Escribí este poema en Mayo del 2022.
Distraída, distraída, distraída
siempre fui así
porque la fantasía siempre es mejor
que la realidad
porque necesitaba escapar la durez de mi vida
vivir en sueños es mejor que vivir la vida
que muchas veces me dejan rota y triste
con las desgracias que me pasan
distraída, distraída, distraída
siempre sere asi mientras tengo vida en mi
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/31/poetry-newfound-emptiness/
busco la adrenalina de amor en los brazos de otro
pero no siento nada cuando el me toca, cuando el me hace el amor
y finjo sentir algo para que el acabe
y me pueda levantar y irme a mi casa
donde lloro y lloro lágrimas inútiles
mientras escucho a Alejandro Sanz
y escribo poemas acerca de la soledad infernal
que vivo cada día que trato de superar
Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Month! I wrote this poem inspired by my favorite Asian American, my oldest son.
I was young and so stupid
a kid having another kid
but with you I grew up
and learned the meaning of love
you’re everything a mother could want
a wonderful and amazing son
and while I’ll feel some grief
the day you’ll your spread wings
I’ll feel a special kind of pride
as I watch you shine your golden light
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
I wonder where all of my money goes
but then I go home to the bottomless pits
that are my kids
and then I go upstairs to my bedroom
where my closet is exploding with clothes
and then I look under bed full of shoes
and then I go downstairs to my record player
and looks at my various vinyls
and we won’t even talk about my newly
acquired furniture from Amazon
now I understand
my money goes to my busy life
and my BPD spending impulsivity
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/25/cant-forget/
vivo de recuerdos y sueños de lo que alguna vez fuimos
y quisiera morir que vivir en esta soledad opaca y amarga
donde lloro lagrimas que tu nunca veras
y escribo cartas y poemas que tú nunca leerás
Happy International Workers Day! I wrote this poem a few years ago reflecting on what achieving my American dream looked like at the time.
I am a slave to the severe master
of capitalism and greed
Risking my mental and physical health
to get closer to the haves
New car, new therapist–
Am I closer to the American dream yet?
Capitalism and greed has become my religion
The curse of consumerism some say
The curse of wanting better for me I say
Greed and capitalism–
is the American way
for my American Dream
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
Fuck you, fuck me, fuck everyone
Is my mood stabilizer working yet?
and fuck, fuck, fuck my brain chemistry
it makes me so angry and crazy
Sometimes I’d rather feel nothing
than constantly feeling everything
Between my anxiety, depression, bipolar
And bpd
I can’t trust my brain to tell me the difference
between right and wrong
I can’t trust my heart if my feelings are valid
or if it’s inner critic preying on my insecurities
on day likes this I’d rather disappear
because being me gets so exhausting
Life on the BPD 