I wrote in December of 2012 when I was amidst a great depression.
Recognizing the triggers of
My depression is one of
The hardest things I have to do
It’s when I’m silent
Wishing all the bad things
Would go away
It’s when I stop listening
To music
It’s when I struggle
To open my eyes
And face another dreadful day
Here is the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: So You
Lo siento por ti
piensas que has ganado
pero serás otra mujer usada
crees que te ama
pero es una de sus mentiras
piensas que el es tu príncipe azul
pero tu dignidad parara en el suelo
tienes un canalla y mentiroso a tu lado
que te dejará con un mal sabor en tu boca
no digo esto porque te tengo envidia
es una advertencia
para que no acabes como mi
otra de sus muchas mujeres
que el trate como una muñeca de trapo
Here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/10/13/poetry-same-old-ugly-song/
Pensaba que tu amor era como sueño celestial
me sentía bendecida
pero te volviste en una pesadilla infernal
y aprendí de nuevo
que tu eras otra canción melancólico
otro inútil más
mi amor se volvió en un mar de odio
me di cuenta muy tarde
Que estaba ciega
a que me estabas usando
y me lleno con un fuego de furia
Me hundí en una arena movediza de amargura
Desafortunadamente todavía me acuerdo
de nuestro amor y tu ternura
pero tú arruinaste eso cuando te fuiste con ella
Ojalá que te quedes con ella
porque ahora soy un nunca en tu vida
Quiero olvidarme de todo los que fuimos
porque estoy mejor sola que mal acompañada
tengo que aceptar la mentira que tu fuistes
tengo que aceptar que tu fuistes
otra canción melancólica
I wrote this in 2008.
The Wound
It’s a wound that never closes
No matter how many years
are spent trying to close it
To taste the pure heaven that is you
and have it swept
from under me in a sudden swoop
made the everlasting wound
I looked everywhere
for somebody to help me close it
But no matter how hard
they tried, the wound
wouldn’t come close to closing
I finally met someone who lessened the pain
of the wound
with his gentle and understanding nature
But even after 6 years as his patient
the wound remains open
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/13/poetry-old-habits/
Ella era un hábito que no podías romper
aunque te di lo mejor de mi
Aunque te di mi amor
No era suficiente para ti
entonces corriste a los brazos de ella
y cuando me entere
me aleje de ti
Mientras ella se quedó contigo
porque yo no soy una estúpida
yo se mi valor
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/10/29/poetry-lies/
Tenías puesto tu disfraz de príncipe azul
para que me queda contigo
Fingiste amarme
Fingiste apreciarme
y yo me creí el cuento
que me estabas contando
Y te amé y tú te volviste mi adicción
pero todo era una mentira
y ahora estoy llena de remordimientos
I wrote this in October of 2007.
Unanswered whys continuously haunt me
Why didn’t we last?
Why did “us” end?
We were the best love story
Where was our happy ending?
Why did our romance suffer an
abrupt and cruel end?
I wrote this in October of 2007.
The freezing cold
hit me as you
said your last
goodbye.
No more warm
and cozy instances
of your body
entrapped with
mine.
Will I ever feel
warm again or
is the cruel cold
a permanent thing?
Aquí esta la versión en Español:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/08/08/poesia-desgraciado-2/
Perhaps I’m crazy,
Perhaps I’m dramatic
But I must say
You’re a traitor
for what you did to me
Causing me so much heartbreak
and misery
Pretending to “love me”
Behind your “nice guy” disguise
was really an asshole
who lured me with sweet lies
into a web of treachery
and infidelity
I wrote this poem in December of 2016 after my almost love affair with death on December 5th. It’s strange how aside from my journal entries from that month, I hardly remember that month. I just remember feeling so broken inside and like a failure after that happened that it was so hard to get up every morning. I do know that writing saved me during that time because I started journaling way more consistently. I would learn years later after being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that up to 10 percent of people with BPD die by suicide. Five years later, I’m glad that I had people by my side that prevented me from becoming one in ten. I’m glad that afterwards, I was able to slowly come back from this even if I was mostly depressed the year after and it was a fight to get up every single day.
