Why Kurucha?

Kurucha (pronounced koo-rooh-k-chah) is what my grandfather from my father’s side called me, it means small worm, or baby worm as a mixture of Spanish and Quechua: Kuruchita (or Kuruchitx). Growing up in Peru, all of my grandparents spoke Quechua, as did my father.

I am changing my name from “Ellita” to “Kurucha” because I am trying to find the deep forgotten parts of my joy. I am trying to remember what joy felt like before capitalism and hierarchies affected it’s space, and I am trying to find what my artwork felt like before outside forces affected it’s truth.

I have come to realize that no matter how much we change, our roots always speak the truth. My roots are from the Andes, and so are my people, and so is my work. My work may grow and change and develop, but my roots will always stay Andinx.

With love and in solidarity,

Femme date

Hi femme

Hello femme

We could go on a date.


We could go to the garden

Where the water is sweet

And look at the flowers

I’ll bring a book with all their names

So we can watercolor on their categories

And replace their Latin names with Indigenous ones-

I don’t know much of my grandmother’s tongue

So all the flowers will be named





Oh femme

Don’t you know that I miss you

Oh femme

Did you ever tell anyone that we kissed?

Oh femme

New York City is so lonely

And there’s not many gardens

Or riverways

Or secret bicycle trails that lead to forbidden creeks.


But femme

I’m so glad that I met you

I’m so glad that we kissed

And maybe let’s go on a date

Because femme love is a never ending ocean, not a destination, but a source of life that pulls you in, and though I know I will never have you, because you are too magic, too brown, too femme, to become a possession, I will also never stop loving you.


Oh femme.


You changed my life.

I will name this flower

Huk Kutikama.

Y’all, even if I could vote, I wouldn’t vote, use your energy for the shit that matters, like calling for the complete annihilation of a government based on murder, theft, and slavery.

Audrey Lourde, said- “For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us to temporarily beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.”

And, I gotta be honest, this game gets elitist as hell, I cannot vote motherfuckers, I literally HAVE NO VOTE. And, the media’s solution to that seems to “sponsor” a “non problematic” candidate, who let’s face it, is still just another old white dude.

People talking about how Bernie’s been paying attention to the BLM movement lately, just as Hillary, in a recent action, claimed that her past racist remarks had only been brought to her attention recently.

Y’ALL. THESE MOTHERFUCKERS ARE PLAYING US. They didn’t give a shit about people of color, until we became relevant to the fucking election, just like young migrants didn’t get a bandaid solution of a work pass, until the elections were just a few months away.

We will never win on their terms, but rather, we will receive and settle for small victories that lead us back to where they want us. In order to win, we must win on our own terms, under our ownliberation.

In Jamaica, Queens

In Jamaica, Queens.

In Jamaica
Everyone knows
My name




In Jamaica
I wear floral dresses
And do the laundry.

I wear boots
And go grocery shopping
There are fruit stands
At every corner
And the vegetables shake
As the J line roars above us.

In Jamaica,
There are buses
But I prefer the subway
Because it feels
Like you are flying
Between the buildings

Manhattan breaks the sky wide open
And the sun bursts so loud
And so soft
and there’s water below you
As the river gods whisper

You may pass.

In Jamaica,
The corner store is always open
And the old man
Waits for me
Because he knows
I always need something


Three red potatoes.

Buenas noches
Goodnight and thank you

As the J line, roars
And I walk home
To sleep.

A letter, about intentional heartbreak

Dear Ella,

I know, that at this point and time, you are rethinking it. I know, that at this point and time, you are afraid. And, why shouldn’t you be? You are alone, and loneliness is a terrifying direction to take.

But, I want you to know, that you made the right choice.

But, could it have worked? You keep asking yourself that, and this question continues to haunt you, for you were happy, and comfortable, and who gives up happiness, and comfort, and why?

Who walks away from love, and to where?

In your travels, you have seen already, that yes, it could’ve worked. You have seen it, witnessed it, laughed with it, and wished it the best of luck.

But, love alone is not enough for you, and this is okay.

I know it’s scary to walk away from happiness, it was easier to run, when you knew that any place would be better than this mess you both decided to call a relationship. But it was different this time, because this time, you were happy. This time, you were safe.

But, you do not need someone to walk with you, to validate your journey. You do not need someone to remind you of your power. You are powerful enough.

And people will question you, people will ask you, and doubts will take over. After all, you could be wrong, after all, these are people that know you and love you, people that have lived longer, walked further than you.

In these times, you will doubt your power. You will question your carefree decision, your out of the ordinary decision, your oddness, yourself.

But, then you will remember, that besides living ancestors, there are those long gone, whose life was proof that strong independent  femmes are an unstoppable force of nature. You will read stories, written by your heroes, and you will remember why you chose to run.

Dear Ella. I know that you are afraid. Dear Ella, I know that tears are rolling down your cheeks, as you read this. Just like they roll down mine, as I write this.

