I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
Hope lies in the next minute,
the next hour, the next day,the next week
Hope makes us believe
there is something to look forward to
even in our darkest hour
Hope gives us the strength
to continue on when we don’t want to
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
My heart blooms like a flower in the spring
taking in the beauty of everything
I’m no longer so angry
and feel a freedom to just be
I take things in stride
and no longer feel the need to fight
Is this what healing looks like?
I wrote this poem in April of 2025.
the nuns and mami started into obedience and I reverted into a world of silence
And everyone praised mami about what a good little girl I was
and no one thought much about this
until my parents demanded answers for the rebellious streak in my teens
couldn’t understand the numerous absences, the subpar performance in school,
why I sulked in my bedroom for hours on ended, the disrespect from my mouth
as I stood up for myself, they wondered where their sweet and quiet princess went
all the while they should have looked back 6 or 7 years ago
when they indoctrinated me to hold it all in or else they wouldn’t love me
should have known one day I’d rebel and explode as I was finding my spirit,
my voice once again after it had been buried under layers of good behavior
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
With a fiery madness, she survived and made it out alive
tragedy after tragedy, diagnosis after diagnosis
she questioned how or why she did it
Many stood astonished at how she kept herself together
and composed even as her life and her body fell apart
but after a while it was easy for her to triumph
after every devastating plot twist
she was something else
a mixture of manic pixie girl and goddess
she was special
I wrote this poem in February of 2025.
my pleas for love fall on the deaf ears of the universe
I scoff and get angry with her
Wondering what’s left to heal
what’s left for closure
what’s wrong with me that I need to fix in order
to attract someone to love for the crazy, creative
and complex woman that I am
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’ve written dozens and dozens of poems about our story of lust and love
but today I found your purpose
with you I found inspiration and motivation to make myself better
hoping you could really love me
hoping you wouldn’t see me as just a sexual commodity
hoping to make myself worthy of you
and while now I see it was a delusion of mine
to do all of these things for your love
it still helped me to become better than before
it still brought me the resilience, strength and courage
to start living the life I always wanted to live
and plan the future I had always dreamed of
with you and after you-
I became the empowered woman I am today
and for that I thank you
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I want to be just like you, so confident, so carefree
you never allow responsibility guilt you or bring you down
So I mirrored and mirrored you leaving my old self behind
wanting to free myself from the chains off my husband and kids
I wanna be fun, I wanna be sexy
let me fuck whoever I want
and I try but it never makes me happy
it was like jumping continuously on a trampoline of self destruction
sabotaging my chances at happiness, at success
at true self awareness
and one day the trampoline broke along with me
and I picked up my broken pieces
Dismissed the distractions and my need for validation
and I learned not to mirror you or anyone else
I finally found comfort and love in my own skin
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
Lavender and lace daydreams fill up my head
when I’m in love
everything soft, everything vulnerable,
everything oh so delicate and pretty
but then reality hits and the daydreams turn into
gray and somber nightmares
everything rough, everything violent
everything hard and ugly
and I wonder over and over again
what is wrong with me
why do they all leave?
am I not worthy?
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
beast hurry up and come find me
it’s been a year since I’ve been married
two years since I had sex
and three years since I’ve been
in real relationship
I’m a thirsty and have a yearning
to break my vow of celibacy
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I feel left out by my friends and I cry and whine
“they hate me, I’m not good enough for them”
my voice of reason tells me
“it will be okay, you don’t need them”
it’s my sister
I break down in the middle of the sidewalk
and cry and scream
“I’m unworthy of love, I’ll be alone forever”
my voice of reason tells,
“that’s not true, you just need to focus on you boo”
It’s my son
my voice of reason has comforted me and loved me unconditionally
my voice of reason keeps me from going under
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
the prodigal daughter returns to a homeland that she barely remembers
it’s been 32 years since she stepped foot on Peruvian soil
and this feeling is unworldly-indescribable-unimaginable
she was a child when she left
never quite understanding the whys or hows of her family’s immigration journey
in her adopted homeland, she suffered through hardships and failures
but the ancestors always protected her
from drowning in the immense waves of chaos and disasters, she ended up being tossed in
and she’ll go to their graves and pay reverence to them for shielding her from danger
the prodigal daughter returns, and she feels nostalgia rushing into her body and mind
she is finally where she belongs
I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
this modern world got my victorian and pure heart all fucked up
don’t know which way is up
don’t know which way is down
don’t know what is right
don’t know what is wrong
I want someone’s hand to hold but they reach for my breast
I want innocent kisses on the cheek
but they reach for the heaven between my thighs
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I look forward to the day when I’m no longer known as the writer with BPD
when I no longer make my mental illness a part of my brand
when I’m no longer dependent on my ex husband
and antipsychotics to survive
when I finally start to resemble something like a normal person
and not the vehement emotional mess I usually am
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I wanted to kill my sex drive so I stopped taking buspar
and while my sex drive has finally waned
the side effects are slowly killing me
between the mental fog, the constant headaches,
the nausea followed by the loss of appetite
there’s a reason they tell you to wean slowly
from psychiatric drugs, to do it under the care
of a medical provider
stopping cold turkey lends to a spiral of madness
and a physical ailment I never intended
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
at 9, Mariah Carey taught me to look pretty
even as I’m suffering, even as I’m cast aside
for someone else
even as I’m crying and dying from grief
at 9, Mariah Carey taught me about
all of the lovely and terrible things
that come with falling in love
at 9, Mariah Carey gave me lessons
about life and love
I’ve carried into my middle age
Life on the BPD 