I wrote this poem about someone I haven’t met yet.
honest and real intimacy comes with the passage of time
it comes with stupid and terrible fights
Where love survives
it comes with health scares
and encouragement as each person evolves
honest and real intimacy is not about consummated desire
that happens between the sheets
it’s not about butterflies and daydreams
it’s about saying
“Goddamn, this man is an oblivious and sometimes an
arrogant asshole
but I still want to keep him”
2/26/2024
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
a text from an unknown number reminded me of my past
when I was sick with a love addiction
when I gave in to my impulsivity
when I gave my energy freely to anyone
who paid attention to me
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
my fingers tingle and almost grew numb
as I gripped the wire
and the tightrope shook
I wanted to give up
it would have been so easy
but something in me didn’t allow me to
terrified I took the slowest step forward
radically accepting in that moment
I will never be a quitter
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I want to fast forward to the version of me
who’s not always in her head
who’s not struggling to regulate her emotions
who’s not so fucking jaded and negative
when it comes to love
who’s not terrified of change
who doesn’t take things personally
I know, I know
I shouldn’t wish to be anyone else
and fully live and enjoy this version of myself
but lately, I’m having a hard time moving on
to the next level of my life
everything feels so comfortable
everything feels so peaceful
I’m scared to make any waves and return to chaos
even if I know it’s necessary to get to YOU
the future version of me who embraces change
with courage and bravery
Only this version of can dream of
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I’m a poet, I’m a writer but when it comes to expressing the romantic in me
I have the hardest time
I’m great at expressing my anger, my disappointment, my shame
but when it comes to love, I shy away and put my guard up
it’s a mix of trauma and cognitive distortions I’ve held within me
since the age of 16
self limiting beliefs that no man has ever loved or respected me
and failing at all of my love stories no matter
how hard I tried to succeed, no matter how much I accommodated
or changed for my partner, he leaves me
and I’m left flabbergasted, devastated, traumatized
so embedded and attached to my past tragedies
I’m apprehensive and hesitant when it comes to trying on someone new.
when to comes to pursuing anything more than friendship
it leaves me in the land of “I don’t know how to fucking do this again
without it breaking me”
and so I sit still, waiting for my crush to say something, do something
to restart my heart once again
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I avoid the flutter of butterflies in my stomach at all costs
I don’t want to get lost and consumed by love
Some people call this avoidance cowardice,
Some people call this a trauma response
I call it keeping my sanity intact
and being more safe than sorry
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
after the thunderstorm came and went
I wrote a hundred poems about what happened
I didn’t know how to process it
and 1 hour in therapy didn’t cut it
the epic flood of grief that followed
and while it may seem excessive and melodramatic
It was either I kept writing
or I kept dreaming of dying
Write about your first crush.
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I never paid much attention to where I put my body
I never really cared as long as my sexual needs were met
as long it was called sexy
but this habit hurt me over and over again
Until one day I was trapped and couldn’t breathe
and I watched my body from afar being desecrated
by the person who claimed to love me
after that day-
I grew protective of my precious body
ran away from anyone who might hurt it
my body is too much of a masterpiece
for me to allow it to ever be
defiled and disrespected in the name of “love”
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
I called you a villain in my book of lust and love
I never saw your humanity
I never understood how I played my part
in our chaotic and dysfunctional story of love
Instead it was easier to blame you over and over again
It was easier to play the victim
rather than try to accept you as the imperfect human that you are
Rather than to see how you never wanted a “we;
rather than to accept you just wanted someone sometimes
to not feel so lonely
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Our story needed to end and today feels like the definitive ending
You’ll never give me the consistency in love I need
And I’ll never birth the baby you wanted
We’re too different, we’re too alike
and I sarcastically and constantly ask myself “are we having fun yet”
Sometimes we did but most of the time I never understood where I stood
So block me and , forget me
You’ll never be enough for me and I’ll never be enough for you
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
everything annoys me today
playing nice with my OCD coworkers
my kids wanting to spend time with me
when all I want to do is sleep
and let’s not forget
my friend bringing up my karmic relationship
Ugh-will this day ever end
so I hold on to the small victories
like how my boobs look great in my dress
how the curvature of my cleavage is masterpiece
worthy of poetry
and maybe it’s just vanity, but damn
on a hot day full of stupidity
it’s the one victory I’m giving to myself today
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Got two hours of sleep last night
But I still woke up with excitement in my bones
Excited about a future without you
Excited that you’re really gone from my life
Because while I loved you and had many good times
You were never going to change, and neither was I
We were on the road to nowhere
And now that we’re forever apart
We’re on the road to somewhere
Somewhere that gives us space to grow
Somewhere without the pain and drama we caused each other
Somewhere that brings us the peace and love we need
to be authentic
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
today I’m being too hard on myself
always thinking about how I’m not doing enough
about how I’m not hustling enough
how there are still days when my anxiety
gets the best of me
I’ve tried my hardest to quell my inner critic
but it still visits me when I don’t have enough sleep
or when my inner winter is about to hit
and it points out all of my insecurities
and I try to hack my brain into being confident again
but all I can do is feel disgust and shame
as a new cycle of insanity hits
And if it’s bad enough I cry
or it kicks me in the gut and makes me sick
and my body says enough is enough
that’s when I finally listen to it-
rest, recharge, understand this is just one day
and not my whole life
I wrote this poem in June of 2020.
He reached the depths of her soul
With his hands and his lips
She couldn’t get enough
of this new feeling
of this newfound intimacy
Then
He threw her to the depths
of misery and devastation
when he disposed of her
at his convenience
She never wanted
this hell of darkness
within her that seemed
Neverending
He was the best-
and
He was the worst –
At loving her
He inspired love
He inspired hate
and no matter what
She couldn’t get away
from him
Life on the BPD 