I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m looking for the rhythm of a new heartbeat to fall in love with
A heartbeat that goes with the flow of my intense intimacy
A heartbeat who doesn’t call me angel or princess
only calls me by my name
a heartbeat who’ll fall in love with the real me
and not the idea they have of me
or the persona I play on social media
A heartbeat who can handle my crazy and chaos
A heartbeat who accepts and understands me
and never tries to change me
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
me and my family have immigration jokes for day on end
and some of my friends think that’s sick and awful
but its one of the only things
that helps me and my family keep our sanity
in Trump’s American is making fun of our misery and misfortune
it’s how we’ve survived generations of corrupt governments
and wannabe dictators
its how we’ve passed resilience and strength to future generations
sure, we may cry at first as the life we’ve worked hard for
starts falling apart and our plans for the future are shattered
because of a few megarich and corrupt maga idiots
who run our government
but right after we wipe our tears and break out in jokes
and laughter
especially now that what’s supposed to be the land of the free
gets more and more fascist
and we swim closer and closer to nazi waters
the only thing we can do is try to find a way to smile, to laugh,
to find a bit of joy no matter how fucked up in may seem
in this dystopian clusterfuck
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
next time, next time, next time
I won’t live in the should haves,
could haves, would haves
next time, next time, next time
I’ll live in my present
and not in my past or future
next time, next time, next time
I won’t feel useless, worthless
or like I’m not enough
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
rose gold cross ripped from her neck
handcuffs cutting into her smalls wrists
mami and papi can’t explain why
they’re nowhere to be found
she thought officers were supposed to be good people
but they hurl insults at her and call her a criminal
and at 10 she can hardly grasped
the severity of the situation
they tell her over and over again
“we’re taking you back to where you came from”
and it’s beyond her compression
because her birth certificate says Illinois
because America is the only home she’s ever known
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
I’m pregnant, it’s yours, I want to keep it
I start crying
“Just get rid of it you tell me
he fairytale died that day
I’m at your apartment drunk
And you;re drunk, we fight, then we kiss
And you take me in-but then you feel guilt
And kick me out I
The fairytale died that day
I’m at your apartment
I want to hold you and kiss you
I yearn for you
You imply I can’t be trusted
The fairytale died that day
escribi este poems en febrero del 2025.
la incertidumbre ha sido mi lección más grande en mis últimos 5 años
Nunca sabiendo qué hacer cuando un terremoto emocional
me va a sacudir violentamente
tratando de buscar propósito por el dolor y el duelo
tratando de hacer arte de esto
Algunos dicen que era alquimia y magia
pero yo pienso que alguna palabra o concepto
que todavía no ha sido descubierto
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
Don’t fall in love with me he said to me
right after he got off from me
he wanted to make sure I didn’t get the wrong idea
So he dotted his I’s and T’s of casual fucking
And I didn’t go into a love hysteria
But it was already too late
My intense emotions couldn’t wait
“I love him, he’s my love king”
I was already thinking
the truth is
No one can control a borderline’s mind
And it’s not his fault of mine
that I catch feelings easily
even when you use me sexually
It won’t matter what you say
My mind won’t be swayed
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
Diseased hip evicted, shiny aluminum to replace it
6 inch scar needed to better my life
80 minutes of the Drs doing their magic
Cutting into me and making me whole
a recovery period of 6 weeks or so they say
third time trying to fix my hip
hopefully the third time is a charm
all of this just for being born broken,
Damaged and different
everyone admires my strength and resilience
and all I dream about is one day not being defined
by everything I’ve had to overcome,
of ne day not being called resilient
and being seen as more than the turmoil
I’ve had to endure and over come
I wrote this in February of 2021.
The winds of defiance rules my heart
I love someone I shouldn’t
Who stirs up hate and love
within me
I feel underwhelmed
by everything wonderful
in my life
The winds of defiance rule my heart
And I shouldn’t want to run
from my beautiful lover
and yet I want to
And I desire danger and intensity
even if what I really need
is peace and calm
Write about your first computer.
Excitement over our new computer
I can’t wait to get into those yahoo and aol chatrooms
I’ll bet I’ll meet someone and maybe even fall in love
maybe I’ll have better luck find a man online
than I have in real life
maybe the man I find will stay and become
my soulmate
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
burning house, no way out
Stuck in bed as I call out for help
no one comes, as the flame gets closer
and closer to me
and there is no way out, is this the end of me
am I about to meet God or Satan or worse
end up in purgatory
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Mason like the jar was his name
being a fuckboy was his game
He tried to act wise beyond his 23 years
But he was still wet behind his ears
He thought he could deceive me
and lies and lies and lies he told me
told me he lived with a roommate
when it was really his soul mate
He wanted his ice cream and cake
but I saw through his con game
And right away I stopped our lust filled affair
My respect I needed to firmly declare
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
wrap me up in your sunshine
and allow me to feel your warmth
melt down my frigid walls
with your fire
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Nobody knew about our sexcapade
You were a temporary escape
From the emptiness and loneliness
I felt in my suburban adolescence
Nobody knew about me and you
Until I could no longer hide
the living creature inside
Nobody knew about me and you
Until my belly grew and grew
And half of it was you
Nobody knew about our short fling
Until one day I had to sing
I’m pregnant with a stranger’s baby
No,he’ll never be the one or even a maybe
I wrote this poem in January of 2025.
I no longer believe in forevers
or happily ever afters
too many times I’ve been
let down by love
too many times love has
run through my hands
like water
Life on the BPD 