I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
I’m not just a lesson learned, I’m a whole education
my mood swings will teach you patience and self-control
and things about bipolar and BPD you never wanted to learn
Making love to me will give you a degree in the best WAPP
you’ll ever experience
And when you break my heart and leave
You’ll earn your PhD in what happens when you fuck over
A Peruvian woman who’s crazy
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence
clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women
about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is women’s empowerment
and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit
it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment
perhaps it’s because I’m a working class immigrant woman
who struggles in America
perhaps it’s because the rights of the marginalized and working class
are being ripped away from us
and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears
how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie
oh yeah, we worked together briefly
and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should
check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity
while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability
but I stop
this barbie isn’t worth my time or energy
it’s time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe
who only serves to trigger my working class rage
who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality
in this capitalistic and racist American society
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
I want to be dripping in velvet and have the problems of the rich
like finding a new pool man
because the last one got sick of my condescending and pompous ways
or cry because I’m bored and can’t figure out how to fill up my day
in a way that keeps me entertained
but instead I’m stuck in my working class cursed life
where my joints and bones ache in chronic pain
from constantly over working
where I’m constantly fighting to make ends meet
without losing my sanity
And constantly questioning my existence because of my suffering
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
As I let go of my self limiting beliefs,
I grieve the woman I used to be
so insecure and unsure of herself
so hesitant to take control and power
Overthinking and catastrophizing constantly
it held me back from living the life of my dreams-
Jealousy and envy filled me up
Scrolling the professional and personal successes
of others on social media
Thinking, “that could have been me”
and giving too much importance to the opinions of others
wondering constantly-
“are they judging me?”
It was a toxic story I told myself since the age of 16
and it continued on and on until one day in my middle age
I exploded and decided to fight my inner critic
and challenge everything I thought was wrong with me
slowly, I learned to turn my story around
Slowly, I went from victim to heroine
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’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.
Our children pay attention to the stories we tell ourselves
I noticed when my son’s heart broke for the first time
and it awakened a deep catharsis within me
I would no longer hold onto my victim story
the one where I tell myself,
“I’m worthless, I’m not good enough, I’m unlovable”
Instead I’ll walk with confidence and all of the self love
I can muster up for myself
maybe just maybe if I can model this type of healthy behavior
the cycle of generational self loathing and self destruction
will finally be broken
And my children has a chance of living a life
filled with more joy and contentment
than mental illness
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
My aura is a bright orange red
it means I’m passionate, it means I get angry easily
it means I have the most intense energy
and while I joke how my soul is black
my aura tells a different story
It tells a story of a woman who loves hard
who’s an emotional mess at times
Who fosters a unique strength and resilience to go on
Who’s a fucking Goddess
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
I want to scream, I want to cry
I want to throw myself off the precipice of some cliff
but faith whispers to me
“You will not always feel like this”
and slowly I begin to piece myself back together
and It’s hard at first because I don’t know where to start
Because so much in me is shattered and scattered
But somehow I know that faith is by my side
and hope will quickly follow
and I won’t always feel so lonely, so hopeless
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
Old insecurities come to visit me again,
they shake up my newly acquired confidence
they tell me I’m not smart enough and I’ll never be truly loved
They tell the only thing I have going for me is how sexy I can be
Otherwise I’m a waste of a person because of my bpd
And I try to shut it all down and not once again drown
Because I have made so much progress and have come so far
Only to once again fight an anxiety and depression war
but it’s daunting not to let the negativity get to me
So here I go once again trying to calm down my brain
from intense and intrusive thoughts by covering myself with self love
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
Sometimes I’m like fuck this healing journey
can I just go back to the woman I used to be
the woman who invited and welcome chaos in
the woman who needed a man to make her feel complete
the woman who bought into society’s conditioning about who she should be
can I just be her for a day or two
To get some perspective as to why this journey is so important to me
Life on the BPD 