I’m not meant to be loved behind closed doors or only at night or kept as your little secret I’m not meant to be the mistress, the side chick or your on call whore I’m not meant to be devoured at your convenience in 2 hour increments I’m meant to be taken out in public in the daytime and introduced to your family and friends I’m meant to be part of your relationship status, your girlfriend, your partner in crime I’m meant to be paraded and exhibited everywhere but most of all I’m meant to be loved out loud
This is in response to prompt #22:Something all people should know
me reading this poem out loud at open mic
stop allowing the world tell you who you should be embrace who are with all of your imperfections being “flawless ”is a lie sold to us by a consumerist society who uses our insecurities for profit– the countless anti aging creams catered to women of a certain age even more weight loss shakes and gimmicks targeted at everyone feeding us a false narrative that if we are skinnier or younger we’ll somehow be an almost perfect ideal of human be whoever you need be to fit your own brand of happy everything else is bullshit
This was my response to prompt #22: Something all people should know
me eating my pizza contemplating making a passive aggressive post
Stop shaming your shadow self trying to constantly shut it down telling yourself it’s not a part of you it’s been there since you were a child acknowledge it, walk with it Let it be seen, let it be heard even if that sometimes looks crazy or weird Let that bitch or asshole out Otherwise it will consume you
Easy E,Tupac, and Dr.Dre calmed me down when I was lost amidst a nervous breakdown I couldn’t remember who the fuck I was or where I came from then I blasted some Gangsta Rap in my ear and remembered who the fuck I was I’m a Queen from the land of the Incas raised in West L.A and Paradise I’m made to withstand earthquakes and hurricanes even when they come disguised as humans that’s when I turned my grief into anger and rage and knew I wouldn’t be “just okay” I would make this my greatest comeback in my life story
Believing in myself feels like an act of rebellion after years of self loathing and self destruction I finally feel enough and complete Is this some kind of dream? Do I really love myself? Do I really accept myself? Do I really care about myself? I do and I do and I do I’m ready to live out my truth I’m complicated and complex and not terrible or a hot mess I’ve been forever misjudged and thought I was too much The reality of my authenticity Brings out a new transparency I was never too much or not enough or even the hardest to love I might be a complicated puzzle to solve But I’m always, always, worthy of love
This was my response to prompt #27: A book you want to read
Quote from “The Body Keeps Score”
Will “The Body Keep Score” give me the answers I need as to why my body still feels past trauma and why I still have nightmares about people and places who has caused me harm? or how when a trauma anniversary comes up like the day I lost my baby or the day I lost my mind my body feels extra heavy and my fists are clenched all day Will I finally understand my body can still feel the pain of trauma months and even years later when something catastrophic happens to me?
I was never the marrying kind Don’t know why I forced myself into that line Maybe because of society’s expectations I made marriage my destination But it wasn’t really who I ever was Forever is not meant to be in my book of love But still I tried for seven years And by year 7, I ran into my biggest fear I felt trapped in a cage of my own making Happiness, contentment, and authenticity I was faking But it was never truly me Living this suburban reality And one day I wanted to sleep forever My mind collapsed from society’s pressure to continue this facade of being the perfect wife With my perfectly imperfect life My authenticity I had to put aside I’m a wife and mother of three There’s no such thing as being free But these were the lies I told myself The critic in me I learned to quell I learned I could be a mother but not a wife My husband took our relationship’s demise in stride There would no more anniversaries We were done with self imposed forgeries And a new chapter started with us One full of laughter, friendship and familial love
This was my response to prompt #23: What’s you’d really like to do tomorrow
Kailua Beach, Hawaii-my former paradise
Tomorrow I’d like to swim for the first time in my former paradise and after lay out in the sun in my bikini I’ve loved feel the sand everywhere instead of tolerating another dreary and rainy day in Georgia My mood would improve and I would write more happy poems Instead of writing about how I hate my existence and everyone and everything in it
Apparently, here is another poem from the great breakup of 2021 that never got posted. I’ve also included the revision of it after the poem.
