I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
saint tracey assured me my life wasn’t over
she showed me love and compassion
when everyone else shunned me
she accepted me for who I was
and encouraged me to follow the path of success
she saw the hidden potential in me
when other teachers saw laziness
she was a prayer from God
sent to me to remind me
my mistakes don’t define me
and that I was still worthy of the love
and goodness in the world
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman
constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm
putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us
insulting my father or sister
what about us made her project her insecurities
Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty?
or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have
a loving and doting husband
and all healthy children
What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was,
and where I came from
maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing
and since that time I’ve had identity issues
for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in-
to have proximity to being an American
but all it did was fuck up my identity
and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done
I have a hard time finding compassion for myself
I have a hard time letting go the guilt
For the pain I caused my family
I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid
desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted
to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
The rain falls steadily in August
and I feel a sense of dread, a sense of hopelessness
and I want to dwell on everything I lack,
on everything I’m a failure at-
But I stop myself because while sadness has served as inspiration
and has a place in my mind and life
I can’t allow it to take over my life and consume me
because this is not my whole story
I’m more than being sad and angry
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My default setting must be sad
because when a wave of happiness comes
all I can feel is anxiety
a stabbing in my gut that makes me nauseous
maybe I’m still getting used to this new feeling
of joy and excitement in my life
Maybe I don’t know how to deal with
finally being healthy and happy
maybe I’m just used to my constant state of misery
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
The cure for a broken soul is finding love and validation
within yourself
It’s finding beauty in the ordinary
It’s finding joy in the mundane moments of life
The cure for a broken soul is finding faith and hope
in the most trying of times
and accepting the darkness within you is temporary
and not everything deserves your energy
The cure for a broken soul is acceptance and love
from the universe, the source and God
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
The volcano that lived inside of me
is ready to erupt and about to ruin everything
my explosive anger cannot be reigned in
this intensity is a consequence of my BPD
and it will cause my lover to flee
the lava of me will make him wary
and once again, I’m left
in the desolate land of lonely
wishing away the volcano inside of me
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Feeling the fatigue of life makes me want lay down
in an endless sleep-
Some people call it suicidal ideation
I call it relief from grief-
But that’s when I use all of my coping skills
write sad poetry, or write a gratitude list
or just allow myself to feel everything
I’m trying to escape from
and constantly remind myself feelings like this
are always temporary
and tomorrow could bring new and exciting things to see
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
Do I sabotage every love dream
because I’m insane and have BPD?
Or is it the men I pick who easily give up on me
when they can’t save me
Maybe I’ll put this love thing on hold for a while
to enjoy my newfound tranquility-
to focus on my emotional stability
because every time I try to love someone
I end up fucking things up
And it’s not fair to me or them
to make them love an emotional and reckless trainwreck
who never knows when she’s gonna break
Driving phobia filled me with shame and fear for 15 years
and on a windy October day,I took my power back
that day I learned not to listen to my inner critic
rambling on about my incompetence, feeding into my anxiety
and my constant insecurities
that day I took the keys and drove
and while it was absolutely terrifying
it provided me with the understanding
how I had the power all along
to take the steering wheel of my life
with a new determination and purpose
to never again allow myself or others
make me a passenger again
it had been a role I had long ago outgrown
that I had been afraid to let go of
but that day I said “fuck it, it’s now or never”
and I took a chance on myself
and never felt more empowered
I wrote this poem in June of 2022.
my doubts, my fears, my insecurities
should pay rent for the immense space
they take up in my mind
they crowd me and make me question
my worth on my low days
they show up with intrusive thought saying
I’m not good enough
or I don’t deserve my wonderful life
my doubts, my fears, my insecurities
Constantly try to bring me down
and sometimes even my affirmations
aren’t enough
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
Lost between fantasy and reality I stay
Reality feels boring and monotonous
and to constantly dream is free
I dream of traveling, of success
of stability within
and it’s nice to stay lost in the fantasy
of what I want my life to be
But I can’t and must return to my reality
of always working, of always hustling
because my dreams won’t come true
unless I work to make them happen
Life on the BPD 