I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Control used to elude me and impulsivity ruled me
But the new me no longer loses it
Instead I allow myself to feel everything
because suppressing my feelings
makes me eventually explode onto others
and that’s why I lose almost all of my lovers
Do you believe in fate/destiny?
Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
even as I lost her in parts
first came the extra pounds and inches I ran off from the curvy girl who used food as comfort
and for a while a stranger stared at me from the mirror as I wondered where my cleavage went
or how my waistline got so small
then came the spectator and the passenger I lost as I gained confidence and power in sharing my truth, in sharing my art and I became the main character and the driver of my own life
finally I lost the princess who held onto others for safety, who relied on others for acceptance and love-she left on a windy October day when she conquered a phobia that haunted her for 15 years
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
but she couldn’t stay around if I wanted to grow, to evolve, to become the mother my children
always deserved, to become the woman I always wanted to be
I wrote this poem in March of 2022
I want to be soft again and fall in love
without thinking
that feels like a special kind of freedom
to share the burdens with someone
to share the laughter with someone
to share a unique kind of love with someone
but my heart is locked under a fortress
and I refuse to let anyone in
because in all honesty I don’t think
I could stand the pain again
when another lover leave suddenly
and I’m left again with the shards of my heart
to put them back together and carry on
I wrote this poem in February 2022.
To write is to fight
words that cuts like swords
How do I stop this torture?
of suppressing a petty light
Pen stabs paper with might
about past regrets and lost love wars
and memories best left ignored
of a dreadful and chaotic life
To write is to fight
Demons I want to hide from
But I can’t help but succumb
to my constant inner fight
Pen stabs paper with might
and I try to find closure
about past lovers
I write from love and spite
To write is to fight
Do I really need to say that?
Yes,it’s my trauma to unpack
and my words take flight
Aqui esta la version en espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/24/poesia-que-espera/
I can’t wait around for you to choose me
I’m losing sleeping with dread and anxiety
imagining you loving her
I think this needs to end soon before I lose it
I’m not made to be the “other”woman
I’m not meant to be a third party
in anyone’s love story
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
My solitude comforts me and completes me
this much tranquility is a gift
I thought being alone meant wearing a misery crown
Instead I found serenity and calm
I found a love I thought was impossible
self compassion and self love fill the void within
to care only for myself is a blessing
And I need to stay like this for a while
anything else feels too draining
being alone feels like the ultimate prize
in this beautiful thing called life
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/02/15/poetry-finally/
Por fin me cogi al hombre casado
fue agradable, fue placentero
fue maravilloso
fue un paraíso lleno de éxtasis
fue sucio,fue vergonzoso
fue terrible
fue un infierno lleno de culpabilidad
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
Last day of 40 and it feels like the longest year of my life
My 4th decade started with the miracle of what I thought was true love
But nope-it was another story of disillusionment and loss
growth and progress became the theme in my 40th year
I beat a 15 year driving phobia and made art from heartbreak and trauma
and I’m no longer scared to live my truth out loud
with my family, friends, and my online community
I also learned I was enough and complete by myself
and never needed someone to validate my existence
And as year 40 closes,I’m amazed by my creativity and resilience
and how time and time again I turn my trauma and grief
into the ultimate comeback story
For year 41,I hope to continue to thrive with calm and tranquility
and enjoy the magic I found within
Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.
When I look at you-
I see a promise of love
in the purest form
No ulterior motives
No second guessing
You’re sure of me
You love me
I’m not used to this
This-which is easy
This-which is true
This-which is happiness
This -which is a gift of intimacy
Wrapped up in your embrace
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
Existing was this never ending sorrow
Existing was a “what the point of it all” status
Existing was a horrible and exhausting nightmare
I couldn’t want to wake up from
But now..
Existing is welcoming the excitement of the morning sun
Existing is looking forward to my next chapter
Existing is a hopeful and lovely dream
I’m currently living in
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
I fantasize about death after my boyfriend’s rejection
I’m so out of touch with reality, a car stops inches away from me
the driver honks at me and cusses me out
I am 15
I want to throw myself of the bridge on the way
to confirm I’m my parent’s worst failure
but a kick inside me saves me
I am 17
I want my baby to stop crying, my head is starting to spin
with psychosis and I hold him a little too tight
until my husband takes him from away me
I am 30
I’m crying while spewing nonsense
while my lover looks at me in horror and disgust
I know it’s over
I am 40
Have you ever broken the law and didn’t get caught, if so how?
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/06/poetry-miserable-memories/
regrese al mundo que me causo trauma en mi infancia
bastante a cambiado, bastante sigue igual
recuerdos de dolor, miseria, y pobreza regresaron
a mi mente
la niña miedosa y ansiosa que era me visita
pero esta vez , la llevó de la mano
y le digo, ahora eres una mujer valiente y fuerte
y las personas que te hicieron daño
nunca más lo harán, las personas que te traumaron
ahora son parte de tu pasado
What were your parents doing at your age?
At 41, my mother worked two jobs, raised 3 kids,
and still kept the spark in her marriage alive
I don’t know how she did it all without ever
breaking apart-
I don’t remember ever seeing her cry
but I do remember her temper, her anger
and being afraid of her sometimes
Life on the BPD 