once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards desperate for attention, desperate for love desperate to cover myself up with another soul once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards I didn’t have an identity, I didn’t have any self worth I didn’t have any self love Once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards to find validation in my existence to use compliments to feed my ego to lose myself in someone else once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards I was undiagnosed with BPD I was incredibly insecure I was following the script prescribed to me once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards and that was a long time ago and now it’s been 3 years since I’ve been in a relationship almost 2 years in my journey of celibacy and 6 months since I’ve been declared officially single once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards and now I block anyone who tries to get near me and want to vomit when I interact with my crush
sultry July night at a pirate party fiery red Dionysian hair, body made by Gods caught his eye from a distance he wanted her, he craved her, he wanted to fuck her he approached her right away she saw through his toxic fuck boi vibe Said “no thanks” and introduced him to me I was already 3 drinks in, mesmerized by his body Covered in tattoos from head to toe, his boyish smile felt an electric energy between us (or maybe that was the buzz from my third margarita) he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, I WANT THIS BAD BOY! within a few minutes, we assessed each other and flirted he asked me for my phone number, giddy, I gave it to him and that was the beginning of the end of me and almost 6 years later, my friend still says, “Sorry, I introduced you to him”
ramen 3 times a day in the dingy 2 bedroom duplex and it was an upgrade from the miniature apartment in mid city L.A the one where there was a bullet hole in my window so what if the stripper and the landlord’s son got in screaming matches so what if the marine next to us beat his wife weekly for her infidelity despite the poverty experienced, despite the trashy and toxic domestic energy that dingy duplex was freedom to me and my family it was hope and salvation from the nightmare of indentured servitude L.A had been
thousands of indigenous children never made, never born Fujimori’s presumptuous superiority and cruel policies caused this inhumanity, this crime against the most marginalized the poorest robbing thousands of women of their right to procreate a shameful part of Peru’s history thousands of indigenous children mourned who were never planted, never had a chance to bloom perhaps their existence was a threat to those in power full of corruption, now we’re never know
mami dressed me up in ruffles and pastels whenever she could I’d swirled and twirled in my dress until I got dizzy loved when everyone told me, “ay que bonita te miras” and I awkwardly bowed, smiled, and hid sashayed to every single one of my relatives and did the same thing it’s one of the few times I remembered being vain as a child one of the few times I didn’t feel weird and like an outcast external validation learned at the tender age of 8
can’t blend in with this privileged world wrong age, wrong last name, wrong ethnicity I stand destined for failure on this institutions steps as the pressure to succeeds hang around me like a noose around my neck and yet I still keep going and show up every day if only to teach my kids a lesson in how to keep going when you want to quit
for almost three years I’ve been waiting for the next guy to appear as some kind of hero, as some kind of reward for all of my effort I’ve put into myself and the life I’ve built Subconsciously I did this Even as I publicly roared about being empowered on my own I still wanted someone to be my sanctuary to lay my love in And I wrote, manifested, schemed, flirted got obsessed with men were just meant to be friends Thinking, gosh, if I hang on long enough, he’ll come around this might work out but today I discovered the only hero for me is the woman in the mirror who still manages to get out of bed even on the bad days when she’s too tired to function when she’s exhausted by all of it
any idea or notion of romance is lost to me I’ve tried every which way to make myself appetizing edible for men to take interest in me, love me but the story always turns sour and I’m tired of rejection followed by bouts of tears and insanity this spring I will not spend my energy trying to manifest another fool I’ll get obsessed about or get caught up in my head and daydreams this spring I’m going to concentrate only on my potential that’s yet to bloom Focus of the world of creativity that resides within waiting to get out
nail on the coffin on the future I wanted no prince charming no house with the white picket fence instead I stare down at the barrel of poverty trying to find a glimmer of who I used to be among my many forgotten dreams
last time I had my last first kiss it was wasted on a middle age scorpio I wore a cute summer dress with red lipstick along with my feminine charm I didn’t have to lay it on thick for him to desire me for him to want to kiss me he would’ve fuck me I hadn’t been on my period his hands roamed almost every inch of my body as if it belong to him for the 5 minutes we made out while I dissociated and pretended I was somewhere else I was numb and devoid of feeling anything Am I even a person? He said things about how I was so hot and sexy and how sad it was that couldn’t screw me And I laughed flirtatiously following the script I’ve had since I could remember and I felt no desire or any pleasure if anything I was repulsed by him, by myself hating how even at 40, I was still pulling the same bullshit since I was 16 making myself an object of desire for me to play with and then something snapped in me that day a couple of hours after that date I sent him a snap along with all the other 7 dudes I was entertaining and keeping as options the same message, “I’m sorry, I’m not in a place to date or even to have men as friends, I wish you the best” it was hard as I had always been addicted to men’s attention and validation but something told me it was time to switch the narrative even though I knew it would be lonely
Happy World Poetry day! Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot about how my relationship with poetry has changed the past few years. I’ve always said poetry-reading and writing it has been a type of therapy for me. And while, this is still true, this relationship has evolved in me finding community with other poets online and in real life. I’m actually really lucky that I’m able to call a few of them my friends. This community has also helped me become a better poet in many ways. With all that being said, I wanted to share a few poems I’ve written about this community and how it’s impacted me.
tonight
we gather here tonight to share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves through poems written on a whim, in cars, inspired by dreams and tragedies and everything in between some of it will be meaningful some of it will be nonsense most of the time, it will be someone trying to make sense of the world with a few phrases and sentences clumsily strung together and calling it poetry
1/2/24
me at the open mic in May
finding community in athens
when I finally took myself seriously as a poet and writer, I was 40 before that I thought I was some cute and crazy girl who used poetry and stories to express on paper whatever she couldn’t burden loved ones with but now at 40, between the july heat and mental health diagnosis I had a nervous breakdown and I used my creativity to get through it so I started blogging and used my poetry as content I had no idea anyone would like it, resonate with it and subscribe to it and after a year, I went back to open mic and keep going and bared my most vulnerable and intimate thoughts this lead to me finding community with the local poets of Athens and it’s what I had always wanted but was always too scared, too insecure to seek out and also too busy with everything else in my life but one day I got tired and finally embraced the fire of my creativity and decided to share the artist in me with the world once I did that, I created a community and eventually found a community of writers and poets who accept me, encourage me, and inspire me
2/20/24
me at the open mic in September
safe harbor
I landed in my safe harbor after I almost drowned and I’m greeted by strangers who welcome me with open arms they don’t turn away or tell me I’m too much when I tell them my lore of trauma through poetry they applaud me, they accept me, they encourage me they’re the sanctuary I’ve been searching for since I can remember these strangers who call themselves poets have now become my chosen family
being with you was a form of self harm it was another symptom of my mental illness It was me living with my unhealed alcoholic daddy issues it was the worst version of me trying to find some kind of semblance of love to fill the void with whatever, even if that love looked toxic, brought out the worst in me, berated and assaulted me still stupidly I went back to you and accepted you in my life over and over again even with delusional daydreams in the back of my mind that if I kept you in my life long enough eventually you’d change and one day we’d get it right but all you ever did was disappoint me over and over again but this last undoing of us is the one and good riddance for that because at 43, i’m too fucking old to waste my time on fuck bois who can’t show an ounce of respect and dignity
Life on the BPD 