I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Fuck you google photos for reminding me of my past trauma and happiness
I want to move the fuck on-live in my present-plan for my future
and you’re here reminding me of someone I long to forget-
“Memories together” more like “trauma bonding together” or
“fabulously failing at this relationship together”
How many years must past before you stop reminding me
of my love fiascos
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
In front of our fireplace I felt your warmth-
as you took me in your embrace
and I felt the glow of your love cover me-
Is this for real? Am I really here?
With someone who really, truly accepts me??
And won’t ever leave
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
I tell myself I’m not capable of love-
but that’s another lie
the truth is I’m very capable of love
But I’m afraid of it, I’m terrified of showing my vulnerability
only to once again be proven wrong, to once again go crazy
Only to once again endure the abandonment of another lover
So I lie to myself and say I’m not capable of love
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
He’ll ask me,
“How are you?
And I wanted to say–
“Miserable. Bad. sad. I hate you.
I wished for your death a thousand times.
I miss you. I love you.”
Instead, I said, “I’m okay”
And in the silence between our texts
I wondered
“Why? Why did he come back?
Why did I let him back in ?
Why do I love him?”
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
beneath the fog, I almost crashed my car
I wasn’t drunk, just under the influence of seroquel
and crazy from the euphoria
just experienced in the arms of my ex lover
Beneath the fog, I almost crashed my car
but I used all of my DBT skills to calm down
and manage to park my car at a gas station
To gain my composure
and suddenly Kid LAROI is blasting
from some zoomer’s truck
with a message for me from the universe
that I’d be alright despite
life’s almost disasters
and that the sexual creature I’ve held with
for most than two years
is alive and well
and ready to make up for lost time
I wrote this poem in October of 2020. This one was really hard to post because of the content that includes sexual assault but I believe it’s important to share this part of my story.
There was no way out-
and so I pretended –
I acted the part of a willful lover
even when I wasn’t willing
There was no way out
And he refused to read
-the subtle hints of no
-in between the lines of forced complacency
There was no way out
And he kept taking me
Every which way he wanted
Even when my whimpers turned into sobs
There was no way out
and I was terrified
I needed to let him have my body
to save my life
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
just call me J.Lo without the ass because my ex
(if we can even call him that) came back to me
after 2 years of sobriety
we’re the low rent version of Bennifer
since we’re not millionaires
or celebrities (yet)
I’m just a working class immigrant poet
and he’s my ex whatevership nordic muse
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
He swallowed 2 years of my life without meaning to.
He swallowed 2 years of my love that he never intended to
He swallowed all of my intense and innermost feelings
and left me with an emptiness inside.
He swallowed my confidence and turned me into a broken shell of a woman.
And slowly I’m trying to gather the broken pieces and repair my soul–
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
that luminescent feeling in my heart
I glow from the inside out
about to burst from joy and excitement
a poet on stage singing songs
about heartbreak and finding love
it’s Conan Fucking Gray
it’s the happiest day of my life
I found hope once again
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
There were parts of myself
I forgot when I was with you
I forgot my self worth
I forgot my dignity
I forgot my self confidence
I made the mistake
of placing my worth and happiness
in your unsure hands
I made the mistake
of giving you my heart
I made the mistake
of not knowing when to walk away
I made the mistake
in believing you would change
I made the mistake
of wasting my time and love
on you
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
A blanket of anger and sadness
envelops me
as you dispose of me
once again
I hope this time I learn for good
that you only carry
destruction and devastation
within you
and that you will never love
or care for me
and that you’re a self absorbed
piece of shit
A blanket of anger and sadness
envelops me
And I hate you
but I hate myself even more
for wasting my time and love
on someone who never
deserved it
for trying to see love
and affection that was never there
for falling in love
with a charismatic coward
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
telling our stories, reading our poetry
building community
is the salve for humanity
let’s start another revolution of love
except this time without the drugs
this time let’s make something more inclusive,
more accepting of everyone
let’s keep the music, the frolicking in the fields,
the free spirits,
and let’s become a sanctuary for one another
if we do this, we’ll have a shot at breaking away
from the curse of violence that plagues this nation
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
to really love me, you have to know every part of me
and not just the parts I show you
but every single inch of my soul
it’s observing me when I’m quiet
or when I laugh in the most uncomfortable moments
to really love me, you have to learn about me
read my essays, my stories, my poetry
and understand what is not written between the lines
to really love me, you have to know not just what I like
but what I really loathe and why
to really love me, you have to accept everything about me
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I’m a master magician of emotional alchemy
transforming my suffering into poetry
I never meant for it to happen that way
but life gave me no other viable option
it was either I became magician or I died
and the spark within me was too strong
to give into my self pity and depression
so here I am
making sense through poetry out of my madness
and the nonsense life has thrown at me
and done my best with it
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my emotional hangover drains me
and anxiety and insecurity sets in –
He makes my heart race-
He inspires poetry
He’ll be another tragic love story
I know he’s not a “finally”
He’s more of a “maybe”
maybe he’ll leave , maybe he won’t
I wonder how he’ll grow tire of me
Life on the BPD 