I wrote this in 2002 about my coworker Lucas. This is a good example of the black and white thinking that happens with me when I’m in a relationship.
It’s always a war, I’m never the same after
You’re so close to me And impossible to reach You’re the one I want to be with And the one I want to run away from You’re my best dream And worst nightmare You’re my reason for my happiness And the epitome of my frustrations You give me a reason to live And a reason to leave this life You’re the first on my list And I’m the last on yours
I wrote this in 2002 about Lucas after he dropped me off at home. I really thought we had this special and unique connection at the time even though the situation was so fucked up.
maybe
He drops her off and waits for her to inside opens the glove compartment and picks up the note she leaves for him He feels ecstatic and miserable at the same time by her simple way with words It’s not so much the content It’s the meaning behind it He wants to stop and love her but he can’t He realizes she leaves that note as a reminder that she will always love him
Escribí este poema en 2002 acerca de Lucas. Estaba bien amarga y llena de amargura porque él nunca quiso dejar a su esposa. Mis pensamientos eran irracional e ilógico. Esto pasa cuando uno tiene trastorno límite de la personalidad.
pero el me olvido como los otros
El romance paro gracias a tu cobardía Nunca quisistes pelear Por aquel amor que me decias Que te hacía querer vivir la vida Y yo me quedo aquí Sola y desilusionada Y tu Con el viejo hábito Que se llama “tu esposa”
I wrote this in April of 2002 when I was depressed AF. I wrote this because I was in a toxic work environment where I was discriminated against, disrespected, and at one point even slut shamed. We could say by today’s standards that I was bullied to the extent that getting up every morning for this job was really hard. I was tired of it when I wrote this poem. I’ll tell the story of this toxic job in another blog post.
resilience should be my middle name
I wish I could throw up everything ugly in my life and only enjoy the beautiful Perhaps tell the put me down people to fuck off Or stop their pathetic attempts to change me into their idea of what I should be And stop getting talked into what they think is best for me
I wrote this 20 years ago reflecting on how rough 2001 was for me. I mean there was my whole Jake Gyllenhaal episode and of course “the great breakup of 2001” that inspired dozens and dozens of poems. 2002 wouldn’t be any better but I survived it. Whatever doesn’t kill me makes for good blog content later. Lol. As I reflect now on 2022 and any expectations I have. I honestly don’t have any. I mean 2021 was rough in it’s own right, there was my BPD diagnosis and of course “the great breakup of 2021” BUT it was also a year of tremendous growth and progress for me. And that’s all I hope to have in 2022, continued growth-as a mother, friend, writer, and coworker. As always, I strive to become a better person than I was yesterday.
always moving forward
Another new year Supposedly filled with promise and hope As any new anything Whether it be a new relationship New job or even a new hero But will this year really live up to all it’s hype? And if so, it would be the first wonderful year with more happiness than sorrows Or will this new year be another year Wasted on dead end frustrations Filled with more sadness than one can bear Only as the days and weeks And eventually months go on will we be able to know I hope for my sake That at least will be somewhere in the middle
I wrote this in 2002 about my first son’s bio dad. It kind of sucks that this situation happened BUT at least I got some salty poetry out of it. Lol.
triggered
Hey Mr.Donor man How does it feel to have your son Learn you never wanted to come That you talked big shit and never meant any of it That no matter how hard I tried for him you never wanted to be a daddy to him That you were so fucking lame You couldn’t even give him your last name That to you, his mom was just good fun That you’re a fucking coward you never dared to be his father Don’t worry though He’ll always have my love And without you, he’ll be just fine One day I’ll meet a man who is kind Who will love him and I and will want us in his life Who’ll be glad to take the place of The man who couldn’t give us love Who will come to his defense when things get tense Who will stick around And won’t bring him down Who will finally be The dad you never wanted to be
I wrote this poem about my oldest son’s bio dad in February of 2002. A lot of residual resentment I had towards him was because he wouldn’t step up. My empathy button for him was really broken for him and in this case maybe it needed to be.
it be like that sometimes
Three years too late You’ve decided to embrace your fate You’ve decided to recognize your mistake And fill my ears with apologies For not accepting mine and his existence
So now you feel like playing dad And expect me to forgive and forget about the misery you left us in The years of being a fucking deadbeat to him Please do what you do best Walk away and put this situation to rest For he doesn’t need A false wannabe daddy Who will cause him harm in the long run
I wrote this about my first baby daddy in February of 2002 when he contacted me. At the time that we talked, he told me that he wish I would have told him earlier about pregnancy because he would have married me instead of his wife. It honestly made me mad so I sat down and wrote this poem.
So accurate
You left her without a warning Couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye Now you’ve come back Wanting to stake a claim On what was once yours Thinking she will gladly accept you in a welcoming embrace Sorry to tell you But she stopped waiting for your return a few years ago You taught her not to need you, not to miss you She moved on and left you in her mind as a bittersweet memory And that’s how she now sees you
Escribí este poema en 2002 acerca cuando estaba involucrada con mi compañero de trabajo Lucas que estaba casado. Estaba bien celosa y amarga.
