I wrote this poem in november of 2023.
I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone
most people look at her with curiosity
some people are horrified
my family cringes and and whispers to me,
“it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy”
I get mad and flip everyone off
and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way
to share her story and create drama and chaos
who cares if no one understands our process
of how sharing her story is the key to my recovery
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I’m going to surrender myself to the source
to find my meaning and purpose in the universe
It doesn’t matter how many times I whine or bitch
about how hard this recovery is-
it’s going to be worth it-
and I’m going to look back on this journey
and will be glad I took my time
and didn’t try to jump any steps to get to where I’m supposed to be
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
I give you a yard and you give me an inch-
it’s a game of back and forth nonsense
one where I respect your unspoken boundaries
and need for space
until one day the push back from you
pulled back into a dark place I haven’t been in a while
a place where my confidence breaks, a place where I start to question my worth
a place when my sense of self breaks once again
and I know right there and then, it’s better to give up
whatever this was
I’ve outgrown men who send me mixed signals
I wrote this in september of 2023.
The ME from June of 2014 sends me a message and asking, where are you?
I tell her, life didn’t go as planned-you’re divorced and looking for a place for your ex
but your kids are thriving-your oldest son has his driver’s license and is on his last semester
Of accounting at Athens Tech-
Your middle son will graduate from high school this year-
and your baby is now taller than you and becoming his own person
You’re working 2 jobs and you’re a citizen now and you’ve been to therapy
to learn healthier coping mechanisms-
you even drive now-you’re independent as fuck and live life on your own terms
you’ve even been to Peru twice-
You’re learning to follow your intuition and how use discernment in your choices
in how you live your life-
you’ve discovered your values underneath everything society brainwashed into you
and at the end of the day all you want be is a good mom and a good person
that’s the extent of your life’s purpose-
now that we know who we are
our next step is to plan the future we want-
we’ll keep on thriving girl-you were the go getter and determined woman in me
Even among one of my greatest depressions
You still got up and followed your passions-
And you laid the foundation-we’ll be okay-I promise
I’ll make you proud of me-
Love patty
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
the outline of her body in the middle of the road-
told the most tragic of stories
she wasn’t looking when she crossed the street
she was lost in her thoughts
and the driver speeding didn’t see her
and splat went her body
death came quickly to her
her last thought was mission accomplished
but the world thought
another victim of an unexpected and tragic circumstance
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
in my literary war chest lies a lifetime of love failures,
insecurities about motherhood and confusion about my identity
in my literary war chest lies unfiltered thoughts about grief
for everything I never was and potential unfulfilled
in my literary war chest lies the answers to how I survived
Catastrophe after catastrophe-
In my literary war chest lies proof of my strength and resilience
in the worst of times
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.
As I let go of my limiting beliefs,
I grieve the woman I used to be
so insecure and unsure of herself
so hesitant to take control and power
Overthinking and catastrophizing constantly
it held me back from living the life of my dreams-
Jealousy and envy filled me up
Scrolling the professional and personal successes
of others on social media
Thinking, “that could have been me”
and giving too much important to the opinions of others
wondering constantly-
“are they judging me?”
It was an toxic story I told myself since the age of 16
and it continued on and on until one day in my middle age
I exploded and decided to fight my inner critic
and challenge everything I thought was wrong with me
slowly I learned to turn my story around
Slowly I went from victim to heroine
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
In my car-I scream, sing, write, and cry
I dissociate to my radio-blasting out Conan Gray
I can be as crazy I as want to be-
without the fear of being judged or talked about
the seat is molded to my petite frame
perfect for meditation
or for allowing myself to fall into my insanity
makes videos about how beautiful life is-
or how I no longer want to participate in it
my car used to feed into my deepest fears
and insecurities
but now I worship it
if it wasn’t for this sacred space away
from my office and home
I don’t know how I would cope
when the intensity of my thoughts
knock on my mind’s door
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
fragments of who I was weave in and out of my prose and poetry-
I keep trying to honor the old me
when she comes back with my insecurities
and reminds me of how I constantly screw up anything
resembling love
I no longer shame her or call her the worst version of me-
she was just trying to navigate life not understanding
she was an undiagnosed hurricane of emotions-
that couldn’t control or manage
She didn’t go to therapy or know about DBT
And she’s still full of grief for the life she couldn’t live-
so she keeps on showing up trying to shake up
my newfound confidence and power
it’s her version of jealousy, and I walk with her for a while
Console her, and let her know how because of her
I did the work, and now she can feel happiness and joy through me
I will forever be grateful to her and pay tribute to her when I tell her story
aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Vete de Aqui
We’ve lost our beginner’s luck and now see who we really are
two incompatible souls too stubborn to be alone
and let go of our made up illusion of love
and between our uncomfortable silences,
your distant demeanor, and my growing resentment
it’s better to close our chapter of love
before I start to really hate you
let’s end this while we can still walk away as friends
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I’m tired of same repetitive compliments
You’re so pretty, so sexy and if they’re really “trying”
you’re BEAUTIFUL
but never in my life
have i been call a masterpiece, intelligent,
or have I been told that I inspire poetry?
and old lonely me would entertain
these flimsy lust or love possibilities
kept my standards low to keep my bed warm
and to escape my chronic emptiness
but after almost a year of solitude
my standards have been raised to the ceiling
and now I’m protective of my energy
anyone who wants to get near me
will have to make a solid effort
write me poetry, take me out to steak dinners
and buy me pretty dresses and notebooks
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I grew up too quickly in some areas and remained a child in others –
it’s a truth that I hate to admit
it wasn’t my parents’ fault
they did the best with what they had –
an extra sensitive child with medical issues
it was too much for them to handle
when they were trying their best to keep their own heads above water
there was no extra time for the extra needs and demands I had
and while middle age holds space to have compassion for them
I still need to reparent my inner child
who comes out in the most inoportune of time
and has caused terrible havoc and harmed others
but it’s not her fault or mine
It happens sometimes, and now I’m taking the time
to nurture her so she can finally grow up
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I try my best to take delight in my life and enjoy everything good
but fuck it, if I have to be honest with myself-
sometimes the depression gets the best of me
and I drink and write sad and pathetic things
about how I want to cut my wrists and watch the blood leave my body
maybe I’m just embracing the cliche of being a tortured artist
or my darkness needs a place to fucking go-
at least I’m now acknowledging it instead of suppressing it-
and I almost spiral into a cycle of self loathing
but instead say “fuck it- this is who I fucking am sometimes”-
An emo girl caught up in her trauma and hormones-
Wait-how did this poem turn into–
Oh yeah-the prompt delight
well whatever this is its the best drunk and depressed me has to give
to my creativity tonight
What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?
I’ve taken off my mask and stop repressing my true self-
And while it’s terrifying at times, I show the world my authenticity
and vulnerability
I share the parts of my story that are terrible, happy, sad, lovely, crazy, beautiful, and tragic
so others don’t feel alone and find solidarity
in my chaotic and bicultural story of love, rage, defeat, hate, and resilience
And bring to light my rich and vivid experience of the duality of being a rooted and rootless,
Peruvian and American, a hateful and kind woman living her life fearlessly and shamelessly
4/24/23
Life on the BPD 