I wrote this poem in March of 2024.
wonder how it happened-
the transaction between beatriz’ papi and luis
did beatriz have any say in her future betrothal
did she have dreams as a little girl
about her future husband
did she even love Luis or just tolerate him
because it’s what was expected of her
how did it happen
did she wish for a different life for her daughters
one where they loved their husbands
one where they were treated like humans
and not treated like cattle
here’s the 2006 poem “dreams” that inspired this poem:
forgotten dreams remembered
in a bout of depression
I wanted to be much more than this
an overwhelmed mom of two
trying her best but still failing
an chaotic mess who doesn’t
know who she is
underneath the burdens
and expectations placed on her
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
before I knew who I was
I used to be oh so charming to men
always agreeing with them,
mirroring their interests,
stroking their egos and other things
and giving them easy access to me
I never used much discernment in this
my standard were 3000 leagues under the sea
So I allowed any mediocre joe who showed me
the least bit of attention into my universe
and I allowed this to happen for 26 years
making myself fodder for these mediocre and insecure joes
who left the minute I show then a bit of the fire I held within
and everytime they left, I was destroyed
and like a tarot’s fool I keep repeating this nonsense
until a few years ago, I had enough
when the last of the joes
said I was too much for him
and it was the final straw
that broke my romantic girl spirit
for a while I was touch and go with my sanity
but I rose and rose like the Peruvian diosa I had always been
and in horror I realized laying in bed with mediocrity
only damaged me, it was time to change this narrative
and slowly I recovered from the latest love tragedy
and starting writing my own love story
one where alone I’m enough and the protagonist
and never again have to tone down who I am
or hide the fire and magic that resides in me
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
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
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
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
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?
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 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
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
the breakup was always a larger than life event in my mind
because of the catastrophic pain it caused
because it was someone I thought could be my forever
so when he gave me the electronic pink slip
I used it as a catalyst for change
I broke away with my idea of what made me attractive
and accessible to men, and instead, I focused on what made me feel good about myself
and learned to accept myself as the complicated and crazy
woman that I am
I finally understood I was always a Queen
Underneath layers of princess skin
Armed myself with poetry and confidence
that breakup changed me like previous breakups did
however, this one was the key to the transformation
I needed to become the woman I was always meant to be
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I have a bad habit of making poetry out of almost anything
it’s annoying, it’s cringe, and downright embarrassing at times
how shameless I can be
it teethers between the line of genius and insanity
This monster of creativity of mine
from trauma to my kids to childhood memories
To the latest villain in my story to office supplies
To my dreams to the trees to the clouds
To my kroger apron to energy drinks
To that ex from my 20s
No one and nothing is saved from being used
as a fountain of inspiration for my creativity
Sometimes it’s a curse, sometimes it’s a blessing
Most of the time, it’s just downright entertaining
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is tell my story, my truth
Life on the BPD 