I wrote this about the great breakup of 2001. I guess part of the reason why I reacted the way I did was because my ego took a big hit. I mean, I’m already a person that has identity and self esteem issues and each breakup triggers a feeling of worthlessness inside that’s hard to get rid of.
You’ll never know How much you’ve hurt me so You’ll never see The mess you’ve made of me You’ll never hear The words “ I love you dear” You’ll never ever find out That loving you was what I was about
For I am too damn proud To admit I was a fool out loud For I have too much pride To ever let you see me cry For I have too much dignity To ever let you return to me For I have too much respect To ever let you turn me into a wreck
I wish I could’ve spent more time picking up a hobby than writing all of this salty poetry about this dude. LMAO. This is of course another poem inspired by the “great breakup of 2001”.
I wish I could Forget all of you And take back the time Spent loving you I wish I could make you see All of the misery you caused me I wish I could make you feel My pain that is so extremely real I wish I could see you hurting It would be something I would take comfort in I wish I could just not care But life isn’t always fair
I wrote this in 2001 about the great breakup. Looking back at this I almost BUT I’m glad that at the time I was resourceful enough to turn to write poetry instead of doing more self destructive things. My favorite phrase from my 20 year old self is “low scum ho”. Damn, I was salty. LMAO.
Thank you for letting me know I was with some low scum ho Thank you for making me see He was just using you and me Thank you for making me realize My lover was just telling me lies Thank you for driving me into this misery I really thought he cared for only me But most of all, Thank you for taking this burden off me he didn’t deserve someone as good as me
This is yet another poem inspired by the great breakup of 2001. Most likely, I wrote this poem right after it happened as I still raw processing what happened.
I was stubborn and I got burned by not believing that you were deceiving there were many signs but my heart refused to resign it didn’t want to conceive of the notion that your love was a distortion now I sit in disbelief at how wrong you done me I’m so much better off I know even though it’s almost impossible to let you go so it’s forever goodbye to your twisted love that was a big lie
This was another poem written in early 2001 about Paul. All I can say is that at least I didn’t go on to write more than a few poems about this breakup. I probably wrote this during the time we were attempting a “pseudo friendship”. I remember getting nauseated and sick every time after I got off the phone with him. This really was the last poem I wrote about him.
Upset, angry, frustrated Are some of the things I feel When I come in contact with Your miserable self
Depressed, miserable, pessimistic is what I’ve become You walked away
Happy, gleaming, glowing is what you are your miserable piece of scum
It’s unfair,unjust, not right That fate led me to someone Who would cause me so much raw pain
When me and my family first immigrated to the U.S in September of 1986; Thanksgiving was a foreign concept to us. We were introduced to Thanksgiving by our extended family members who were seasoned veterans in celebrating this American Holiday. I was 5 when I immigrated to this country so my memories of our first or second Thanksgiving are pretty blurry.
What I do remember is going to my uncle’s house where my aunts, uncles and numerous cousins would gather. My mother sat with my aunts and grandmother while they shared the latest chisme (aka-gossip) while they cooked and later on served dinner to the kids and the men. Yay for machismo culture <insert sarcasm>. My father and my uncles drank together while they joked around. I remember playing with my cousins or following my sister upstairs with our teenage cousins to the bedroom with the TV to watch music videos with George Michael ,Rick Astley blasting on MTV. Maybe that’s how I acquired my sometimes basic taste in music.
I also remember that since we were away from adults, our cousins took the opportunity to teach me and my sister all of the bad words in English. Haha. Another fond memory that comes to mind is the newest babies being passed around the aunts or the older female cousins. There wasn’t such a thing as asking permission from the parents for their baby unless of course the child is being nursed. I also remember hating the taste of turkey. It tasted like rubber to me.
There was warmth and laughter in this idyllic setting of Thanksgiving but that’s not the whole picture. There was also unpleasantness. My mom is one of nine children and with that many personalities; there was no way to avoid drama when all of them gathered in one space. There were more than a few petty conflicts between family members on Thanksgiving and other holidays gatherings.
