I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
there’s a song I listen to when I know I’m truly fucked
when I know I have feelings for someone
when I get that sinking wave of romance in my gut
that makes me want to vomit and swim
in an ocean of anxiety
and like the sentimental poet that I am
I won’t tell you what that song is
but I’ll give you a hint
it’s the cover of a 70’s love song
by Will to the Power
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
always second choice, a lifetime full of heather moments
the universe makes a mockery out of me
putting me in contests I never win
never being smart enough, pretty enough, American enough
will I ever be chosen?
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
ancestor, ancestor-
which alcohol goes best with making shitty life decisions
ancestors says, not the PBR, not the michelob ultra light, it’s too basic of an energy
for the kind of epic shitty life decisions you tend to make
don’t reach for the margarita wine either, too obvious, too much of a cliche
and you already have plenty of them in your poetry
Go for the Guiness six pack
make your shitty life decisions with some English class
since most of your terrible decisions tend to include some asshole
whose ancestors are colonizer Englishmen
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
sultry July night at a pirate party
fiery red Dionysian hair, body made by Gods
caught his eye from a distance
he wanted her, he craved her, he wanted to fuck her
he approached her
right away she saw through his toxic fuck boi vibe
Said “no thanks”
and introduced him to me
I was already 3 drinks in, mesmerized by his body
Covered in tattoos from head to toe, his boyish smile
felt an electric energy between us (or maybe that was
the buzz from my third margarita)
he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, I WANT THIS BAD BOY!
within a few minutes, we assessed each other and flirted
he asked me for my phone number, giddy, I gave it to him
and that was the beginning of the end of me
and almost 6 years later, my friend still says,
“Sorry, I introduced you to him”
I wrote this poem in April of 2024.
mami dressed me up in ruffles and pastels whenever she could
I’d swirled and twirled in my dress until I got dizzy
loved when everyone told me, “ay que bonita te miras”
and I awkwardly bowed, smiled, and hid
sashayed to every single one of my relatives
and did the same thing
it’s one of the few times I remembered being vain as a child
one of the few times I didn’t feel weird and like an outcast
external validation learned at the tender age of 8
escribí este poema en Marzo de 2024.
la ira y furia de mis antepasados femeninas viven en mi
ellas me visitan en sueños y me mandan mensajes
que cuentan sus historias, sus verdades aunque duelan,
aunque algunas me llamaran sádica y dramática
ellas me inquietan y me dicen
es tiempo de gritar todas las injusticias
y trastornos vividow
que nuestras muertes no han sido en vano
y aunque lloro y trato de ignorar la llamada de la sangre
es inevitable-fui escogida-
para sus venganzas, para sus historias de redención
this poem is inspired by the 2007 poem “small”
can’t blend in with this privileged world
wrong age, wrong last name, wrong ethnicity
I stand destined for failure
on this institutions steps
as the pressure to succeeds hang around me
like a noose around my neck
and yet I still keep going
and show up every day
if only to teach my kids a lesson
in how to keep going when you want to quit
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 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 March of 2024.
I hate it when I catch myself being unintentionally sweet
It makes me feel vulnerable and weak
It’s almost as if my armor of empowered Queen
is breaking and I can’t allow that to happen
I’ve come too far in my heroine’s journey
to allow romantic daydreams
to disrupt it
And I’m tempted to erase his messages
And block him
It’s not his fault or mine
It’s the faulty wiring in my brain
it causes the logic in me to short circuit
every time I talk to him
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=12220
agujas agudas de agonía penetra mi mente y cuerpo
me siento super debil
cubierta en una frazada de derrota
I wrote this poem in March of 2024.
you were a dead end street
that I didn’t see until
it unraveled me
Until it was too late
and I didn’t want to turn around
and kept going
and eventually I crashed
in the most magnificent
and catastrophic of ways
and I burned and burned
until I was ashes
and rose up in the most
spectacular rebirth
anyone had witnessed
since Jesus
Life on the BPD 