I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
And just when I think I have it all figured out–
Everything falls apart again
the universe has a funny way of humbling me
just when I think I finally have it together
When does it get easier?
Am I being punished for not conforming
to society’s expectations of me?
Should I be sorry for not wanting to just be
a wife and mother?
Will I ever be free of society’s shackles
thrusted upon me?
I wrote this poem in in October of 2024.
I keep saying I’ve changed and that I’m different
but I still have an appetitive for self destruction
it’s the only excuse I can come up for letting you
near me and finding myself in a spiral of self implosion
is there something in me left to heal for me
to keep allowing you to make a fool out of me
I wrote this poem in October of 2021.
I don’t recognize the
Stranger in the mirror-
the me whose face
has more chiseled features
with a stronger jawline
and haunted eyes
There is no idealism
or fantasies of love
in her eyes
Instead, she stares back
at me with a look
of strength and determination-
like she’s saying –
“You’re your own savior “
and
“There’s no such thing as
Prince Charming”
-“The princess has been left
behind and you’re now a Queen”
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
we went from devils to fools within a span of a couple of years
it’s a journey that almost broke us
one that needed to be taken apart
you needed to find out who you were without alcohol
I needed to find out who I was without a lover
and when we met again
I was deathly afraid to let you back in
and kept my guard up
making sure we didn’t fall back into the toxicity
we used to bask in
and various times I thought that meant
blocking you, ghosting you, taking what you said personally
but really it was me being careful with my ego and energy
not wanting to risk another emotional relapse
and the last time I let you go
I really thought we were done
but on a september night, you texted again
And while I tried to keep it platonic
I couldn’t help myself and found myself
in your arms once again
trying desperately to keep it casual,
to say no strings attached at all,
you can leave when you want to
but how can I do this when I keep
thinking about you
and suddenly I find myself a fool
in our journey
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 October of 2022.
I tell myself I’m not capable of love-
but that’s another lie
the truth is I’m very capable of love
But I’m afraid of it, I’m terrified of showing my vulnerability
only to once again be proven wrong, to once again go crazy
Only to once again endure the abandonment of another lover
So I lie to myself and say I’m not capable of love
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
moments from the past scatter into our present
you want to forget who we once were
while I try my best to make light of it
and say but we had fun
but you tell me, erase the poems,
forget the stories
Respectful I tell you “no”
we’re a story of redemption
that needs to be told
we’re something of a miracle
to still be standing here alive
and thriving
so while you want to forget
your story of villain and sinner
I advice you not to
own it babe, one day you’ll view it
as a testament of your resilience
and your own story of empowerment
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
He’ll ask me,
“How are you?
And I wanted to say–
“Miserable. Bad. sad. I hate you.
I wished for your death a thousand times.
I miss you. I love you.”
Instead, I said, “I’m okay”
And in the silence between our texts
I wondered
“Why? Why did he come back?
Why did I let him back in ?
Why do I love him?”
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
just call me J.Lo without the ass because my ex
(if we can even call him that) came back to me
after 2 years of sobriety
we’re the low rent version of Bennifer
since we’re not millionaires
or celebrities (yet)
I’m just a working class immigrant poet
and he’s my ex whatevership nordic muse
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
He swallowed 2 years of my life without meaning to.
He swallowed 2 years of my love that he never intended to
He swallowed all of my intense and innermost feelings
and left me with an emptiness inside.
He swallowed my confidence and turned me into a broken shell of a woman.
And slowly I’m trying to gather the broken pieces and repair my soul–
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
A blanket of anger and sadness
envelops me
as you dispose of me
once again
I hope this time I learn for good
that you only carry
destruction and devastation
within you
and that you will never love
or care for me
and that you’re a self absorbed
piece of shit
A blanket of anger and sadness
envelops me
And I hate you
but I hate myself even more
for wasting my time and love
on someone who never
deserved it
for trying to see love
and affection that was never there
for falling in love
with a charismatic coward
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
what will be done with pure intentions and in alignment with my values
will nurture my creative spirit, will be the ultimate recipe for success
and will be a legacy of authenticity for future generations
Sometimes I wonder who I’m doing it for
and I find the answer when I look in the mirror
when I look at my sons
what I imagine my grandchildren
and I’m committed again to my life’s purpose
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
I’m a master magician of emotional alchemy
transforming my suffering into poetry
I never meant for it to happen that way
but life gave me no other viable option
it was either I became magician or I died
and the spark within me was too strong
to give into my self pity and depression
so here I am
making sense through poetry out of my madness
and the nonsense life has thrown at me
and done my best with it
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my emotional hangover drains me
and anxiety and insecurity sets in –
He makes my heart race-
He inspires poetry
He’ll be another tragic love story
I know he’s not a “finally”
He’s more of a “maybe”
maybe he’ll leave , maybe he won’t
I wonder how he’ll grow tire of me
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
there’s a love poem for me being written somewhere in the universe
and it will appear in the most unexpected way
it won’t be something forced, it won’t be something illicit or immoral
it will fit perfectly into my chaotic world of community and poetry
and while this man is bound to get on my nerves (like they all do)
He’ll be strong enough to withstand my nonsense and mood swings
He’ll be the lover daydream I’ve been waiting for since I was 15
and my kids with watch us and say “ew, cringe”
Life on the BPD 