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 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 poem in the fall of 2007. I wrote this one about my husband. It was a good moment but even during the good moments, I’m still insecure.
Veins of love’s
moss grow
every minute
I’m with you
Will the veins
ever run out
of moss?
Will you ever
leave me?
I wrote this poem in early 2006 about my husband. We have always had completely different love languages.
Emotions for you
sway from
Good to bad
Every day
And I wonder
Why “we” can’t ever be
Balanced
Instead of
the disorganized mess
that we are
Pensaba que yo era la única
que ocupaba un sitio en tu corazón
nunca pense que llegaria el momento
que me dirias “ya no te amo”
nunca cruzó en mi mento
que había otra mujer
Pensaba que teniamos mas tiempo
ahora estas en mi estante de imbéciles
Doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt was “Rain on the pane”
Doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. The prompt was “Unburnt Pages”.
Day 27 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt was “Up in Flames”
This is another poem about the bio dad of my oldest son. Obviously I had a lot of anger directed at him that I should have gone to therapy for but instead I just wrote a lot of angry poetry. Ha.
You don’t know him and chances are
You never will
You could’ve been somebody real in his life
But you BLEW IT!
So now is the time to say
Goodbye forever.
Day 15 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt is “Learning to Love Myself”.
Day 7 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt was “Crystal Tears”
Day 6 of doing a 31-day poetry prompt challenge. Today’s prompt was “A Deafening Silence”
I wrote this in 2006 thinking back on my time with Lucas.
A shadow of our friendship
is all there is left
After life gets in the way
of wanting something more
And when I see you around
A wave, a nod
An acknowledgement we once knew
Each other
Our conversations are now long gone
But we’re forever etched in each
other’s minds and dreams
I wrote this poem in 2002 about my oldest son’s bio dad. I had a lot of angry emotions about how he abandoned him.
A license to create is what shouldn’t
Be given to those who don’t know how to
Appreciate their child’s laughter
Or comfort their high pitch cries
A license to create is what shouldn’t
Be given to those who don’t understand
What it takes to be an example to
Those that descend from them
A license to create is what shouldn’t
Be given to those who leave children
In the dust to follow their own desires
Without looking back on their offspring’s
sad little face that whimpers,
“Daddy, come back”
Life on the BPD 