I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
outgrowing old patterns is like I’m shedding my skin
And new healthy skin is replacing it
at times I want to scream and feel like I’m dying
and other times I’m fine
Am I finally close to recovery from BPD?
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
empowerment is sold as a way to heal ourselves
as a way to feel better
it’s commodified and made into a product to be consumed
in books, in self help guru from the gram
but really, it should have been something
we were taught from birth
not something we are trying to attain in our middle age
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
breathing out the past, inhaling the future
I fall into emotional stability and it’s uncomfortable
I didn’t understand or know how to live a life without chaos
because for most of my life
I danced in the fire of chaos-wildly swinging everywhere
Discordant and without direction
And now I found rhythm along with direction
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
The way my body feels as my legs take flight brings freedom to my soul
It brings me a sense of amazement thinking of how
I went from couch potato to a woman who needs a run in the sun
to feel grounded, to feel sane
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
in 2021, I ventured from the moon and landed on the ace of pentacles
never expecting to experience a revolution of self love
never expecting to one day feel like I was enough
but when I found myself down and alone
with no one to lift me up
I had to find my inner strength, my queen resilience
to slowly lift myself up and walk and eventually run
towards the light my ancestors turned on for me
it became a marathon of healing with ugly twists
where I stumbled at times
but eventually I found a rhythm in my routine
that was conducive to my healing journey
and I learned to dance with life
life no longer happened to me as I sat quietly
and in my misery
this time I danced with life stomping my feet
loudly and dramatically
no longer caring what others thoughts of me
from that moment on
I became the heroine and my own muse
in my life movie
owning everything that happened to me
Understanding the power and magic
I always held within
had been and will always be too much for others
but it will always be right for me
What does it mean to be a kid at heart?
lean into your inner child, let your spirit once again
be filled with awe and wonder
forget society’s rules that tells you to act your age
to control yourself,
who determines these stupid conventions and norms
anyways
sing out loud at the table, dance in your office
tell a stranger you’re glad they exist,
run in a field of flowers and giggle
lean into your inner child, let your spirit once again
be filled with awe and wonder
With cherry chapstick, I felt like a woman
I felt like a sexy vixen from the telenovelas
even though I was only 9-
and while everyone around me still treated me
like a little girl-
after applying my cherry chapstick
something awakened inside of me
Was it the beginning of puberty?
10/2/22
I wrote this poem in October of 2021.
Trauma after trauma
I have withstood
Standing up right away and pretending
everything was fine
There was no time
for tears or processing
of feelings
That was a luxury for
the white upper class
Therapy-pssst
No time or money for
that either –
It’s gringo concept
Self care – that’s only
for the rich
No, you’re a latina Woman
our people rely on grit
and resilience
There is no time for white pendejadas
No, you’re a latina woman –
you only need the strength
from your ancestors
to survive this life
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
you chased me and chased me until your persistence finally paid off
and I landed in your bed
and now you won’t give me the time of day
make lame excuses for not responding to me texts
and I’m like wow
I never meant to live this cliche in my middle age
but everyone tells me I’m being dramatic
and my feelings feel almost invalid
except this time I listen to my intuition
that something about what you’re doing is kind of fucked up
going from 100 to 0 once you finally got what you wanted
or maybe this is on me for thinking you had changed
and this time we could have something lovely,
something different
how embarrassing for me to be still be naive at 43
but I guess this is the part where I thank you
for the lesson, for the experience
and to please don’t reach out to me when you’re lonely
There are apps for what you want,
there are women you can pay to service you
without any strings or emotional baggage
I wrote this poem in October of 2021.
The rain falls steadily in Autumn
and I remember the 9 days in the summer
When the tears wouldn’t quit raining from my eyes
The eternal emotional pain wouldn’t stop
the lonely nights I couldn’t sleep
the infinite anger and sadness that I felt
the emptiness that wouldn’t
go away
the food I couldn’t eat.
And yet I still woke up
every day with a determination to live
live for my kids
live for my friends
live for myself
even at my worst,
even at my most vulnerable
Somehow, I managed
managed to find strength
managed to find inspiration
and somehow managed to
find my way back to myself
Summer was the season
I died when I was
rejected by the one who
claimed to love me
Autumn is the season I was reborn
and I fell back in love
with myself, forgot him
and fell into the magic
that is me
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
you’re fumbling me bad and you should be ashamed
I figured you learned your lesson by now
but maybe this one’s on me for letting you near me
Silly, Patty
even at 43, I can’t get the hint
that men only want me for one thing
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
The stillness in my life makes me insane
I’m craving an adventure
I’m craving ecstasy
I’m craving the unpredictable
To lie in the stillness feels like dying
and I want to live
Live life spontaneously,live life musically
Live a life full of excitement
To live in this stillness makes me feel like
I’m drowning in a lake of stagnation
I wrote this poem in October of 2024
is it the gods of bpd and pmdd or the men in my life with 3 of swords energy
making me extra hateful and moody today
are my standards too high because I’m obsessed
with conan gray, joji, and yung gravy
and none of the men in my life seem to hold a flicker of a flame
to the Gods of music I worship
is is the gods of bpd and pmdd or my chronic pain making me a moody bitch
today or is it me not being selective enough with who I’m allowing
into my inner circle and allowing clowns to pollute my energy
because lately my poetry isn’t hitting like it used to
or maybe I just need to uninstall all of my social media apps,
turn off my phone for a few days, and read books and listen to my vinyls
to reset and recharge
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
And just when I think I have it all figured out–
Everything falls apart again
the universe has a funny way of humbling me
just when I think I finally have it together
When does it get easier?
Am I being punished for not conforming
to society’s expectations of me?
Should I be sorry for not wanting to just be
a wife and mother?
Will I ever be free of society’s shackles
thrusted upon me?
I wrote this poem in October of 2021.
I don’t recognize the
Stranger in the mirror-
the me whose face
has more chiseled features
with a stronger jawline
and haunted eyes
There is no idealism
or fantasies of love
in her eyes
Instead, she stares back
at me with a look
of strength and determination-
like she’s saying –
“You’re your own savior “
and
“There’s no such thing as
Prince Charming”
-“The princess has been left
behind and you’re now a Queen”
Life on the BPD 