomas don’t define my worth.

no matter how many marches, rallies and interviews you do with your american flag, you’re still at risk of being deported. not all of us consider ourselves american. it’s hard to when we are not wanted here. and that is OKAY. that love it or leave it message has got to gooo.

is wanting to come here and work or provide or runaway from something not reason enough to be left alone to live in peace?

the documentary hints at organizing efforts to stop deportations, to push for the dream act and to push for deferred action. but it doesn’t linger on that too much. which made me feel bleehhhH.

this organizing is at the center of our lives. it is what pushes us everyday. it is where we have met amazing people who have become family. it is where we have found community and strength. for those who are involved or for those who check online updates. that’s what we do everyday.and it goes farther than just social media.

also, it mentions the dream act failing in 2010 but it doesn’t highlight the fact that 5 democrats didn’t vote in favor of the dream act and left Obama in a good light while his administration has deported the most people ever. why are we scared to call democrats out on their bullcrap? there was no critical analysis about immigration reform or the dream act.

the documentary closes with a very…..lets save them….statement about how we (the american people) need to help them write the ending for their lives by signing this petition. 

let’s remember this….I don’t need anyone’s pity or sympathy. don’t feel sorry for me for being undocumented. don’t try to help me because you feel guilty of your privileges. we’ve been organizing and resisting and coming out way before documentaries, interviews and the dream act happened. 

the fact is, undocumented people have been around for years way before. and we’ve resisted.

check out the organizing efforts happening near you and get involved but don’t think speaking for someone else is okay. don’t think you’re there to be anyone’s savior. don’t think it is up to you to make my life happen for me. we’ve found ways to hustle to pay bills and to go to school if that’s where we wish to be. respect that.

this doc left me feeling sad and frustrated. but that happens with any undocumented story or video i watch. it just makes me sad that we are STILL fighting for this.

for me, it is not fighting to be accepted, at this point, it’s fighting to not be deported. hide yo kids hide yo wife!

what are YOUR thoughts on the documentary?

the undocumented documentaries don’t just stop here. i’m currently helping with one. check it out here

I Am Not A Survivor, I Am A Warrior

Yes I was sexually abused.

While the “common terminology” is “sexual assault survivor” I don’t feel like I survived.

I feel like a survivor overcame it all. the obstacles. the bad. the challenges. but I don’t feel like I’ve done that.

Everyday I still fight. Sometimes it is hard to get out of bed. 

Sometimes, I don’t want to get out of bed. but I push myself to do it.

Everyday I fight the urge to cry. because I am tired of crying. I am tired of thinking about HIM. I am so DONE with it all. I hate crying over it. and while I know that crying is GOOD. Sometimes, I just don’t want to cry. 

Everyday I fight this society the deems me as a criminal for being undocumented. That will blame ME for being assaulted.

Everyday I push myself to be happy. I have to remind myself to breathe. to eat. to laugh. to smile. and sometimes, fuck it, I don’t want to.

I haven’t survived.

I still have nightmares. I still have flashbacks. my journal is filled with hate letters towards HIM. hate letters towards myself. love letters towards myself that I sometimes don’t even believe when I reread them.

I still cry myself to sleep. I still struggle with my body. I break down whenever I read the news about other assaults. I break down when others tell me they’ve also been abused.  

For me, to survive is to have WON the race. However, I feel that I am still running.

I have a long way to go in order to heal. in order to be OKAY.

I am still fighting.

I am not weak.

I am a warrior. 

"I should have known better"

I was naive
I blamed myself
I was in college
“I was old enough to know better”
“I was sexually assaulted before. I should have known this would happen”
“i shouldn’t have put myself in that situation”

His name was Christopher. We were in the same class. We sat next to each other and talked the whole time. He was cute. He always stared at me while I did my class work. It made me nervous but it felt nice to be noticed.

He was new to America. I translated class instructions to him because he didn’t understand. He took advantage of that. He asked me to come over and help him with our final class paper.  He said he didn’t understand what the assignment was. So I agreed to help.

I went to his place one day. We were supposed to work on a paper. I had my research papers with me. He invited me to his room, his computer was there. I agreed. I should’ve said no. I should have asked him to meet in the school’s library instead of his place. I trusted him. I blamed myself. I still do at times.

He forcefully grabbed me. Said he was attracted to me. Started kissing me. he started touching me. He said i was super flirty. I didn’t kiss back. I told him maybe we should take it slower. I told him i didn’t really feel comfortable. That I didn’t want to. He said nothing. he didn’t stop.

He pinned me down and pulled his shirt off. I pushed him off. He grabbed me again and said I needed to calm down. that i was tense. that I would enjoy this. That girls my age did this. that i was being difficult. I didn’t notice myself start to cry.

he stared at me and my tears in surprise. but he didn’t stop. He tried taking my skirt off. I screamed and kicked him. In a flash I grabbed my things and ran for the door.

he chased me down the street.

I don’t know how I made it home. I cried the whole way.

The worst was having to see him in class again.

why are we taught it is our fault?

