I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
my exes should all get a participation trophy
for dating me, for marrying me,
for putting up my madness
for becoming muses of my poetry
unwillingly, unintentionally
for surviving the rollercoaster
that is me
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
I hope this story is buried for a final time
and you don’t pop up again
and I have to play whack an asshole
once again
blocking you on yet another platform
would the universe be kind enough this time
for it to be good riddance forever
cause I’m tired of my past mistakes
to constantly come out of nowhere
to disturb my present
I wrote this poem in June of 2024. It was inspired by the disappearance of little Latina girl in my area that I didn’t feel was getting enough media attention.
I pray for the little brown girl lost in Gainesville
the one that’s my son’s age
the one that looks like my sister at that age
the one who has my mami’s name
I pray she’s found alive
I pray that she finds warmth in her parents
arms soon
I pray more of a big deal is made out of
her disappearance
and she’s found quickly
because I’m sure that if this little girl
had been a jonbenet look alike
more would have been done to find her
and bring her back to her family
her community
that’s been missing her greatly
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
a glass of champagne in my hand as I raise a toast
who I used to be
a woman mentally ill and needy
a woman who gave men easy access to her hips
a woman who thought intimacy could only be created
and felt in between her sheets
we say goodbye to the his woman lovingly
as we usher a new era of me
a woman who knows her worth
and won’t settle of anything less
than she deserves
There is a border around you
Cemented with callousness
Every now and then
I see glimpses of good-
Within you
But only on the nights
When you are drunk and lonely
Only the nights
When you want my skin
To cover yours
You give me orgasms
And sweet compliments
And fill me up with lies-
And the day after
Your border is closed
Its impenetrable
So hard to break through
So hard to keep loving you
So I give up
Every time I TRY
To chisel a little at it
My heart hurts
and breaks a little more
So I”ll stop trying to break through
No matter how happy you make me
For a few hours
You’re not worth
Days, weeks, and months
Of misery
Again and again and again
-I let you back in
You take me in passionately
and intensely
And without thinking
I’m back in your arms
And for the briefest of moments
I believe you love me
Loneliness makes one blind
To the sad reality
You just like the convenience of my hips
Lust makes one blind
To the hard truth
You just like to use
The warmth of my body
To covers yours
At your leisure
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I look forward to the day when I’m no longer known as the writer with BPD
when I no longer make my mental illness a part of my brand
when I’m no longer dependent on my ex husband
and antipsychotics to survive
when I finally start to resemble something like a normal person
and not the vehement emotional mess I usually am
Appearances were kept well for 15 years
the husband, the salaried job, the 3 offsprings
I pretended like everything was fine
And yet there were ominous signs
I never felt like my authentic self
and always felt false
I tried on this so called suburban bliss
and mediocres routines
but knew it just wasn’t me
So I ended up in profound misery
And one day I wanted to forever sleep
To forget my mediocre reality
I took 15 numb feeling pills
one for every pseudo happy year
I wanted to slip into a forever dream
to never wake to my false stability
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
you could have been my forever muse, my forever thot
But like the others before you
you don’t know what to do with a woman like me
maybe my ingenuity is to blame for this
wanting to live in a delusional daydream of love
instead of grounding myself in reality
and radically accepting love is just a four letter word
in my vocabulary that wrecks and ruins my sanity
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I wanted to kill my sex drive so I stopped taking buspar
and while my sex drive has finally waned
the side effects are slowly killing me
between the mental fog, the constant headaches,
the nausea followed by the loss of appetite
there’s a reason they tell you to wean slowly
from psychiatric drugs, to do it under the care
of a medical provider
stopping cold turkey lends to a spiral of madness
and a physical ailment I never intended
I painted myself as pretty picture
And neatly put my myself
in a pretty little box
that he could take out
and open at his convenience
I painted myself as a pretty picture
and left out my ugly and temperamental nature
because I didn’t want him to leave
I painted myself as a pretty picture
for him to admire and love as it pleased him
and I ended up leaving out the real me
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
for once I want to be missed, for once I want to be remembered
for once I want to feel valuable and worth effort
but it’s a fantasy I need to let go of
it’s a dream that will never come true
it’s time to grow up and plant my feet firmly on the ground
acknowledge my worth and hold onto my pride and dignity
and stop chasing delusions and daydreams
aside for all of the inspiration
it’s never gotten me anywhere
I told myself “no expectations”
“Just use him for a short time”
That’s all he’ll be good for
But his words, his gaze
His hands, his lips
Felt like home the first night
This can’t be happening
This can’t be real
This isn’t who I want to be with
But my heart wouldn’t listen
To the logic in my head,
The advice from my friends
I had the first hit and I needed to go back-
I feel like a pathetic drug addict-
I told myself “no expectations”
And yet a year later-
Here we still are in our
Intense and passionate love affair
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
saw you and knew right away there wouldn’t be a second date
thought I made that apparent enough at the end
but 3 years later you send me a snap to ask me
if I’m still interested
Sorry
but the woman you met is no longer who I used to be
maybe you had a chance with her
but the new me-she’s careful who she gives access to
the new me has cut off any strings left
from the old life the old me use to live
Healthy is boring
When you only know
pain, strife, and destruction
from those who claim to love you
Healthy is boring
when toxicity and chaos
and insecurity
ruled previous relationships
Healthy is boring
when “love” was a word
that held me hostage
to previous lovers
Healthy is boring
when for the first time
with a lover
you feel a sureness
With him
And you feel like you’re enough
Life on the BPD 