Dear Ella. Never forget, that despite what they say, what you will say, you did choose love. You chose to love yourself, before any other being.

And, by doing so, you have saved us.



La lamentada, nunca fue my nacer
Pues el crecer
Es derecho humano
Miro a mi hermano
Trabajando sin papeles

Y miro al gringo traicionero
Dice, si, es mi hermano tambien,


Escusas y escusas, no nos tiran ni un hueso,
Gracioso como a gringolandia le vale todo excepto eso,

Dicen que quiere paz
Pero solo quiere mas

Pa que stop a la guerra, si vives bien en tu disfraz.

Nos llaman ilegales, nos dividen como latinos,
Pero verdaderamente, la verdad, es nosotros somos indios,

Nos llaman ilegales, nos dividen como latinos,
Pero verdaderamente, la verdad, es nosotros somos indios,

Indigenos, sobrevivientes, nuestra sangre grita: LUCHA
Pero, nos enseñaron a callar, en el camino va a ver muchas-

Personajes, mal amigos, intenciones intelectuales,
Hablan gran cuentos de los heroes, y gritan del doctor King,
Pero, sus amiguitos, los gringitos, lo mataron, o si??

Nos dicen, atrevidos, nos gritan por las calles.
Enemigos de todos, amigos de nadie.

Se olvidan de su pueblo, se olvidan de su sangre.

Yo peleo por mi gente, yo no confio en nadie.

Al final del cuento, moraleja, servidita,
No confies en los gringos
La colonizacion es droga maldita.

Mi nombre

Mi nombre es Mariella.
Pero en este pais
Ella fue lo unico que los gringos
Podian pronunciar

Y en el segundo año de secundaria
Me lo corté

Snip snip

Mi nombre es Mariella, como mi mami.
Cuando le dije adios a ella, le dije adios a mi nombre tambien-yo no me acuerdo

Yo no recuerdo

Mucho de mi pais. Solo pedazos y secretos.

Mi nombre es Mariella, pero me llaman Ella. El nombre de mujeres mas oscuras y mas valientes que yo, el nombre de cantantes, el nombre de poetas.

Naci en el dia que nacio Maya.
Naci en el dia que murio el doctor.

Algun dia
Tal vez
Me pegare mi nombre, de nuevo

Algun dia
Tal vez
Me mirare en el espejo de nuevo

Y no mirare a las cicatrices, sino, mas bien, a la sangre no derramada.

Y besaré mis pies.

Old love poem: Mountains

You ran away, to the mountains with me, and there you whispered a secret.
That, the world as we know it, would some day stop.
And, that we would stop too, within it.
I grabbed your hand, and we jumped off a cliff, and the moon ‘s gaze was too late to catch us.
How presumptuous of me to assume that the world would heal from just one person’s actions.

We ran away, from the mountains within me, and there, I told you my secret.
That the world would not stop, but pause, with or without you and me.
I grabbed your hand, and we jumped, but this time, somehow, wings magically sprouted.
Life teaches lessons, and sometimes we listen, and sometimes we’d rather stay grounded.

We held our hands, together, as we flew towards time.
But the winds are so heavy,
and I’m so so afraid,
I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet.

You ran away, from the mountain and me. You ran away with my secret. Not as a thief, but as a whisperer.

Tell me, what is my secret?

Love Song of #CC16

The truth is I don’t care
If you call me undocumented
Or illegal

If you call me
Queer or Fag

If you call me
And do call me
But would you call the cops on me?
Would you see me as a threat
If I walked down your neighborhood

And who were you to decide how the rest of the world
Would react to my body, to my skin, to my voice,

And they call us all out, only to call us all in

Telling me

I’m fragile, protect me.

When did I have that choice?

When we marched in that hotel, and they grabbed us, and held us, and the fear in their eyes said that my body and my voice was more precious than their anger, when you looked into my eyes.

You looked into my eyes.

You looked into my eyes.

And you said “run”

I keep thinking of that night, and of the other night, and of the other night, and of the hurt that overtakes me every time they arrest one of us, and my mama is so scared, and I lie and tell her there’s nothing to fear, but the truth is Mami, they don’t need to lock us up.

We’re already chained up.
We’re already locked up.

My dreams were always tragic.
My legs are always running.
My mind is always screaming.

Fuck the borders, in Palestine, in everywhere,

The political correctness of it all tells me to be more inclusive,
Well, fuck inclusive
Fuck safe spaces

You promised us safety
then you invited ICE
You promised us safety
then you invited zionists
You promised us safety
then you called the cops
You promised accountability
I don’t see no apologies.

How ridiculous to be running from the cops
just two floors up from a workshop about

Bang Bang
is not a metaphor
you gave us condoms
you talk about gayness
like it’s a joke, a game
another night, another day

which it is, we have fun
but truth is, we’re dying.

Truth is,
more than
planning a family
more than testing
my safety
I’d like
to plan for a world
in which families
can be safe.

Truth is
you can call me out
you can let me go
you can let me in

But, would you call the cops on me?