No, Migration Is Not Beautiful

Am I the only one that is annoyed with these damn butterflies? (just fyi this is not to criticize Faviana. It’s this one art piece. i am a fan of her women’s rights posters) 
why is there a need to romanticize immigration?

there is nothing beautiful

about a mother or father having to leave their family behind to find work else where.

about immigrants dying while trying to cross the border into a country that still wont respect them

about people being raped, killed or robbed while crossing the border

about people being raped, killed or abused in detention centers

about children riding cross country box cars to try to be reunited with their families or to find work in other countries to support families back home

there is nothing beautiful

about the imperialist capitalist shit that forced our families to come here in the first place

about the poverty that was created in my country while the USA prospers 

there is nothing beautiful

about people coming over here only to be discriminated against

about laws that will deny them basic rights like education

about people committing suicide because being undocumented is too much to handle

about not being able to visit our families back home and from far away watch each and everyone of them pass away.

what is natural or beautiful about that?


i think it is sad that folks are forced to leave their homes in the first place because they cannot provide for themselves or their families. 

migration is political

migration is imperialism

migration is capitalism

it is not beautiful

United Farm Workers and #Immigration

Did you know that the United Farm Workers (UFW) Union (created by Dolores Huerta and Cesar Chavez) were anti-immigrant?

The United Farm Workers Union were great for worker’s rights. i am not in any way talking badly of their work or accomplishments. However, this was towards American workers, not immigrant workers. Rather then working together, their messaging and tactics pinned immigrants and workers against each other.


because they (UFW) felt that undocumented migrant farm workers undermined the value of their strikes, protests and labor. They considered them the strikebreakers and were against them coming to the USA.

So they (the united farm workers) actually started border patrolling. They created something called the “wet line” (yeah. you read that right) across the US-MEX border to prevent Mexican immigrants from entering the United States. If that wasn’t enough they started REPORTING UNDOCUMENTED WORKERS TO THE INS.

Which is why i get confused (?) angry (?) when undocumented immigrants are recognized or awarded anything related to Cesar Chavez or the UFW.

wtf are you saying

i asked ASK ANGY followers on facebook to please donate to a scholarship fund for undocumented youth in new york

….few mins laters
an undocumented hater on facebook told me i should work hard enough like he did to get to where he was instead of begging.

of course. i am beyond pissed off. 
at this point. i am used to the hate messages on facebook, twitter, my email and youtube. i just laugh it off. even this one.

here i am…asking for donations to a scholarship THAT IS NOT EVEN GOING TO GO TO ME…but to another youth in new york…and this idiot comes out of no where saying i need to learn how to work hard.

who the fuck do you think you are? do you even know me? no.
you don’t even know what i’ve been through. what my family has been through to be where we are today. why would you assume that because i am undocumented i do not work hard?

i have to work twice as fucking hard. i have no access to health services, financial aid, scholarships, legal well paying jobs, safety… and some how throughout this fucking messed up system i still remember to laugh and have fun. and fight for equality. and not treat people like dirt.

you want to say i don’t work hard? i can’t even get sick because i can’t afford to go to the hospital. undocumented  people keep the country afloat. migrant workers, who usually are undocumented because documented people would rather die than pick tomatoes for some cents, work sun rise and sun set picking vegetables they can’t even afford so your ass can enjoy them. Undocumented service workers clean for you, cook for you, take care of your kids, walk your pets, tutor your kids, serve and deliver your food for little to nothing. most of the time, we made less than minimum wage and with the shit that we make, we still some how manage to pay the bills and feed our families. oh. and on top of that. add money into the pool of social security you can access at old age, while we cannot. while we cannot retire. 

you don’t know hard work. your privilege ass does not know hard work. trust fund baby.  being able to apply for FAFSA and get everything covered. never having to worry about being deported. being able to call the police without fear. not being denied jobs, internships, health resources because you have a SSN. 

i don’t work hard? but you were born…born…BORN with citizenship…you never not ONCE have had to validate your existence. never have you had to attach supporting documents as to why you are a good ‘asset to have’ in this country. 

your degree was put into use after graduation. while undocumented people cannot legally work and many times, cannot finish certain degrees without a social.

i am tired of people saying i am not hard working. people who do not even know all that i have done. all i will do. 

i am tired of having to justify myself for being here. 

i am tired of having to “prove i am worthy” of being here.

I wasn't raised to be "weak"

through all the undocumented muck i was being raised in my mother told me to be strong. to be independent. but no where in her definition of strength was there any room for weakness. without realizing that you cannot have one without the other.

according to my mother:
weakness was displayed through tears
weakness was displayed through love
weakness was displayed through speaking things out and letting people in
weakness was displayed by trusting
weakness was displayed through displays of affection
weakness was displayed through trusting others with secrets, insecurities and fears.
in her actions, my mother suggested not to do any of the things above

so my life was filled with a small handful of tears that i would force inside. My life was filled with a handful of moments in which i gave genuine hugs and genuinely said ‘i love you’ but wasn’t able to do it all the time. 

my life was filled with awkward moments of not knowing how to appreciate. not being able to vocalize words of love. not being able to understand why others weren’t as “strong” as me.

the strength my mother raised me in missed a lot and it is so hard to change the way things have been for so long. but i try everyday to mend the way my life is turning out. the way i see things around me.

we display strength in owning our fears and fearlessly loving others. trusting they won’t hurt us. How can we be strong when we force ourselves to only feel one way? If we do not allow ourselves to cry. to mourn. to be sad.

we are strong by being brave. by being weak we are strong.