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
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
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
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
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
Reddit wants to make sure I’m real and not a spam bot
and even I ask myself this today
as I feel completely numb
as I feel like my emotions are turned off
And I’m a new kind of mellow
the kind of mellow that’s a zombie
functioning and existing with a stoic demeanor
feeling completely detached from who I truly am
over medicated and toned down
to barely subtle static and white noise
Is this what it’s like to be normal?
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem, “the horsefly stood on her shrug”.
blankness spills across her pretty face
no distinction between her and the marble
her hands and feet are still
watches herself say the right words
and make the appropriate gestures
nothing makes sense in this moment
rage burns inside of her
she smiles and nods politely
as they talk about the weather
I wrote this poem in January of 2024 for my friend Rosie who died in 2023.
it was a wintry and rainy day in Georgia when last goodbyes were exchanged
between you and and your boys
you were thousands of miles away in Texas, in your hospice bed
I imagine you were full of peace in your last conscious moments
finding comfort in your faith and accepting this was part of God’s plan
but I-I carried rage that you were leaving everyone behind
rage your husband would become a widower, rage your sons would grow up without a mom
rage for the grief of everyone who would have to live without you
rage that on the 29th of June, there wouldn’t be a random happy birthday from you
for William, Miguel and all of the babies in our July mommy group born on that date
rage that I didn’t get to know you better
and that rage broke my brain, and I drove without a destination
maybe it was your spirit that led me back to the safety of my boys
but almost a year later
I still carry that rage of how I don’t understand why God took you
you who still had more than love to give and receive
you who was the warmth of a sunny day in human form
What was the purpose of your sudden departure?
this poem is inspired by the 2006 poem “desire”
What did I do differently this time?
you’re looking at me as if I was magic
the icy cold wall between us melts
and we’re back to who we once were
this poem is inspired by this 2006 poem “risen”.
https://wordpress.com/post/lifeonthebpd.com/4529
I was ready to give up
Until I felt a sudden caress on my hand
you looked at me with desire, and I blushed
and our passion was awakened
from a year-long deep sleep
Is this a short-lived daydream?
or the impossibility of our new reality?
this poem is inspired by the 2006 poem “the light”
hope is found in a lucid dream-
It’s a whisper reminding me, “it won’t always be like this”
it’s my abuela telling me “tu vida apenas está comenzando”
and I wake from the fog of existential dread
I’ve been feeling lately-
I wrote this poem earlier this month for a future version of myself. I wanted to end 2024 with a hopeful and romantic note.
lighting hits me and I’m in love all over again
this time I take my vows seriously
this time I believe in the whole
“til death do us part” bit
this time it’s far from perfect and ideal
but for once in my life
we’re enough for each other
and there are no seconds thoughts
that this is true love
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me
as I sing out my guts to lyrics
that reminds me of you
the worst of my ideas,
the worst of my crimes
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me
hoping that this is the last bit of closure
I need from you
and that from now on
we’ll both live our lives free and clear
of each other
and soon you both fade into
the background of my memory
and soon you stop showing up
in my dreams
I wrote this poem in September of 2024.
beast hurry up and come find me
it’s been a year since I’ve been married
two years since I had sex
and three years since I’ve been
in real relationship
I’m a thirsty and horny yearning
to break my vow of celibacy
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
I wash my hands of all my past sins
my wrongs never defined me
It was a toxic narrative I swallowed whole
when I was addicted to suffering
and being a martyr
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.
for almost three years I’ve been waiting for the next guy to appear
as some kind of hero, as some kind of reward for all of my effort
I’ve put into myself and the life I’ve built
Subconsciously I did this
Even as I publicly roared about being empowered on my own
I still wanted someone to be my sanctuary to lay my love in
And I wrote, manifested, schemed, flirted
got obsessed with men who were just meant to be friends
Thinking, gosh, if I hang on long enough, he’ll come around
this might work out
but today I discovered the only hero for me
is the woman in the mirror
who still manages to get out of bed
even on the bad days when she’s too tired to function
when she’s exhausted by all of it