For more information about the high risk of BPD and Suicide, here is a link from Psychology Today with info about it:
I wanted to sleep
Sleep beckoned me
Like a magical place
Where I could forget
Forget-
The burdens and responsibilities
Forget-
The performance reviews, the report cards, the bills
Forget-
The husband, the kids, the friends
I wanted to sleep
So I planned my journey there
Call in sick, act natural,
Take the bottle of xanax
I wrote love letters
To my children, my husband, and friends
Just in case I fell in a forever dream
I wanted to sleep
Selfishly, without interruptions
I wanted to sleep
So I didn’t have to think
About my mediocre and suburban reality
My lost dreams of greatness
My wastefulness on this earth
I wanted to sleep
But I was interrupted
By my husband shaking me
Halfway carrying me
To the couch, forcing coffee
Down my throat
I wanted to sleep
But I had to wake up
And endure the reality of life
I wrote this poem in 2004 when I was feeling nostalgic about my ex boyfriend A after I had a dream about him. That love story is actually super complicated but that’s another blog post.
The light falls on his eyes for a few minutes
And I see the flecks of green in them
But what I really see is a different life
I see the life that could’ve been mine
I see the kids we never had
I see the us that was and couldn’t be
But mostly what I see
Is a world full of remorse
Because of adolescent lies and pride
That made us say
Sorrowful goodbyes
Goodbye Hazel Eyes
And the almost happy future
Held in them
This another poem inspired about the great breakup of 2001. I probably wrote this when it first happened. My sense of reality is shook up after a break up and it feels like a never ending nightmare that I’ll never wake up from after it happens. This doesn’t happen with every break up…just the ones that really affect me.
Waiting
So I wait for the phone to ring
To hear you say
this loneliness has all been a horrible dream
So I wait for you to show up at my door
To tell me you can’t stand being away from me no more
So I wait for your love letter in my mailbox
To begin getting back together
I wrote this in 2004 and revised it recently. It’s not based on anything from real life.
They’re driving back from the theater. All evening he’s been quiet and she wonders what is going on. She reaches for his hand but he won’t give it to her. She tries to look into his eyes and he looks away.She can feel him cold and distant. She no longer recognizes what is supposed to be “them”. With tears in her eyes, she says, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.” he says as he’s still evading her eyes.
“Do you still love me?” she asks with a quivering voice.
“I’m sorry.I’m in love with someone else. It’s nothing you did. These things happen, I hope–
“STOP!” she yells. She’s barely holding it together at this point.
“I’m really sorry, I just want to-”
“STOP! I’m done with this. Stop the car.” she screams at him.
“You’re being crazy, at least let me-”
“NO. I want nothing from you! Stop the car NOW!”
“You need to calm — he stops mid sentence as he sees her taking off her seat belt and unlocking the door. He stops the car. He says, “I just want–”
“Fuck what you want” she says as she gets out of the car.
“But I-”
“There is nothing left to say”. She tells him. She walks away while she cries and laughs.She whispers to herself “fuck.once again”.
I wrote this in 2007 about my husband. I was frustrated that he was always so guarded with his emotions and his past. I hated that I could give him my vulnerability and he couldn’t give me his. Looking back now, I should have realized how incompatible we were at the time, but my stubborn and optimistic self wanted things to badly work.
A steel and locked fence guards you.
It does its job well.
Your insecurities and emotions never
come out to play with mine.
Your past never comes out to
join mine in a game of nostalgia.
Will your fence ever open for me?
I wrote this in 2003 about some random dude.
I love you so much it hurts
You put me through this sweet silent torture
Of your evil seductive ways
I almost die of ecstasy
Life on the BPD 