Posted on by pattytacuri

Poetry: Unhappiness

I wrote this poem in fall of 2005 when I was feeling overwhelmed by my responsibilities of being a mother, a girlfriend, a student and a worker. As usual at that time, I took on too much and was trying to be everything to everyone. One trait of BPD that I’ve carried throughout the years is over extending myself sometimes to my detriment in order to make other people happy.

Me with my middle child circa late 2005

Feelings I can’t turn off

Quickly come in droves

Don’t know what to do 

My options are few

Do I follow my gut?

And get away from this rut

Or do i stay here ?

And become what I fear;

A woman that settles

And lets others meddle 

A woman with no mind

And with everything, she is fine

But can I turn off the real me?

And stay so unhappy

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Poetry: False Stability *trigger warning*

I wrote this in March of 2020 as I was reflecting on my suicide attempt in December of 2016. I don’t remember writing this poem but that could be because it was a crazy time for me since I was an essential worker during COVID.

me in March of 2020 when I wrote this poem

Appearances were kept well for 15 years
the husband, the salaried job, the 3 off springs
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 mediocre 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 up to my false stability

Posted on by pattytacuri

Poetry: Long Ago

I wrote this poem about my husband in 2006 when we were in a rut of routine and being parents. I remember thinking how hard it was at the time to reconnect with him.

Long ago…

Passion was lost

Where did it go?

What has it turned into?

Perhaps into comfortable feelings

Of gratitude and friendship

And boring things like that

But how can we find once again?

The long lost passion 

That we once had. 

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Poetry: Let’s Go To Your Store

I wrote this in 2006 for my creative writing class.

Always…

Let’s go to your store
Where it’s like paradise
Where no one’s ignored

There is a nice white floor
And there are no cries
Let’s go to your store

Nobody is abhorred
Or ever sacrificed
Where no one’s ignored

Everyone is adored
And even told a few lies
Let’s go to your store

Confidence is restored
Because everyone tries
Where no one’s ignored

So take me on a tour
Where no one has a price
Let’s go to your store
Where no one’s ignored

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Poetry: My Pride and Joy

I wrote this poem in 2004 about my oldest son. Even though, I was 17 when I had him, I always tried to be the best mother for him. I worked to support him since I was 18, he was one of my biggest motivations for going to college, and even though I was extremely insecure as a young mom, I learned to advocate and fight for him to get the services and therapies he needed when he was diagnosed with autism.

me and my oldest in 2003

You’re a wonderful mistake

I never want to unmake

I was young and stupid

a kid having another kid

but with you I finally grew up

and learned the meaning of love

You are everything a mother could want

Such an admirable and fine son

you are my pride and joy

you will always be my little boy

And I will dread the day

When you have to go away

But I take relief in knowing

You’ll know how to spread your wings

And you will always remember

who you once were

A wonderful mistake

Your mom never wanted to unmake

Perhaps a creation of lust

but one who never lacked love

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

Poetry: The Horsefly Stands on Her Shrug

I wrote this in 2006 for my creative writing class.

The Writer Life

The horsefly stands on her shrug
Doesn’t notice, doesn’t care
Blankness spilled across her pleasant face

The horsefly stands on her shrug
Not even a crumble of emotion
In her still hands and feet

The horsefly stands on her shrug
No longer is there a distinction
Between her and the marble

The horsefly stands on her shrug
The sun slowly starts to simmer her
As her wires start to show