I wrote the poem in August of 2023.
I reach out to my unhealed parts when they show up
they’re the messy and crazy parts I hide
the parts that still long to be codependent on others
and are terrified of my new autonomy
the parts that try to bleed into my present
and prevent me from reaching my fullest potential
I reach out, embrace them and whisper
“Our story will be better than okay,
we just need to trust the process”
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
I’m comfortable in the land of i don’t know
and allow the universe and the source
tell me what I need
And i fall into faith and hope
that things will work out
no matter how many unexpected crooked left turns
I take
no matter how many times I’m met
with obstacles and challenges
it’s all used to build my strength and resilience
It’s all used to fill me up with wisdom
to take risks and live life fearlessly and unapologetically
to find my own happy ending
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
I hold my head up high now
no matter what happens
I will never allow anyone
to ever again dim or extinguish my light
I now understand the magic I hold within
and how it can be intimidating
to some people who can’t understand it
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
Trust in love is a concept lost to me
I can’t imagine giving my heart to anyone else
I can’t imagine being vulnerable with anyone else
and it’s insanity to keep allowing myself to trust and love
when all I do is lose, lose, lose
I don’t know how to cope when a love song stops
while I’m still dancing
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
When I fall in love, I lose control, and I lose my power
and it’s painful
because now I have someone to lose
and I don’t deal with loss very well ever
and suddenly I’m all about them, them, them
be understanding, be sweet, be accepting
Be everything
I’ll go to the depths of hell and back for them
but most of the time, they won’t even cross the street for me
I wrote this poem in July of 2021.
Seeds of resentment and anger creeps up in my throat
Men who claim to care and love me just want to control me
And me, well i’m just a weak thing, a rag doll
To be used at their convenience,
Be a nice girl, be a good girl, be a sweet girl
Work hard and play by the rules of their game
Be kind, be submissive, be sexy
Seeds of resentment and anger creeps up in my throat
And I want to be burn them all down
With my actions, with my words, with a tweet
I can’t be controlled or stay submissive
For I am too powerful, too crazy, too opinionated
To be tied to this illusion and false idea
They want to have of me
I am a bitch, a vixen, a bad ass
I own my sexuality, my independence, my life
And no one, no one can ever own m
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
I don’t recognize the woman I was two years ago
and I’m most grateful for that
always dependant and clingy
always insecure, always settling for the trifles of attention
given to her by men
and never confident to share who she really was
always suffocating her needs and wants for the benefit of others
the woman I was two years ago didn’t know
the magical and powerful creature she was
and how even despite her issues
she was a heroine in the making
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence
clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women
about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is women’s empowerment
and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit
it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment
perhaps it’s because I’m a working class immigrant woman
who struggles in America
perhaps it’s because the rights of the marginalized and working class
are being ripped away from us
and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears
how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie
oh yeah, we worked together briefly
and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should
check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity
while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability
but I stop
this barbie isn’t worth my time or energy
it’s time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe
who only serves to trigger my working class rage
who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality
in this capitalistic and racist American society
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I want to fast forward to the version of me
who’s not always in her head
who’s not struggling to regulate her emotions
who’s not so fucking jaded and negative
when it comes to love
who’s not terrified of change
who doesn’t take things personally
I know, I know
I shouldn’t wish to be anyone else
and fully live and enjoy this version of myself
but lately, I’m having a hard time moving on
to the next level of my life
everything feels so comfortable
everything feels so peaceful
I’m scared to make any waves and return to chaos
even if I know it’s necessary to get to YOU
the future version of me who embraces change
with courage and bravery
Only this version of can dream of
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’ll leave an emotional stain on your life that will be hard to get rid of
You’ll curse the day I was born
You’ll regret the day you ever meet me
because I demand respect, because I’ll never be your safe place
because I’ll say “no” to being relegated to the role of mistress
and you’ll accuse me of being crazy and narcissist
just because I wanted to be treated with dignity
just because I want to be seen as more than another girl to pass the time with
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
it’s not romance, it’s harassment
placing me on your dream girl altar
and telling me about your boner
Even after I told you no
But then you still threw me your delusional love
and when I was honest right way
and I told you “I’m sorry but no”
somehow now I’m a crazy bitch,
a stranger
who’s letting her mental illness talk for her
after calling out your misogynistic behavior
All I said was no to you and the insults come on cue
I warned you, didn’t I and now foul, you cry
I told you I wasn’t ready for what you had to offer
but you kept playing the part of my great admirer
and maybe I’m fucked up in the head
but your fantasies I needed to behead
I needed to keep myself safe from men like you
who try to bully me into loving them
into giving in because your endless attention
and compliments
haven’t you read my story?
I’m not no longer a woman who bends and bends
to man’s thirst for me
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I’ve walked through the warzone of my love life long enough to know
when a bomb is about to explode (when I fall of some guy’s dream girl altar)
It’s a minefield full of suppressed feelings
consequences of accommodating to a man’s ego
And I’ll tread ever so carefully
I don’t want to be alone, I just want to be loved,
I’ll bend and bend until you call me Gumby
Except I’m not and then I’ll snap and another bomb will go off
“You’re crazy,” you’re dangerous” “ I don’t recognize you”
all for expressing my feelings and wanting respect and dignity
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I called you a villain in my book of lust and love
I never saw your humanity
I never understood how I played my part
in our chaotic and dysfunctional story of love
Instead it was easier to blame you over and over again
It was easier to play the victim
rather than try to accept you as the imperfect human that you are
Rather than to see how you never wanted a “we;
rather than to accept you just wanted someone sometimes
to not feel so lonely
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
you love me anxious,insecure, and a hot mess
and love to add fuel to my insecurities and fears
to keep me with you, to control me
and I try and try to break out of this toxic codependency
tied up in a box of good intentions
with your excuse that you know what’s best for me
when it’s holding me back from realizing my potential
from becoming the most powerful version of myself
it makes me wonder
did you ever really love me
or did you choose me on purpose to build up your ego?
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Our story needed to end and today feels like the definitive ending
You’ll never give me the consistency in love I need
And I’ll never birth the baby you wanted
We’re too different, we’re too alike
and I sarcastically and constantly ask myself “are we having fun yet”
Sometimes we did but most of the time I never understood where I stood
So block me and , forget me
You’ll never be enough for me and I’ll never be enough for you
Life on the BPD 