I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is tell my story, my truth
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
abandonment wounds run deep in my bloodline
I’ve lost count of how many woman in my family
whose lovers absconded, who’s lovers left them
for their own version of Heather-
maybe this explains my epic overreaction every time a lover absconded
their departure triggers trauma in my DNA
from the abandoned women ancestors before me
What is one thing you would change about yourself?
Are you more of a night or morning person?
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
in my island of solitude, I drift further
and further away from romantic love
when I’ve tried to invite others to my island
they always left, and it drove me into hysterics
making a catastrophic emotional mess of me
so now I float alone on my island of solitude
and have erected walls of strength and confidence around it
I will not allow another soul to break them down
only to later leave on a whim, leaving me in pieces once again
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I never asked to be born, much less to be a mosaic of trauma, insanity, and creativity
I prayed many times to be normal-to be someone else
but the day came when I had to embrace the masterpiece of duality and insanity that I am
to understand not everyone will understand me
to do the best I am with the deck of cards I’ve been handed
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
abuela Gaby sends me hints that she wants her story to be told
but I can barely remember her
she tells me to still try with the bits I have
I ask her for patience
I want to get it right, I want to do her story justice
she tells me, “hemos vivido vidas paralelas”
las palabras te vendrán fácilmente pronto”
and adds, “es como vas a sanar, es como
empiezas a entenderte”
and I don’t understand what it means,
I don’t understand her interest in me now
and how I became a messenger of her story,
“ni siquiera pensé que me querías Abuela,
you always pulled my hair”
and she replies,
“es que era duro ver nacer y crecer a alguien
que se parecía tanto a mi, me traía
demasiados sentimientos encontrados,
porque sabía que tu espiritu seria
difícil de dominar”
and while I try my best to comprehend
what she tells me –
it’s hard to wrap my head around her message
and all of the conflicting stories about her
from my family
so I’m going to make it a point
to find out her story through her letters
and pictures-
abuela, I want to do your story justice
I can’t rush through this
yours is one of the most important stories
I’ll share in my lifetime
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
Is it really so bad to assist others in ending their lives?
couldn’t it be seen as a final act of love?
to help them die with dignity and on their own terms
without machines and tubes delaying the inevitable
without anyone’s say over the little autonomy
they still have left
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.
with solitude comes clarity and peace of mind
I no longer rely on the actions of words of others
to validate my existence
I no longer feel like less of a person
because of the whims of others
with solitude comes an understanding
that being alone is the best way for me
to succeed in my recovery journey
because any extra energy derails me
from the woman of worth I’m becoming
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 2022.
The last time you ghosted me
I finally said enough and meant it
I’m not adding any energy
to something that only drains me
and makes me feel worthless
it was time to let go of our chaotic story
and embrace a new love potential
Who’ll know my wort
Life on the BPD 