Solitude be like
I deserve better than some low class player I deserve a man who knows how to love not some boy that’s not enough I deserve respect not to be treated like an object I deserve honesty not someone who lies to me I deserve to be able to trust Not some asshole who’s out for lust I deserve to be happy and to not drown in misery I deserve a real man and not an ass from jerk land
2001
Worthy of My Energy
fuck the toxic love story I keep on repeating I refuse to be disrespected and objectified by another man who lies to me about love because he’s lonely and wants me in his bed I’m no longer a temporary bandaid for another confused man who doesn’t know what he wants and discards of me when I’m stop being easy from now on any man who wants to be with me will have to prove himself to be worthy of my energy
This is my response to prompt #11: A goal you reached
I know my worth..now fuck off 🤣🤣🤣
Getting rid off my self imposed chains of insecurity and doubt I no longer give any fucks-I no longer hold back I announce my arrival when I drive, when I make love, and when I blog I’m liberated from the chaos I used to cause and have accepted sometimes an attention whore or an introvert and it’s okay to swing between both as long as I honor my truth and know my worth
Why did you break our romantic ties? What did she have to make you leave me suddenly? Why do I keep repeating the same stupid story, of finding myself the woman used and scorned? I’m fucking exhausted with rage always making the same mistake over and over again giving all of my myself to another confused man who leaves me when I’m no longer easy
The 10th year of blogging brought a lot of progress and growth in my life. As I write this, I’m excited to say that I’m in a really good place in my life. I’m proud that I’ve been consistent in posting content on almost a daily basis and have continued to challenge myself as a writer and content creator. When I have asked people what they think about the blog, they tell me “it’s honest” and “you really don’t hold back”. Some people don’t believe that everything I share is the truth because it’s so crazy. Well, sometimes my life does feel stranger than fiction. But, at least I’m never bored, right? One thing I started to do this year is translate all of my poetry whether the original poem was in Spanish or English. One of my favorite poems I translated is this one:
I’ve also revised a lot of my old poems. This year, I’ve also grown a lot as a writer. In a few months, I can finally say I’m a published author. I will share the links to those books as they come out.
I can also say that I’m a much different person than the person who wrote this blog post this time last year:
I’ve let go a lot of the anger, shame, and guilt I felt from my trauma. It was a combination of therapy, a new level of introspection, and having a new appreciation for my life. I think last year when I restarted this blog, I was alternating between a state of anger, grief, and mania. I wanted to be as honest as I could be and I gave no fucks about the opinions of others. Also, as I was revisiting some of my older poems, it brought up trauma and well the anger came out in full force . I was also trying to find who I was beneath all of these years of unprocessed trauma. Add all this to the fact that I changed to hormonal birth control that made me even more angry and it was like a hurricane of emotions I tried to surf but sometimes couldn’t control.
I’m still going to continue telling my story but I’m skipping to December of 2021. There was a lot of poetry and stories I wrote from 2018 to November of 2021 and some of it I have shared on this blog already. The time frame I’m skipping is also the period of time when my BPD was at its worst and to put it mildly, I was an emotional train wreck. Sharing that version of me doesn’t feel right to me at this time. Also, I think that from December of 2021 to now is when my real recovery from BPD started and I wrote poetry on an almost daily basis.It’s going to be a challenge deciding which poems are going to end up on this blog. As I go through this recovery journey from my BPD, I’m understanding that I can still process and honor my trauma without having to share it on this blog or social media.
The direction of the blog is also going to move towards collaborations with other content creators, writers, and guest bloggers. So if you have a story, opinion piece, an essay, or poem you want to share with the world, feel free to contact me. I’m open to most topics. Also, you can use a pseudonym or be completely anonymous. I invite you to share your passion or anger or whatever message you want to send out there to the world through my blog! The cringier and more emotional, the better. Lol. Below is link to my contact info:
Lastly, thank you to all of my followers and everyone who reads, takes the time to read, and like my brand of crazy. I’m humbled every time I get a comment or a like on one of my posts. The fact that this blog has grown exponentially from 17 followers in July of 2021. This means I’m doing something right. Thank you for allowing me to have this platform to be my most vulnerable, craziest, saltiest, and authentic self.
Excited about what the 11th year of Blogging will bring
This is my response to prompt #10: One thing you could not give up
Don’t ask me to give up writing….EVER
You might as well do radical lobotomy before you make me give up writing You’d be asking me to give up one of the things I most love– my creativity with poetry and prose brings me purpose and meaning on my good days and helps me stay alive on my bad days so if you ever ask me to give up my paper and pen Understand you’d be asking for my slow death
I wrote this in December 2018 when my husband forgot our 8 year anniversary. Iguess I was a little salty and kind of still processing the breakup of our marriage.
December 9, 2010
He forgot our 8 year anniversary I didn’t remind him because it didn’t really matter. Hopefully, this time next year, we will be divorced. There was no use in feeling sad or spilling tears Over something that would end soon. There was no use in feeling devastated over Something that never should have happened. Vows that should never have been taken. Promises of love that were doomed from the beginning. Empty words that were never believed in. 8 years of marriage; an institution we thought would bind us for eternal life. So that maybe the sting of resentment and neglect wouldn’t break us apart. He forgot our 8 year anniversary Just like he forgot all of his promises to “Try harder” or “to change” So I wouldn’t leave. He forgot our 8 year anniversary. And it’s fine. You don’t celebrate something That is already dead.
Life on the BPD 