I wrote this poem in May of 2025.
can’t seem to get away from my demons no matter how fast i run,
no matter how healed I claim to be
they always haunt me in my dreams, or when I’m at my most vulnerable
and happy thinking life might finally be going right for me
But out of the blue, my new boyfriend annoys me,
unexpected bills show up, my stalker is back and creeping on my blog,
and I fight with my teenage son
I wonder what did I do to piss off the universe this time
I wrote this poem in May of 2025.
my joe goldberg is back and a sense of doom overwhelms me
especially because I know how psychol this Joe is
from thinking he’s in love with me because of my blog
to remember the constant barrage of harassment I endured from him
for a few years, I got a major case of the icks
and while I should be extra happy my blog is getting ten time the views
it normally gets
it creeps me out entirely knowing it’s him
knowing that somehow my blog and my pics on there
are fodder for his spank back and his many delusions
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
before I was diagnosed with BPD, I was very sick
I wished and wished to be anyone else but me
I really wanted to be a middle class white woman
the kind who grew up with 2 parents in a 2 story house the kind who never had to assimilate to fit it
the kind who never had to to fill out a FAFSA application the kind who was never neglected
and whose feelings were always validated
the kind who writes stories or poems about her favorite horse instead of stories or poems about constantly feeling like a stranger in your adopted homeland
the kind who is mostly respected by men
and not fetichized or called exotic
the kind who’s never had 2 jobs to survive
in this capitalistic society
before I was diagnosed with BPD,I was very sick
I wished and wished to be anyone else but me
but three years into recovery
I’ve healed and wouldn’t want to be anyone else
because while it’s true that many people don’t struggle as much me everyone (even middle class white women)
still have their own set of insecurities and trauma
I know nothing about
I’ve learned I need to focus on myself,
feel gratitude for everything I have
as I reach my goals and chase my dreams
and most importantly
I now love and embrace who I’ve been,
who I am, who I will be
I no longer play a game of envy
and view myself as a broken mess
of who I’ve been or what’s happened to me
I was never those things
I’m a beautiful mosaic of everything
I’ve endured, experienced and lived
I wrote this poem in March of 2019.
Feeling hopeless in a cesspool of a world
That will never accept you
-for your skin color
-for your accent
-for your nationality
-for your religion or lack of one
-for your independent thought
Anything that doesn’t fit the image
of white and Christian is blasphemous
To be an “other” is to carry the weight of racism,
discrimination, xenophobia
All the phobias on your already burdened shoulders
So they try to kill us with actual guns Or
metaphorical ones of insults,rejections or looks of disgust.
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
the empty wineglass sits at the edge of the coffee table
after I’ve written another poem about you
it needs to be refilled so my mind gets tired
of being inspired by the memory of you
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
next time, next time, next time
I won’t live in the should haves,
could haves, would haves
next time, next time, next time
I’ll live in my present
and not in my past or future
next time, next time, next time
I won’t feel useless, worthless
or like I’m not enough
I wrote this poem in January of 2022.
Mason like the jar was his name
being a fuckboy was his game
He tried to act wise beyond his 23 years
But he was still wet behind his ears
He thought he could deceive me
and lies and lies and lies he told me
told me he lived with a roommate
when it was really his soul mate
He wanted his ice cream and cake
but I saw through his con game
And right away I stopped our lust filled affair
My respect I needed to firmly declare
I wrote this poem in January of 2018 .
I’m disappointed once again -being here with you
You represent everything I thought I wanted
But-
You don’t compare to him
You make my body sing with pleasure
but don’t sweep up the mess that I am
You are there to help me escape
but never to rescue me
SO I choose him
Who chooses to be there for me
When I chase death in a bathtub or a bottle
Because while sex and lust feels good
when it’s happening
It doesn’t compare to the love
and support he’s provided in keeping me alive
So I say goodbye to a life
Full of lust filled fantasies
and accept the one and only who truly
cares for me
I actually started writing this poem sometime in 2017 and finished it in January 2020. A big part of my identity is being an immigrant. This poem was inspired by the hardships and struggles I’ve seen my parents and other immigrants go through. This poem was also inspired by the Trump administration and the xenophobia that was felt in my life during that time.
