I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my soul commands me to slow down and listen in silence to what I need
It tells me to not suppress anything-even it looks angry
another mean and petty poem appears
it’s okay, it’s shadow self needing to be seen
it’s a part of my identity that doesn’t define me
my soul tells me I’m not worst or best moments
I’m more complicated than that
I’m a woman full of trauma search for the calm in the chaos
that is her life
I wrote this poem in november of 2022.
the chaos within won’t let me sleep, won’t let me be-
I worry and worry and worry
about my kids, my bills, my productivity
and I fall into the purgatory of what could have beens
and of my many lost dreams
and disappointment and depression covers me
There was so much I wanted to be
I am the opposite of the American Dream
a woman dependent on her husband
a woman stuck in the depths of her insecurities
and anxiety
who longs to escape from this self imposed
stagnant mediocre reality
aqui esta la versión en español:
poesía: mi nueva felicidad
let me sabotage this new relationship by comparing him to my ex-
the one I still write poems about, the one who still visits me in my dreams
the one who wouldn’t leave his wife or other lovers for me-
my new boyfriend treats me with respect and is such a calm guy
my friends tell me this is healthy but I find it boring
I miss being last on someone’s list
I miss being treated as an afterthought
I miss the inner chaos and conflict that came from the uncertainty
of not knowing if my lover was sure of me-
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
five years ago, I was obsessed with a psychopath
he made me believe he wanted only me
he made himself out to be single for 10 fucking years
but one day I found out through his dad’s obituary he was married
and I severed our connection without any remorse or apologies from him
he claimed he didn’t do anything wrong, he was just a private person
that day I received my honorary degree in psychopathy
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
poesía: gracias a ti
cupid gets it wrong once again-
bringing out a drawn out rejection for a month-
This time he tells me,
“You’re cool enough to make out with
but not good enough for my mom”
I almost throw my phone across the room
instead I say “it’s cool.it’s okay”
and take a pen to my rage on paper
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
You will always be a secret that I’ll regret
one that makes me full of shame and guilt
one I’ve tried to block again and again unsuccessfully
It’s something I will never talk about
it would cause my inner world much harm
so I’ll keep quiet about it
Swallow it whole
It’s a story of trauma that doesn’t need to be told
Life on the BPD 