this poem is inspired by the 2006 poem “frustrating”
not even a year has passed
and there’s an ocean between us
desire and passion once shared
evades us
as we fall into an oblivion
of obligations and routine
poetry: ocean
poetry: on Sundays
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
on sundays I give myself permission
to live inside my head
where I build a world I can freely imagine
and play in
where only a select few I let in
on sundays, I jump timelines
from the 90s to last year to my present
writing about past experiences
that still linger in my mind
on sundays I give myself permission
to be a complete hermit
with only my playlist, my pen,
and my paper to keep me company
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poetry: thanatos
here’s the Spanish version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=11875
petrified, frustrated, and stagnated
drowning in a sea of disillusionment
thanatos finds me and whispers in my ear
“come with me and your pain will disintegrate”
and the temptation to follow him is great
I hate living in such a terrible and inhumane
world
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poetry: copy and paste
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
Copy and paste, copy and paste, copy and paste
Partners, unhealthy love patterns, delusions of love
it happens over and over again
And I try my best to change this narrative
and sometimes it seems to work
but most of the time it was me denying what’s in front of me
A man who treats me like his inferior
Allowing him to step on my boundaries
trying to keep myself small enough so he doesn’t leave
and I’ve lost count of how many times this has happened to me
And I’m fucking tired of it
So I put a pause on love for a while
Until I can figure out how to produce healthy love energy
And ensure I don’t settle again for anyone
who treats me less than the majestic and magical queen that I am
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poetry: toxic story
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
Triggered trauma brings in a spiral of toxic guilt and shame
even if logically I know it’s not my fault
and I was just standing up for myself
I’m still recovering from being a nice girl
I’m still recovering from saying please and thank you
when toxicity was served on a platter of love
I’m still recovering from compromising
my values and my true self
for the comfort of others so they’d stay
I’m still recovering from the most toxic
story I ever told myself when it came
to measuring my worth by how
others judged and perceived me
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poetry: muse
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
what is it about poets and writers I find so attractive
maybe it’s how they play with words
that makes me yearn to become their muse
maybe it’s their expression of passion
that makes them the object of my obsession
maybe it’s because their creativity makes
me want to make poetry with their bodies
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poetry: wild, wild west
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
it’s where my demons decide to come out to play
they dance with traumatic memories
making my fears and insecurities come out to the surface
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
being insane becomes my personality and aesthetic
scaring away any potential love candidates
it’s been a long time since I held someone’s hand
much less been in someone’s bed
It’s the wild wild went inside my head
And I wonder when will the demons get tired and leave
so maybe one day I’m not so jaded
so maybe one day I give someone the chance
to take me out on a date
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poetry: who am i?
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
love ties me up and binds with a rope of shame
slowly I fade away until I’m nothing
I don’t recognize who I am
Friends tell me I’ve changed
I tell them they’re crazy
messages appear in dreams
I’m living a fake life
who am i? who am i? who am i?
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poetry: my favorite customer
this poem was inspired by this silly poem from 2006 called, “A poetic tale”.
it was another boring night at work
I was stuck on aisle 10 between stocking
and my racing thoughts
a 90s dance song comes on the speaker
and just when I’m about to sing
I heard footsteps behind me
I turned around and there he was-
my favorite customer
5’10 ,curly black hair, full red lips
and a body built by some Greek God
he was looking at pots and pans
I quickly turned my back to stock the tupperware
and sneaked glances and admired him from afar
hoped he didn’t notice me in my Kroger garb
I looked like too much of hot mess to flirt
but still my dead and jaded heart was resuscitated
and my imagination took flight
as fantasies of him surfaced to my mind
and just as I’m imagined our first kiss
he approached me, -OH NO!
of course he asked for a specific type of pan
we didn’t have
I told him no and apologized
in my best customer service voice
and he told me “no worries”
as his voice cracked and walked away quickly
and I wondered, am I imagining things,
or is he also attracted to me?
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poetry: purpose
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
Open mics, family, karaoke nights, dance parties,
Tarot readings, poems written on sticky notes,
Epiphany after epiphany about how I have always been worthy,
Long conversation about life in coffee shops,
Trips to my dad’s hometown, sharing silly verses with friends
making dumb videos, coffee cups that say main character energy
dancing in car while I drive, taking picture of the moon
and everything else that brings me joy,
and every single experienced Ive lived,
every single person I’ve loved
is what my life’s purpose is about
It’s joy,hate, love, anger, empathy, envy
it all brings purpose to my wretched everyday
existence
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poetry: shadows
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
Shadows of past sorrows came to visit me tonight
they were triggered by that Taylor swift song on vinyl
I poured myself some Hennessy to cope
made a toast to what could have beens
as tears fall on my paper trying to understand
the journey is sometimes shitty and full of nails
I had to step to get here
on the other side of madness and chaotic living
Living life intentionally and no longer just for the moment
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poetry: bridging the gaps
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
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poetry: tonight
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
we gather here tonight
to share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves
through poems written on a whim, in cars,
inspired by dreams and tragedies
and everything in between
some of it will be meaningful
some of it will be nonsense
most of the time, it will be someone
trying to make sense of the world
with a few phrases and sentences
clumsily strung together
and calling it poetry
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poetry: magician
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
You must be a magician
because you make me feel things
I’ve shut the door to,
you make me want to write
the most terrible and cringy poems
about love
you must be a magician
because I can’t stop thinking
about you
because even though I said never again
here I am obsessing over another man
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poesía: mármol
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=11693
no hay diferencia entre ella y mármol
sus manos y pies quedan quietos
y ella hace los gestos apropiados
aunque nada tiene sentido
en este momento
lleva un volcán de ira guardado
dentro de ella
mientras hablaban sobre tonterías
y ella lleva una sonrisa falsa
en su cara
Life on the BPD 