Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/29/poesia-falso/
we’re procrastinating our end
not wanting to face the consequences
of our doomed relationship
so we keep wasting our time
pretending we’re fine
putting a bandaid of sex
on our petty conflicts
and keep using each other
as blankets for our loneliness
instead of being grown ups
and admit how our love
is no longer worth any effort
Are you superstitious?
is it the devil who takes over me
and makes me crazy?
Or is it God punishing me for past mistakes
or maybe it isn’t either
And I really have fucked up genetics
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/15/poetry-escape/
trato de escaparme de ti
pero tu me sigues dondequiera que vaya
tu olor, tu voz, tus besos
me persiguen en mis sueños
y aunque yo trato y trato
de vivir sin pensar en ti
siempre me encuentro en la jaula
que es el recuerdo de tu amor
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I fell into the trap of “acceptance”
not understanding I was slowly losing parts of myself
for the sake of fitting in, for the sake of other people
who loved to judge me
accept that you’re too fat to wear that bikini
accept that you’re too old to chase your dreams
accept that you’re too hard to love
it took me too long to figure out
the acceptance of others was costing me
my sanity and my self worth
and I said, “fuck your opinions on who I should be”
from now on, I’ll wear whatever I want,
I’ll chase my dreams, and I’ll always be worthy of love”
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=5970
ya no te-
no soy tuya para-
trato de encontrar las palabras adecuadas
para decirte que nuestro cuento de amor a cabo
pero cada vez que trato
todo se siente insuficiente
y la culpabilidad me cubre
y no me atrevo a herirte
I wrote this in March of 2022.
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams
about America
It was beautiful and blue
I pictured a celestial and warm ocean
where the waves tenderly touch my toes
I was taught it was a better existence than
the one we were living in
but no one told me that dreams sometimes
don’t come true
and the reality of America was filled with a hardness
that even 35 years later I’m still processing
indentured servitude, exploitation, depression,
addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects
of going for the American dream
I had forgotten this poem I wrote in 2002 when I was going through something pretty hard.
I’ve fallen out of-
I’m no longer yours to-
I keep trying to find the right words
to tell you I’m done with “us”
but everytime I try
it all feels so inadequate
and I fall under a blanket of shame and guilt
and I can’t go through with it
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
I hate it when men ask me, “what’s your bra size?”
it’s like my bust-line invites unwanted and sexist questions and comments
about my body
and it makes me want to throw up and write about them violently
because out of all of the questions in the world to ask ME,
a mother, a public health worker, a grocery store clerk, an immigrant,
a Peruvian, an American, a friend, a poet, a blogger, a woman,
a PERSON-
they choose to ask me an awkward question about my body-
I used to entertain them and tell them while laughing uncomfortably
holding in my disgust and anger for them
but now I either ignore them, call them out, or block them
my boobs or any part of my body are no longer up
for the objectification of others
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
How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?
I used to think I was the poster girl for failure
I’m a failure at love, I’m a failure at life, I’m a failure at everything
but all of these are thoughts of a past version of me
the version of me who saw herself as a victim
the version of me who took comfort in her misery
in my middle age I changed that narrative
I no longer see myself as a failure
I see myself as a person who makes mistakes
who’s deeply flawed, who has caused pain
it’s doesn’t make me a loser or a disaster
It makes me a human who’s trying her best to live her life
and sometimes that doesn’t always look pretty
I now see failure as stepping stone,a learning curve
to continue to grow, to continue to evolve
to become better and healthier than I’ve been before
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/03/poetry-tired-2/
Mis amigas son mi peor enemigas
Sacando a la luz todas mis inseguridades
y siento ansiedad que me trae insomnia
pensando si ellas tienen la razón
seré en realidad una mujer suela?
seré en realidad una madre negligente?
seré en realidad una estupida,
por querer superarme?
y me convenzo que nunca
seré suficiente para lo que se
espera de mi
y me siento deprimida
con esta realización
y me quedo dormida
con un corazón lleno
de miseria toxica
What experiences in life helped you grow the most?
Do you believe in fate/destiny?
Aqui esta la version en Espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=1929
I wait and wait for the impossible to happen
for me to fall in love again
even though I’ve sworn off romance forever
because of the catastrophic emotional earthquake
that takes place within me
everytime a lover stops loving me
but the romantic in me refuses to die
and won’t listen to logic
she tells me, “it would be truly tragic to deny
yourself another love story, you never know,
the next one could be your happy ending”
Life on the BPD 