I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my craving for love has brought me to celestial heights of heaven
and the rock bottom of hell
at 40,I finally learned I suffered from the worst affliction
–a love addiction–
and time after time it tore me down
something had to change, something had to give
or else I’d end up jumping off a cliff
so I gave up love for a while
Until I could understand why it made me crazy
Until I knew how to not make myself a victim
in every single one of my love stories
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
In my children’s bible I was introduced to Jesus
and his love for everyone
I wanted to be like Jesus-
and love and accept everyone as they are
but I’m human and I can’t
especially as the years pass by
and I’m harmed by those who claim to love me
it’s when all of my dreams quickly dissipate
and slowly I grow bitter and full of mental illness
maybe this is my tragic destiny
from wannabe saint to a scorned woman
who only dreams of revenge
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I had to give up a lot of fun things in my life
to get to integration
an alcohol dependency, a shopping addiction,
Relationships and sex-
and the last thing was energy drinks
This was all for me to become the mom my kids
always deserved
it was needed for me to meet my higher self
who makes decisions with compassion and love
Instead of out of ego
It was needed for me to start living
in the most authentic way possible
and while I could dwell on all
of the fun things I lost
I now look at it as a blessing needed for clarity
and to make space for this new version of me
who no longer hides her jagged edges
for the comfort of others
Who loves who she is and no longer
Wants to be anyone else
Who finds peace in solitude
and is no longer scared of it
my integration of self costs me many things
I was addicted to
but it was worth it for the woman I am today
for the beautiful life I’m currently living
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
google makes collages of how I’ve compartmentalize my life
throughout the years-
next to a pic of me and my ex is a pic of me and my son
then a pic of me and my friend
for a long time these realities
couldn’t exist in one frame-
it was blasphemous in my mind
for one reality to bleed into another
I never understood how this was killing my sense of identity
and inner emotional stability
That old version of me wanted everything
kids, love, sex, fun, drugs, and alcohol
to be many different people at the same time
mother, vixen, friend, basket case
and everything in between
to be accepted, to loved
and all of this compartmentalization
lead to the worst inner chaos and turmoil
It was emotional torture
I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge
until one day I had a mental breakdown
because of it
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
breathing without a hint of romance is lonely but freeing
it’s a lesson of dialectics I never wanted to learn
it’s a lesson necessary for my recovery from BPD
it’s not good or bad, it’s what I must do to get better
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
the repetitive compliments, the gross flattery about your looks
no longer works on you-
You’re one “hey beautiful” from vomiting the contents of your lunch
all of these men state the obvious-you’re pretty
And they think it’s a way to get to closer to you
but you scream, “ew” and block them
it’s nothing against them, you just no longer have the luxury
of time to waste it on this type of nonsense to even think
about entertaining them
you’re outgrown that story
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I close and open my heart at my moods and hormones’ convenience
on a tightrope of vulnerability where I tend to fall off from
and I have a tendency to blame 80s and 90s music and movies
that taught me that if you’re good enough, if you’re pretty enough
the right guy will fall for you and you’ll get your happy ending
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
my exes are scared of me for good reason
too many times I’ve used their words,
even their emails as ammunition
in expressing myself in poetry
sometimes, it was for revenge
Many times, it was me just trying to heal
but I did warn most of them
–I’m a writer–and I’m crazy
they probably thought
“Oh how cute, a girl who writes a few verses”
they never understood how my wrath
showed up in my writing
until they leave and finally understand
they should have heeded my warning
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I’ve starved myself to make my mom, lovers, and even myself
so they’ll love and accept me
I’d go on extreme diets, skip meals,
over exercise until throwing up
and getting excited when the number on the scale
went down
and hating myself when it went up
never quite understanding there’s much more to me
than some arbitrary and unrealistic standard of beauty
I’ll never be able to attain
there’s much more to me than how I fill out a tight dress
and yet, I still check the scale every once in a while
to measure my worth
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
my past is clouded in shame over secrets
that were never my responsibilities
or a burden to bear
and all to keep up appearances
that we were a normal and happy family
and normal and happy families
don’t talk about addiction or mental illness
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
The invisible chains of my mental illness try to take away my joy
and enthusiasm but I shake off my chains
and live as fully as I can
Despite my anxiety,
Despite my depression,
Despite my BPD trying to grab hold of me
I no longer allow my inner demons rob me
of the goodness that universe has to offer me
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I drove on a one way street and didn’t even realize I was doing it
until a kind pedestrian pointed it out
and I was like “oh shit” and cringed at myself as I kept on driving
and my brain invoked the voice of my papi
“Idiota, estupida” and my blood pressure spiked
and I’m light headed from the embarrassment
Middle age and present me steps in quickly to fix this
I keep going and find a parking spot
and step out still flushed from the verbal beating
my inner child just took
even after I fixed my mistake
the repercussions from the shame
are still felt in my body
I wrote this poem in November of 2019.
Your love comes and goes like the most sudden
and violent gusts of wind
I try to stay in my calm and peaceful place
But I am swept away in your chaos
that bring me to the highest mountain
of lust,intimacy, and love
I want to stay here
I want to die here
in the heaven that is your arms and your lips
But you continually push me away
You dispose of me like trash
not caring about my inner destruction
You break me heart into
millions of pieces
Everytime I try to give myself to you
Your love, your toxic love
Swallows me up and spits me up out
only to break me over and over again
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 healing and recovery by sharing our story
I wrote this poem in November of 2019.
He comes with false promises of respect
and easy and uncomplicated lust
He promises never to hurt you
but it’s all a game to get for him to get laid
He just wants to use you for a hit and run
Once he’s done with you
He’ll discard you like trash
He’ll never see you as a person
He’ll only see you was a receptacle for his cum
He’ll only see you as an object of lust
and at times he’ll even claim to love you
when he sees he’s losing the toxic spell he’s placed on you
but once he’s got you in his bed
He’ll forget about you the next day
So it’s best to stop his emotionally poisonous game
that leaves you always feeling worthless in the end
and delete and block his number
and forget about the fuckboy once and for all
Life on the BPD 