I wrote this poem in June of 2024.
you’ve change from spring to autumn within moments
never knew if I should wear my feelings on my sleeve
never knew if I should wear layers of cynicism
I’ve made it as simple as possible for you
and nothing happens
and slowly my hope of love recedes in the background
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 June of 2024.
I hope this story is buried for a final time
and you don’t pop up again
and I have to play whack an asshole
once again
blocking you on yet another platform
would the universe be kind enough this time
for it to be good riddance forever
cause I’m tired of my past mistakes
to constantly come out of nowhere
to disturb my present
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
I’m ready for steak dinners and an expensive bottle of chardonnay
shared over awkward getting to know you conversations
with no expectations to put out
I’ll be a completely different woman when I’m dating again
a woman selective about who allows near her
a woman who no longer seeks validation and attention
from the wrong men
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
a glass of champagne in my hand as I raise a toast
who I used to be
a woman mentally ill and needy
a woman who gave men easy access to her hips
a woman who thought intimacy could only be created
and felt in between her sheets
we say goodbye to the his woman lovingly
as we usher a new era of me
a woman who knows her worth
and won’t settle of anything less
than she deserves
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.
everytime you disappear, I lose an ounce
of the fondness and affection I hold for you
this last time,I didn’t even notice
I thought, good for him
he found someone else to stroke his ego
and validate him
but here you are again
everything I once felt for you
has dried out
and I have nothing left to say
as you try to nonchalantly come back into my life
I’m filled with indifference this time
holding onto my new sense of empowerment
careful to not again fall under your spell
once again
Unsurvivable
I wanted you but
God wanted you more
Perhaps you were an angel
not meant for earth
Perhaps you were a hard a lesson
in grief and loss
That I needed to learn
A lesson that I should never take
love and hope for grant
No matter how brief the stay is
A lesson that your heart
can break within a span
of a few minutes
A lesson in surviving
what you think is unsurvivable
I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
never understood why you took us with you
maybe it was to assuage your guilt
maybe it was say you really did nice things
for me and my brother
inviting us to an all day road trip to Tijuana
in your air conditioned Blazer
silent as mice and on our best behavior
to not disturb you, your husband and your son
it was all so strange
the only thing I can remember
was the messiest hamburgers
we needed a hundred napkins to eat
and the picture with the donkey
maybe you were kind and graceful
with us at times
but all of that has been lost with the trauma
you incurred on us I’ve blocked out
and 34 years later in my middle age
sitting in my hot car in between jobs
I still don’t understand why you took
us with you
Blocked
Blocked from my phone
Blocked from my world
Blocked from being
The constant chaos
That torpedoes into my life
And fucks things up
If only I could
Block you from my mind
If only I could
Block you from my heart
If only I could
Block you from my dreams
Blocked from mentioning your name
My friends know better
If only I could
Block you from
My poetry and prose
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
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
Ostracized, alienated, and abandoned for being too odd, too much
cried a million tears over the same story
too stubborn to learn from the tragic lessons sent from the universe
naively believed this one will complete me, this one will save me
it wasn’t until my middle age, I had a great catharsis and said
“OH SHIT, I AM ENOUGH!”
I let go of my damsel in distress story
wrote a new story of empowerment and love within
the pages of my journal
Wrote and wrote like a madwoman until I found peace
and closure from anything that traumatized me
come to the conclusion
the only hero I ever needed was the woman in the mirror
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
I’m lead to a higher version of myself after integration
it’s uncomfortable and I blush red in this latest transformation
annoyed and hate everything I write as most of it
takes a romantic undertone
I started to miss the woman-scorned and empowered
who decimated her exes
the one who came up with the clever phrase
electronic pink slip
but that woman is slipping away from me
transforming into a woman who wears her heart
on her sleeve with her poetry
transforming into a woman who’s grown bored
of hating her exes
and instead wants to be on friendly terms with them
transforming into a woman who understands
and accepts she not defined by her trauma or a diagnosis
and instead should lean into the magic of love
that lurks inside of her
Life on the BPD 