I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
Is it really so bad to assist others in ending their lives?
couldn’t it be seen as a final act of love?
to help them die with dignity and on their own terms
without machines and tubes delaying the inevitable
without anyone’s say over the little autonomy
they still have left
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I had to give up a lot of fun things in my life
to get to integration
an alcohol dependency, a shopping addiction,
Relationships and sex-
and the last thing was energy drinks
This was all for me to become the mom my kids
always deserved
it was needed for me to meet my higher self
who makes decisions with compassion and love
Instead of out of ego
It was needed for me to start living
in the most authentic way possible
and while I could dwell on all
of the fun things I lost
I now look at it as a blessing needed for clarity
and to make space for this new version of me
who no longer hides her jagged edges
for the comfort of others
Who loves who she is and no longer
Wants to be anyone else
Who finds peace in solitude
and is no longer scared of it
my integration of self costs me many things
I was addicted to
but it was worth it for the woman I am today
for the beautiful life I’m currently living
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
with solitude comes clarity and peace of mind
I no longer rely on the actions of words of others
to validate my existence
I no longer feel like less of a person
because of the whims of others
with solitude comes an understanding
that being alone is the best way for me
to succeed in my recovery journey
because any extra energy derails me
from the woman of worth I’m becoming
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
breathing without a hint of romance is lonely but freeing
it’s a lesson of dialectics I never wanted to learn
it’s a lesson necessary for my recovery from BPD
it’s not good or bad, it’s what I must do to get better
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
the repetitive compliments, the gross flattery about your looks
no longer works on you-
You’re one “hey beautiful” from vomiting the contents of your lunch
all of these men state the obvious-you’re pretty
And they think it’s a way to get to closer to you
but you scream, “ew” and block them
it’s nothing against them, you just no longer have the luxury
of time to waste it on this type of nonsense to even think
about entertaining them
you’re outgrown that story
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I close and open my heart at my moods and hormones’ convenience
on a tightrope of vulnerability where I tend to fall off from
and I have a tendency to blame 80s and 90s music and movies
that taught me that if you’re good enough, if you’re pretty enough
the right guy will fall for you and you’ll get your happy ending
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
The last time you ghosted me
I finally said enough and meant it
I’m not adding any energy
to something that only drains me
and makes me feel worthless
it was time to let go of our chaotic story
and embrace a new love potential
Who’ll know my wort
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
my exes are scared of me for good reason
too many times I’ve used their words,
even their emails as ammunition
in expressing myself in poetry
sometimes, it was for revenge
Many times, it was me just trying to heal
but I did warn most of them
–I’m a writer–and I’m crazy
they probably thought
“Oh how cute, a girl who writes a few verses”
they never understood how my wrath
showed up in my writing
until they leave and finally understand
they should have heeded my warning
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I’ve starved myself to make my mom, lovers, and even myself
so they’ll love and accept me
I’d go on extreme diets, skip meals,
over exercise until throwing up
and getting excited when the number on the scale
went down
and hating myself when it went up
never quite understanding there’s much more to me
than some arbitrary and unrealistic standard of beauty
I’ll never be able to attain
there’s much more to me than how I fill out a tight dress
and yet, I still check the scale every once in a while
to measure my worth
I wrote this poem in November of 2019.
He comes with false promises of respect
and easy and uncomplicated lust
He promises never to hurt you
but it’s all a game to get for him to get laid
He just wants to use you for a hit and run
Once he’s done with you
He’ll discard you like trash
He’ll never see you as a person
He’ll only see you was a receptacle for his cum
He’ll only see you as an object of lust
and at times he’ll even claim to love you
when he sees he’s losing the toxic spell he’s placed on you
but once he’s got you in his bed
He’ll forget about you the next day
So it’s best to stop his emotionally poisonous game
that leaves you always feeling worthless in the end
and delete and block his number
and forget about the fuckboy once and for all
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
if we start this again
Boundaries need to be put in place
respect me and we can make this work
let’s keep it casual and leave our feelings
out of it
I’m not looking for anything serious
every time I’ve tried long term love
I’ve crashed and burned
so let’s give this a go
with purely sexual energy
there is no space, energy or time
for anything else
let’s keep things easy and light
devour me, fuck me like a whore
take charge in the bedroom
but not anywhere else
I finally belong to myself
and I’m not changing that
anytime soon
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
the river of my love for you dried and at first I cried
but then it felt like freedom, it felt like happiness
to no longer obsess over someone who treated me like shit
to feel nothing for someone who caused me a world of pain
over and over again
Does this mean I finally learned my worth?
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
every time I drive somewhere new I’m beyond terrified
doubts about driving skills cloud me and I want to break down
and panic in the middle of traffic
but I push through my fears, my insecurities, and keep driving
I can’t be weighed down by who I used to be
A woman reliant on the transportation of others
A woman fearful of living a full life
that is my old story
and it’s not that I hate that version of myself
I just refused to hold myself hostage by my past
which tries to hold me back from
being the independent woman I was always meant to be
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
gratitude taste like mami’s sopa de pollo
gratitude smells like my lover’s cologne
gratitude feels like a warm hug from my son
gratitude sounds like my sister’s car in my driveway
gratitude looks like me looking at the Goddess in the mirror
I wrote this poem in September of 2023.
I know I’ll be okay, I know I’ll be fine
I’m the queen of resilience, coming back triumphantly
After each tragedy
but right now, I need to honor the heaviness of grief
that resides within me
Acknowledge that for a while, my kids may view me
as a villain for breaking up their family
for making them products of broken home
I gotta feel this residual anger and resentment
Directed at myself and my ex
for not being able to make our marriage work
At least I can say it wasn’t me who gave up easily
I was the one who gave my all and best efforts
to make it work
but one day, I had to accept it for what it was
a marriage damaged beyond repair
And no amount of meds, therapy, acceptance
or healing on my part could have saved it-
not when I was always doing 80 percent of the work
and he barely gave me any effort
and while yes, he did care of our kids and of me
he still didn’t help in providing for them,
show initiative to better our family
or even tried to love me
the way I needed to be loved
Instead, he hid behind his fatherhood and age
To distract me
And it wasn’t until the healthiest version of me showed up
and got the courage to put a stop to this facade of a marriage
and stop our codependent story of love
We’ve been modeling for our kids
It’s up to me to break this generational curse of toxic love
or else our kids won’t know or understand
what a healthy and real love story looks like
Life on the BPD 