Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Month! I wrote this poem inspired by my favorite Asian American, my oldest son.
I was young and so stupid
a kid having another kid
but with you I grew up
and learned the meaning of love
you’re everything a mother could want
a wonderful and amazing son
and while I’ll feel some grief
the day you’ll your spread wings
I’ll feel a special kind of pride
as I watch you shine your golden light
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
I wonder where all of my money goes
but then I go home to the bottomless pits
that are my kids
and then I go upstairs to my bedroom
where my closet is exploding with clothes
and then I look under bed full of shoes
and then I go downstairs to my record player
and looks at my various vinyls
and we won’t even talk about my newly
acquired furniture from Amazon
now I understand
my money goes to my busy life
and my BPD spending impulsivity
Happy International Workers Day! I wrote this poem a few years ago reflecting on what achieving my American dream looked like at the time.
I am a slave to the severe master
of capitalism and greed
Risking my mental and physical health
to get closer to the haves
New car, new therapist–
Am I closer to the American dream yet?
Capitalism and greed has become my religion
The curse of consumerism some say
The curse of wanting better for me I say
Greed and capitalism–
is the American way
for my American Dream
Aqui esta la version en Espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/02/02/poesia-la-mujer-de-hoy/
your wretched goodbye brought a radical change within me
left behind was the naive girl who fell in love with you
left behind was the stupid bitch who made a home in you
left behind was the insecure woman who made you her world
the woman who stands before you made a 360 turn
the woman who stands before lives life according to her own terms
without apologizing, without accommodation, without toning herself down
the woman you left behind no longer exists
she turned into ashes and out of the ashes turned into a brave and powerful queen
who learned that her love is the rarest type of jewel that she reserves
only for those who love her and accept her exactly as she is
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/22/so-much/
el miedo de compartir todo demasiado pronto corre por mi
entonces me hago la chica de tus sueños
la que se viste sexy y se ríe de todas tus bromas
la que da su cuerpo fácilmente sin preguntas o demandas
la que no exige respeto por miedo
de vivir el cuento de mujer dejada de nuevo
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/26/poetry-indifference/
vivimos en un mundo de indiferencia
pero continuamos fingiendo que nos amamos
cuando en realidad todavía no me olvidado de él
y tu todavia piensas en ella
pero los dos tenemos miedo a la soledad
por eso seguimos juntos en una existencia de falsedad
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I hide the craziest parts of myself
The parts that get sad,
The parts that get obsessed
The parts that lose hope
I hide the worst parts of myself
the parts that feel empty
The parts that feel numb
The parts that want to die
I hide the craziest and worst parts
of myself
so no one else will leave
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/20/poetry-drunk/
borracha, me encontré en una cama extraña
desnuda y vulnerable
tratando de olvidar el pésimo dolor en mi corazón
cubriendome con el calor de un hombre desconocido
cedí a mis deseos salvajes para llenar el vacío
que llevaba dentro de mí
What activities do you lose yourself in?
There are so many stories within me aching to get out
every single one wants to be a priority
but which one do I pick first
most are dramatic, some are angry and sad,
a few are happy and lovely
every story is important in a life
full of chaos and trauma
I don’t know why I attract so much drama
So I’m going to tell each story
Because I own everything that’s happened to me
Because I’m finally taking myself seriously
I wrote this poem in December of 2021. I was kind of angry. Lol.
Let’s hashtag the fuck out of our imperfect perfect lives
smile for the camera but make it look candid
this is for instagram after all-
we want to present an image of authenticity
Authentic needs to look put together and balanced
there can be no cracks in our suburban realities
no one wants to see tears and frowns
let’s continue to act like modern clowns
except our lipsticks presents a false smile
that hides our misery inside and let’s add a witty caption
that spells out live,laugh, love
and hashtags about #momlife,#gratitude, and #bestlifeever
depression, sadness, and anger has no room in our modern world
where we pretend to be perfectly imperfect moms and wives
with these amazing and perfect lives
let’s continue the facade of authenticity
even as we burn inside and want to die
we are not just okay but we are fucking fabulous
so honey continue to smile for that selfie
even as the expectations of modern womanhood
continues to burn us all up
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/10/arrancar/
to forget you would be a gift
from the universe
because holding space for you
in my memory
brings me great misery
Do you enjoy your job?
It’s a moody Monday full of dread and adult angst
but to work I go even though I don’t want to
I’m rather stay home creating new worlds
that bleed from my mind
in my sweats and sans bra
but bills need to be paid
so I put on appropriate attire to face
my Monday to Friday hostage situation
put on my customer service voice I’ve perfected
and turn on my fake positivity
all because my passion doesn’t pay the bills yet
but it’s okay, i say to myself
because this hostage situation
is temporary
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
When darkness comes in and my sadness sets in
it covers me and I can’t see the point of it all
And then I hear a knock and it’s my son
And I remember, today he’s my life’s purpose
I need to get up and face another dreadful day
My child needs food and shelter
I can’t let my depression win
I’m a mother first
My darkness will have to be martyred
Remembering over and over again
on days like today my child’s presence
makes my bad days worth living
Have you ever broken the law and didn’t get caught, if so how?
What were your parents doing at your age?
At 41, my mother worked two jobs, raised 3 kids,
and still kept the spark in her marriage alive
I don’t know how she did it all without ever
breaking apart-
I don’t remember ever seeing her cry
but I do remember her temper, her anger
and being afraid of her sometimes
Life on the BPD 