I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
this is an updated version of the 2006 poem, “nachos and cheese”
nachos and cheese makes my tummy oh so happy
satisfies my craving for something salty
my taste buds are greatly aroused
as the cheese melts in my mouth
and I grow dizzy with glee
becoming a victim to my gluttony
my taste buds grow greedy for more
even my blood pressure soars
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
we gather here tonight
to share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves
through poems written on a whim, in cars,
inspired by dreams and tragedies
and everything in between
some of it will be meaningful
some of it will be nonsense
most of the time, it will be someone
trying to make sense of the world
with a few phrases and sentences
clumsily strung together
and calling it poetry
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=11706
llévame a recorrido de tu utopía
del cual tu siempre hablas
el sitio donde no hay trastornos
Mentales
donde todos nos quedamos dormidos
sin la necesidad de tranquilizantes
el cual a todos se le tratan con respeto
y son celebrados por ser diferentes
y no son marginados
o insultados
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
You must be a magician
because you make me feel things
I’ve shut the door to,
you make me want to write
the most terrible and cringy poems
about love
you must be a magician
because I can’t stop thinking
about you
because even though I said never again
here I am obsessing over another man
this poem is inspired by the 2006, “let’s go to your store”
take me on a tour of your utopia
the one you always talk about
the one where mental illness doesn’t exist
and we all go to sleep without the need
of meds and sleepytime tea
the one where everyone is respected
and being different is celebrated
and not used as fodder for insults or war
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
you donate to endless non profits, sit on boards of organizations
that want to bridge communities together,
you volunteer at the soup kitchen or as a mentor
for underprivileged at risk kids
you share your stories of trauma
and you do all of this telling yourself
I want to help others
I want to be a healing light
this cesspool of a world desperately needs
and despite dozens of explanations
I’ll ask you
are you doing it to help others
or are you doing it to fuel your ego?
are you doing out of the purest of intentions
to make a difference
or to make yourself feel better
about your mediocre first world privilege existence?
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
Reddit wants to make sure I’m real and not a spam bot
and even I ask myself this today
as I feel completely numb
as I feel like my emotions are turned off
And I’m a new kind of mellow
the kind of mellow that’s a zombie
functioning and existing with a stoic demeanor
feeling completely detached from who I truly am
over medicated and toned down
to barely subtle static and white noise
Is this what it’s like to be normal?
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem, “the horsefly stood on her shrug”.
blankness spills across her pretty face
no distinction between her and the marble
her hands and feet are still
watches herself say the right words
and make the appropriate gestures
nothing makes sense in this moment
rage burns inside of her
she smiles and nods politely
as they talk about the weather
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
the downpour from this morning made me uber emotional
driving through a flood, trying to not lose control of my car
and with God by my side and Olivia Rodrigo on the radio I made it to work
the downpour didn’t stop
and my coworker mentioned it was an upside world when the morning
looks like evening
and the dreadful weather triggered the on switch to my depression
and out pours the thoughts about grief and death
the downpour of my emotions started and nothing could stop it
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=11683
las salas de chat de aol sirven su propósito
para la atención que le falta en su hogar
lentamente lacie se vuelve una adicta a validación
con su combinación de pobre autoestima
y locura
ella nunca se ha sentido suficiente
usa su belleza y cuerpo para sentirse completa
nadie la para y la cuida
y ella tiene un de citas con extraños
en sus asientos traseros
con solo 16, ella se siente poderosa
disfruta del placer y atención temporaneo
después de la escuela y los fines de semana
sus amigas cubren por
nunca piensa en las consecuencias
siempre dejándose llevar por el momento
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
I channel the luchadoras before me
the ones who had to work in the chacras
to provide for their families,
the ones who had to work with their bare hands
to build generational wealth
the ones who survived infidelities, abuse, and tragedies
and still came out on top as Queens
the ones who never had the option to lay down
and princess to be doted on, be taken care of
they had to become working class luchadoras
for the betterment of themselves
and their families
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem “racy lacie”
aol chatrooms serves her purpose
for attention and validation
slowly Lacy become a love junkie
with a combo of low self worth
and undiagnosed mental illness
she never feels like she’s enough
so she uses her beauty and her body
to search of wholeness
no one thinks to stop her
or monitor what she’s doing online
has plenty of dates with strange men
in parking lots
at 16, she feels on top of the world
sneaking hits of lust
After school and on weekends
using her friends to cover for her
never thinking of the consequences
and always living for the moment
I wrote this poem in January of 2024 for my friend Rosie who died in 2023.
it was a wintry and rainy day in Georgia when last goodbyes were exchanged
between you and and your boys
you were thousands of miles away in Texas, in your hospice bed
I imagine you were full of peace in your last conscious moments
finding comfort in your faith and accepting this was part of God’s plan
but I-I carried rage that you were leaving everyone behind
rage your husband would become a widower, rage your sons would grow up without a mom
rage for the grief of everyone who would have to live without you
rage that on the 29th of June, there wouldn’t be a random happy birthday from you
for William, Miguel and all of the babies in our July mommy group born on that date
rage that I didn’t get to know you better
and that rage broke my brain, and I drove without a destination
maybe it was your spirit that led me back to the safety of my boys
but almost a year later
I still carry that rage of how I don’t understand why God took you
you who still had more than love to give and receive
you who was the warmth of a sunny day in human form
What was the purpose of your sudden departure?
this is inspired by the 2006 poem, “did I ask for your advice”
well meaning unsolicited advice and opinions from others
Made me feel like I was a failure
like I wasn’t doing enough to better myself
it always comes after a life changing event-
a new baby, marriage, and most recently my divorce
In my 20s it drove me crazy
In my 40s I nod, smile, take whatever is helpful
and move on
Life on the BPD 