Here is the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Memory
fuistes la luz más brillante en mi universo de amor
quizás por eso pasan los años y no llegó a olvidarte
quizás por eso siempre regreso a ti para que me acuerde
que el amor no siempre es una mierda que se repite
cada vez que me enamoro
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
I love her and she will be mine-
because i know what’s good for her
because she needs me in her life
as she’s a complete mess
and I can save her I can fix her
I can be her hero
her confidant, her eternal lover
when the world gets to be too much
I block, I delete, I ignore
I don’t want to waste my precious energy and time
on anything that drains me, that robs me of my peace
I’ve fought too hard to get to a place of serenity
and I can’t allow anyone or anything
to ruin my newfound reality of tranquility
Here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Bad Place
encadenada en mis pensamientos oscuros que luchó de escapar
pero no hay remedio para esta depresión hincada en mi
que me cubre con una niebla de incertidumbre
no me deja en paz, no me deja vivir
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Insecurities and anxiety from my immigrant childhood
Come out to play and my adult self wants to run away
I thought I was healed from this
I hate these triggers—but I still confront them even if I don’t want to
I cry and write about them, reprocess something not quite healed
Am I on the way to my recovery from BPD?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
love makes me feel trapped
trapped in a cage of desire and emotions
that I want to escape from
and I still try thinking this time
it will be different except it never is
so I’m giving up for a while-
Giving myself time to prepare for my next victim
Describe your life in an alternate universe.
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the facade of equality is cloaked in good intentions and lovely words-
and while laws have been passed to prevent discrimination
and to try to level the game of success,
it’s all a sham, it’s all a con
we still live in a world where the color of your skin and social status
and gender determine your prosperity
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
did you drink your water today?
did you remind yourself you’re worthy of love?
did you understand you were always enough?
will you repeat after me-
I won’t run away from or suppress my feelings
I need to face my emotions head on
or else I’ll break down
aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Falsa Esperanza
you were my hope in love restored
everything I had dreamed of
everything I had wished for
and it was nice for a while-
getting lost in our love
thinking it was safe,
thinking it could be my permanent sanctuary
until one day like clockwork
you changed your mind and decided I wasn’t enough
and I was left wondering “what the fuck is wrong with me?”
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
At 5 am, I woke up and wrote a 4 page poem
about how I wasn’t enough and proceeded to crash my car
and my therapist asked if I wanted to die-
And I was like “nah, I just couldn’t reign my impulsivity in”
at least this time I got control of the car and didn’t fuck
anyone else up
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
The rain falls steadily in August
and I feel a sense of dread, a sense of hopelessness
and I want to dwell on everything I lack,
on everything I’m a failure at-
But I stop myself because while sadness has served as inspiration
and has a place in my mind and life
I can’t allow it to take over my life and consume me
because this is not my whole story
I’m more than being sad and angry
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My default setting must be sad
because when a wave of happiness comes
all I can feel is anxiety
a stabbing in my gut that makes me nauseous
maybe I’m still getting used to this new feeling
of joy and excitement in my life
Maybe I don’t know how to deal with
finally being healthy and happy
maybe I’m just used to my constant state of misery
I wrote this poem in July of 2022.
I used to water my roots with the supposed love of others
their compliments, their energy made me whole
but eventually they’d tired of being my water, my earth
my everything and leave
And I was left once again incomplete-
until one day I learned to water my roots with my tears,
my strength, my self-love
And now my growth and potential are infinite
Life on the BPD 