Here is an audio link to my family’s immigration story: https://www.mixcloud.com/rabbitbox/rb50-stranger-in-a-strange-land-immigration-stories-patricia-tacuri/
immigration leads to discrimination
of immigrants into this so called united nation
the ones with brown skin and dark eyes
justice to them is greatly denied
xenophobia is the driving sensation
their bosses sing a song called exploitation
and they hum along to it to live in this democratic nation
they leave their language and culture behind
to endure the american lie
but don’t quite fit into the gringo equation
Is their sacrifice worth so much separation
from their families, their language, and their nation?
Ah-America – the land of the free
yet none of them are truly free
living in a soulless and consumerist society
I wrote this poem in December of 2024.
on hinge, I became unhinged
some man child told me
I should thank him for expressing
his desire to fuck me
within 5 minutes of talking to him
I wanted to obliterate him completely
cuss him out for how disrespectful he was being
but instead bowed out gracefully
told him, “naw, I’m made for victorian courtship”
he thought I was strange for wanting something
with more substance than casual sex
with a guy from a dating app
told me, “good luck with your AI boyfriend”
and the interaction leaves me sour once again
wondering if I was born in the wrong era
if I’m asking for too much in asking to be
respected and seen as a real person
instead as a temporary toy for men
to play with
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wish I could forgive everyone who did me harm-
but something in me won’t allow me too
maybe it’s unprocessed trauma that still wants to speak-
about every single atrocity I’ve experienced
at the hands of those who said
they care for me and love me
I really wish I was better than this-
constantly holding onto these old grudges
but something in me still needs to heal
so I can stop obsessing about revenge
I wrote this poem in October of 2020. This one was really hard to post because of the content that includes sexual assault but I believe it’s important to share this part of my story.
There was no way out-
and so I pretended –
I acted the part of a willful lover
even when I wasn’t willing
There was no way out
And he refused to read
-the subtle hints of no
-in between the lines of forced complacency
There was no way out
And he kept taking me
Every which way he wanted
Even when my whimpers turned into sobs
There was no way out
and I was terrified
I needed to let him have my body
to save my life
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
There were parts of myself
I forgot when I was with you
I forgot my self worth
I forgot my dignity
I forgot my self confidence
I made the mistake
of placing my worth and happiness
in your unsure hands
I made the mistake
of giving you my heart
I made the mistake
of not knowing when to walk away
I made the mistake
in believing you would change
I made the mistake
of wasting my time and love
on you
I wrote this poem in August of 2024.
when I’m bothered, when I’m embarrassed, when my inner critic
starts knocking on my mind’s door
the best thing I can do is reapply my lipstick, write some angry señora poetry
Remember the goddess that I am, and take my power back
I’m not some stupid and weak little bitch some people perceive me to be
(that narrative ended at age 40)
now, I take the disrespect and insults with grace
keep my composure, pretend I’m unbothered
even as I fume inside
I still keep on going
I won’t make a big fuss or call anyone out
that story usually ends with me being gaslit and called crazy
instead I adhere to the age old adage “aqui no paso nada”
Really being the opposite which is everything
my anger, rage, grief being the fuel to become better
to prove to myself and others
I’m not the mentally unstable bitch society perceives me to be
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
maybe I restarted the blog for a younger version of us out there
in another state, another country who needs a roadmap,
Understanding, knowledge, and wisdom
in navigating a hard situation they never thought
they had to face
maybe I restarted the blog out of hope that some couple
out there who’s struggling can find something useful
in my story, in my prose, and my poetry
to get through their own hardship through the worst of it
and make it to the other side, evolve and grow together
in intimacy and find their own happy ending
Life on the BPD 