Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/04/30/poetry-early-passion/
Haciendo el amor contigo
me lleva a un Utopía
llena de felicidad
aunque recien nos conocimos
hace 2 días
tú sabes cómo tocar mi cuerpo
como un amante conocido
I wrote this in 2007 when I transferred to a 4 year University. It was a rough experience.
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
Here is the English version of this poem:
Poetry: A Liberal Kind of Love
Besitos en la mejilla y
tomándonos de las manos
son cosas del pasado
Cuerpos calientes cubiertos de sudor cojiendo
con una nota de adiós en la mañana
es ahora nuestro modo de ser
Respecto, sinceridad, y confianza
son palabras olvidadas
Decepcion, desilucion, y egoísmo
Ahora son nuestra palabras sagradas
Aquí esta la versión en Español:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/08/08/poesia-desgraciado-2/
Perhaps I’m crazy,
Perhaps I’m dramatic
But I must say
You’re a traitor
for what you did to me
Causing me so much heartbreak
and misery
Pretending to “love me”
Behind your “nice guy” disguise
was really an asshole
who lured me with sweet lies
into a web of treachery
and infidelity
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 this even 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:
I wanted to sleep
Sleep beckoned me
Like a magical place
Where I could forget
Forget-
The burdens and responsibilities
Forget-
The performance reviews, the report cards, the bills
Forget-
The husband, the kids, the friends
I wanted to sleep
So I planned my journey there
Call in sick, act natural,
Take the bottle of xanax
I wrote love letters
To my children, my husband, and friends
Just in case I fell in a forever dream
I wanted to sleep
Selfishly, without interruptions
I wanted to sleep
So I didn’t have to think
About my mediocre and suburban reality
My lost dreams of greatness
My wastefulness on this earth
I wanted to sleep
But I was interrupted
By my husband shaking me
Halfway carrying me
To the couch, forcing coffee
Down my throat
I wanted to sleep
But I had to wake up
And endure the reality of life
I wrote this in 2004 and revised it recently. It’s not based on anything from real life.
They’re driving back from the theater. All evening he’s been quiet and she wonders what is going on. She reaches for his hand but he won’t give it to her. She tries to look into his eyes and he looks away.She can feel him cold and distant. She no longer recognizes what is supposed to be “them”. With tears in her eyes, she says, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.” he says as he’s still evading her eyes.
“Do you still love me?” she asks with a quivering voice.
“I’m sorry.I’m in love with someone else. It’s nothing you did. These things happen, I hope–
“STOP!” she yells. She’s barely holding it together at this point.
“I’m really sorry, I just want to-”
“STOP! I’m done with this. Stop the car.” she screams at him.
“You’re being crazy, at least let me-”
“NO. I want nothing from you! Stop the car NOW!”
“You need to calm — he stops mid sentence as he sees her taking off her seat belt and unlocking the door. He stops the car. He says, “I just want–”
“Fuck what you want” she says as she gets out of the car.
“But I-”
“There is nothing left to say”. She tells him. She walks away while she cries and laughs.She whispers to herself “fuck.once again”.
Quiero borrar tu cara
de mi mente
y
Fregar tus besos
de mis labios
Quiero olvidarme de ti
I wrote this in 2003 about some random dude.
I love you so much it hurts
You put me through this sweet silent torture
Of your evil seductive ways
I almost die of ecstasy
I wrote this in 2003 about Damon who I was seeing again.
Your strange ways confuse me
One moment you hold me in your arms
The next moment you want someone else in your arms
Do you want to break our amorous ties?
Was the love you professed another one of your lies?
Day 21 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt was “Where the stars meet” .
Here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/24/poetry-excuses/
Necesito estar solo
era tu excusa
no quieres herirme
fue lo que me dijiste
Todavia la amo
es lo que querías decirme
un corto pasatiempo
fui lo que yo signifique para ti
Escribí este poema en Diciembre del 2002 acerca de John. Pensaba que a lo mejor cambaría de parecer pronto pero no fue así.
Podría ser que yo no soy
Aquella mujer
A la cual no quieres ligarte
Podría ser que yo no soy
Aquella chica
Que siempre va a misa
Podría ser que yo no soy
Aquella princesa
Que no te compadezca
Pero después de probar
Estos deliciosos labios
Nunca dirás adiós
Y después de sentir
Mi cuerpo dedicado a ti
Solo pensaras en mi
Y después de estar conmigo
Conocerás el amor verdadero
Y no te arrepentirás
De echar todo lo que podría ser
I wrote this poem in fall of 2005 when I was feeling overwhelmed by my responsibilities of being a mother, a girlfriend, a student and a worker. As usual at that time, I took on too much and was trying to be everything to everyone. One trait of BPD that I’ve carried throughout the years is over extending myself sometimes to my detriment in order to make other people happy.
Feelings I can’t turn off
Quickly come in droves
Don’t know what to do
My options are few
Do I follow my gut?
And get away from this rut
Or do i stay here ?
And become what I fear;
A woman that settles
And lets others meddle
A woman with no mind
And with everything, she is fine
But can I turn off the real me?
And stay so unhappy
Pensaba que yo era la única
que ocupaba un sitio en tu corazón
nunca pense que llegaria el momento
que me dirias “ya no te amo”
nunca cruzó en mi mento
que había otra mujer
Pensaba que teniamos mas tiempo
ahora estas en mi estante de imbéciles
Life on the BPD 