Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/15/couldve-been/
Anoche escuche nuestra canción
y me puse a llorar
pensé en lo que habíamos sido
y todo lo que pudo ser
y el recuerdo de nuestro amor
todavía me sacude como un terremoto
Donde estaras?
Con quien estas?
¿Alguna vez la nostalgia de mi también te sacude a ti?
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Maybe I was captious in thinking you wanted sex
but you were really depressed and needed help
I was moody and tired and couldn’t be bothered
so I turned off my phone and wanted to be alone
I thought it was no big deal to not get back
on our idiot ferris wheel
and now I hope it’s not too late
and prioritizing myself wasn’t a mistake
because I couldn’t stand the thought of
you harming yourself be my fault
What activities do you lose yourself in?
There are so many stories within me aching to get out
every single one wants to be a priority
but which one do I pick first
most are dramatic, some are angry and sad,
a few are happy and lovely
every story is important in a life
full of chaos and trauma
I don’t know why I attract so much drama
So I’m going to tell each story
Because I own everything that’s happened to me
Because I’m finally taking myself seriously
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I fell into the trap of “acceptance”
not understanding I was slowly losing parts of myself
for the sake of fitting in, for the sake of other people
who loved to judge me
accept that you’re too fat to wear that bikini
accept that you’re too old to chase your dreams
accept that you’re too hard to love
it took me too long to figure out
the acceptance of others was costing me
my sanity and my self worth
and I said, “fuck your opinions on who I should be”
from now on, I’ll wear whatever I want,
I’ll chase my dreams, and I’ll always be worthy of love”
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=5970
ya no te-
no soy tuya para-
trato de encontrar las palabras adecuadas
para decirte que nuestro cuento de amor a cabo
pero cada vez que trato
todo se siente insuficiente
y la culpabilidad me cubre
y no me atrevo a herirte
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Toilet paper, hand sanitizer,
Masks, COVID tests
the judgy quarantined
Karens and Brads
or
the overwhelmed essential
workers
Solitary confinement
or
Endless work hours
Creative new hobbies
or
No time to think or sleep
Neverending restlessness
or
Neverending adrenaline rushes
Mental breakdowns for all
This was the Zeitgeist
of COVID times
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/03/poetry-tired-2/
Mis amigas son mi peor enemigas
Sacando a la luz todas mis inseguridades
y siento ansiedad que me trae insomnia
pensando si ellas tienen la razón
seré en realidad una mujer suela?
seré en realidad una madre negligente?
seré en realidad una estupida,
por querer superarme?
y me convenzo que nunca
seré suficiente para lo que se
espera de mi
y me siento deprimida
con esta realización
y me quedo dormida
con un corazón lleno
de miseria toxica
What experiences in life helped you grow the most?
Aqui esta la version en Espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=1929
I wait and wait for the impossible to happen
for me to fall in love again
even though I’ve sworn off romance forever
because of the catastrophic emotional earthquake
that takes place within me
everytime a lover stops loving me
but the romantic in me refuses to die
and won’t listen to logic
she tells me, “it would be truly tragic to deny
yourself another love story, you never know,
the next one could be your happy ending”
Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
even as I lost her in parts
first came the extra pounds and inches I ran off from the curvy girl who used food as comfort
and for a while a stranger stared at me from the mirror as I wondered where my cleavage went
or how my waistline got so small
then came the spectator and the passenger I lost as I gained confidence and power in sharing my truth, in sharing my art and I became the main character and the driver of my own life
finally I lost the princess who held onto others for safety, who relied on others for acceptance and love-she left on a windy October day when she conquered a phobia that haunted her for 15 years
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
but she couldn’t stay around if I wanted to grow, to evolve, to become the mother my children
always deserved, to become the woman I always wanted to be
I wrote this poem in March of 2022
I want to be soft again and fall in love
without thinking
that feels like a special kind of freedom
to share the burdens with someone
to share the laughter with someone
to share a unique kind of love with someone
but my heart is locked under a fortress
and I refuse to let anyone in
because in all honesty I don’t think
I could stand the pain again
when another lover leave suddenly
and I’m left again with the shards of my heart
to put them back together and carry on
Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.
I wrote this poem in February 2022.
To write is to fight
words that cuts like swords
How do I stop this torture?
of suppressing a petty light
Pen stabs paper with might
about past regrets and lost love wars
and memories best left ignored
of a dreadful and chaotic life
To write is to fight
Demons I want to hide from
But I can’t help but succumb
to my constant inner fight
Pen stabs paper with might
and I try to find closure
about past lovers
I write from love and spite
To write is to fight
Do I really need to say that?
Yes,it’s my trauma to unpack
and my words take flight
Aqui esta la version en espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/24/poesia-que-espera/
I can’t wait around for you to choose me
I’m losing sleeping with dread and anxiety
imagining you loving her
I think this needs to end soon before I lose it
I’m not made to be the “other”woman
I’m not meant to be a third party
in anyone’s love story
What advice would you give to your teenage self?
Life on the BPD 