I wrote this poem in 2006 about my Mother In Law and my second son. We lived with her for a year and she was enamored by him.
Almost frozen in her familiarity Trapped by her body’s slow betrayal Boredom and solitude embrace her tightly Her unheard cries drown her Forgotten, forgotten she was Her world had come to an almost silent Pause Until She saw him With beady eyes as blue as hers And skin rumpled as lover’s sheets He was a heinous sight But to her He was splendid to her dying eyes He became her last burst of joy, Her last adoration And her last breath of life She was ending with his fresh scent of purity And he was starting with her aged scent of experience
Nunca sabrás del dolor Que sentí por tu abandono nunca veras las lagrimas que llore por ti nunca descubrirás como me llenaste con agonía
Porque soy demasiado orgullosa para admitir que fui una babosa Por que tengo demasiada dignidad para estar llena de miseria por tu culpa Por tengo demasiado respeto Para convertirme en un desastre
Lo siento por ti piensas que has ganado pero serás otra mujer usada crees que te ama pero es una de sus mentiras piensas que el es tu príncipe azul pero tu dignidad parara en el suelo tienes un canalla y mentiroso a tu lado que te dejará con un mal sabor en tu boca no digo esto porque te tengo envidia es una advertencia para que no acabes como mi otra de sus muchas mujeres que el trate como una muñeca de trapo
I wrote this in 2007 when I transferred to a 4 year University. It was a rough experience.
me with my friends in 2007
I feel small in this enormous and elitist world it doesn’t seem like I will ever fit It only seems like a perfect fit for my younger, blonder, whiter, and younger counterparts Older, hispanic, and poor is not acceptable here. Should I even try ? When I’m destined for failure on this institution’s steps Failure on the steps is what I feel here- a place where my browner, poorer self feels like an outcast, an undesirable- by the eyes of prejudice
I wrote this poem in December of 2016 after my almost love affair with death on December 5th. It’s strange how aside from my journal entries from that month, I hardly remember that month. I just remember feeling so broken inside and like a failure after that happened that it was so hard to get up every morning. I do know that writing saved me during that time because I started journaling way more consistently. I would learn years later after being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that up to 10 percent of people with BPD die by suicide. Five years later, I’m glad that I had people by my side that prevented me from becoming one in ten. I’m glad that afterwards, I was able to slowly come back from thiseven if I was mostly depressed the year after and it was a fight to get up every single day.
For more information about the high risk of BPD and Suicide, here is a link from Psychology Today with info about it:
Life on the BPD 