My mother decided after a couple of Thanksgivings it would be better to celebrate Thanksgiving at home by ourselves. So my mother learned how to season and make a turkey and stuffing. Instead of the traditional green bean casserole or sweet potato pie; our sides were Peruvian Potato Salad and Macaroni Salad accompanied by Peruvian Hot Chocolate and Dad’s famous alcoholic Peruvian eggnog. We would watch movies rented from the local video store while we waited for the turkey to be ready. When my dad started getting tipsy, he would start playing Spanish Christmas Carols, Huaynos, and Musica Criolla. It was music that my teenage sister would cringe at and me and my brother would tolerate. I didn’t realize then but I do realize now that my father was in his own way trying to make sure that we wouldn’t forget our roots as we were living this new life in America. My parents tried their best to make sure that our strong Peruvian culture and traditions were not forgotten as we acclimated to the the new Americanized way of living. When dinner was ready, we would sit down at the table. I ,being the youngest and most impressionable by my then Catholic School upbringing, would ask the family to say a prayer and ask them to say something they were thankful for. I think I was seven or eight at the time but I guess my parents thought it was a good tradition to start. And of course, my siblings would get annoyed but they did it.
Despite those first few Thanksgivings when we lived very much under the poverty line; it was still a happy time for us as a family. My parents made sure that Thanksgiving was almost always filled with warmth, love, and laughter. One could say that what Thanksgiving meant to my newly arrived immigrant family then was learning how to incorporate our culture into a new American holiday like Thanksgiving. While my parents understood the importance of assimilation; they still made sure me and my siblings didn’t forget our culture. Today, I’m filled with gratitude that my parents brought the best of both cultures to Thanksgiving and most holidays in their own unique way. I’ve been able to bring these bicultural traditions to my own family while also making new traditions.
This was another poem about Paul. The first guy that would break my heart via email. I still don’t understand what was so hard about picking up the phone. Then, again, I might be a hypocrite saying that. Lol.
I need to be alone right now was your excuse Never your intention to hurt me Was what you said I’m still in love with her was what you meant Meaningless piece of ass was what I meant to you
So I really needed therapy then. Hahaha. This is another salty poem from the great breakup of 2001.This poem is obviously directed at “S” ex-wife who let me know he was cheating on me. Thinking back on it now, I was pretty cruel to the poor girl on the phone. Any anger I had felt should been directed at him and not her. She was in the same situation I was in.
So you got my man Thank you for getting him off my hands So you think he loves you It’s just a line to fuck you So you think I still want him I could care less about such a sorry thing So you think you are meant to be You are blind too, I see So you think he’s the real deal He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel So you think you’re lucky You got yourself another false story So you think I’m saying this because I’m super pissed Nah, I’m saying this cause you’re another girl on his growing list
Escribi este poema en el 2001. Estaba bien enojada y triste. Me sentia abandonada.
Dime que paso ¿Por qué rompiste nuestro lazo de amor? Dime que hice yo. Que me dejaste con este llanto Dime porque te fuiste Tu no sabes el daño que me hiciste Dime qué tiene ella Que ni siquiera dejaste tus huellas Dime que ya no me amas Y no te veo jamas Dime adios para siempre Y quítame estos amorosos lentes.
Another poem written about the great breakup of 2001. This is a great example of my black and white thinking that comes with having BPD. LMAO.
I thought you were kind I never thought you would destroy after a short time I thought you loved me I never thought you would betray me I thought we were meant to be I never thought you would cheat on me I thought I was the only one you cared about I never thought lying was what you were about I thought you were my dream come true I never thought you weren’t being true I thought I could put my trust in you I never thought you would make me so blue
I wrote this poem in 2002 about Brad, my former friend who lied to me for about a decade. Before I wrote this poem, we had met up maybe once and fooled around. After that, I tried to make it go back to a platonic friendship but he kept pressuring me for more.
I feel so fucking bad My dear friend Brad I know that you were displeased I never meant for to think I was a tease But I can no longer be that girl That doesn’t know her worth And is okay with being a “good lay” Sorry for not being able to be your booty call It’s just that I have learned That if I want respect I have to be firm I hope you’ll forgive me and understand And we can again be friends and hang