La Verdad, yo fui una de muchas
Usted qué espera señor Que le siga dando amor Sabiendo que usted comparte mis caricias, mis noches Tambien con ella Sabiendo que me duele el alma Cada vez que me entero Que usted estuvo con aquella Lo siento, pero no estoy aquí para ser su tonta Por nuestro “amor” Esta historia tiene que parar Y no lo quiero ver nunca más
I wrote this in February 2002 about my first baby daddy. He had started to be in contact with when he got the child support order. I obviously had a lot of residual resentment and trauma and blamed him for losing part of adolescence.
monsters that leave you with trauma
She was the girl you left behind with nothing but a baby and a desperate hope to keep her alive
She was innocent, naive, and untouched until the night she fell into your sexy scent, your empowering embrace, and a world full of promises She trusted, believed, and dreamed
Thanks to your unexpected departure that naive girl you left behind blossomed into a woman of depth, strength and wisdom beyond her 21 years She will lust but she can’t ever love She wants to trust but finds herself full of doubt She wishes to fill herself with guilt and morals but has learned to have no scruples
So don’t try to come back and expect her to believe in your crocodile tears or your most insincere apologies that girl you left behind Grew up into a woman at a surreal speed thanks to you
I wrote this in early January 2002 about some random dude I was talking to online. I never met the dude that inspired this poem.
sometimes I’m both
So you want to meet soon? I wonder why You say because I sound Sexy and great But should I take another chance And end up with another horrible waste of a man who will regard me as just another good fuck Or maybe I’m being too cynical And you for once will be Mr.Right What I know is that I couldn’t stand again being a fad
I’m not sure which ex I wrote this about but this is the general feeling I have when a relationship is going well. My anxiety goes up and I catastrophized. This was written in 2000.
I am scared That my heart will tear I am worried One day you’ll be sorry I’m so frightened It’s just a matter of when I am just tired After so many liars My mind is stuck Thinking you just want to fuck I am careful Trying to not end up a fool
I wrote this in 2001 about the great breakup of 2001. This is the last poem I wrote about this relationship. One of the aspects that I was hyper focused on during this breakup was being cheated on. Another reason, I flew into a rage was because “S” ex wife would not stop calling me after the breakup. It got to the point I had to change my phone number. She wasn’t exactly mean, I think she was trying to reach out as a fellow victim of “S” deception and wanted someone to process the pain with but I wanted no part of it. It felt too raw and painful for me at the time for me. And she wasn’t the only that called me about “S” cheating on me, there had been another chick by the name of Mariah. Also, the other part was that me and “S” communicated via email after the breakup for a few days just to fight about everything and place blame on each other. Emotions were really high not just on my part but for everyone involved. Also, this situation brought up triggers from my previous relationship with Paul. There are the reasons I went into a rage and ended up writing more than 40 poems about a 6 week long relationship.Reflecting on this now at 40, I can honestly say that I did process and heal from that breakup when it happened. I mean I did write like more than 40 poems about but maybe it’s what I needed to do at the time. I also don’t hold a grudge about “S” or his ex or anyone involved. Everyone was in their early 20s and we were all trying to do our best at that time and maybe our best looks shitty to other people.
maybe we were all counterfeits
You two were made for each other Like the sun was made to be hot To you I was just another toy To play with, But once the newness wore off You decided to go back to Your old comfortable teddy bear Unfortunately old habits are hard to break
So today marks my 10 anniversary since starting this blog. I’ll admit that until the summer of this year I didn’t take this blog as seriously as maybe I should have. I started this blog in December of 2011 after my house was broken into and we were robbed. It was traumatizing to me and my family and I needed a way to process it so I started blogging. Here is that blogpost:
Since starting this blog, there have been a lot of life changes. I’ve blog about those life changes few times when just writing it down doesn’t do the trick. The way that I have explained it to friends and family is that the blog is like screaming into the void of cyberspace.In October of 2019, I started posting my poetry and this was another level of intimacy for me because I don’t share my poetry with just anyone. I will share my poetry or writing with one of my close friends or sometimes at open mic at my local pub .Then I started a second job and I didn’t have the time needed to dedicate to this blog but I always kept writing. Then I got into a relationship that lasted until July of this year. While I’m not getting into how that relationship ended or why (that’s blog content for late next year-lol) it was one of the reasons I started blogging again. The demise of that relationship was unexpected and devastating for me so I turned to my first coping mechanism-writing. Shortly before my breakup in July, I started therapy and was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and that was a lot to process in itself. Being broken up while dealing with a new diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder felt like I had experienced 2 really horrible car wrecks within a week. I compare it to a car accident because that’s probably one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life. Except this time, it wasn’t my car that was totaled and unrepairable, it was me. I felt like I had lost part of my identity since I was no longer someone’s partner and I gained a new part of my identity in being diagnosed with BPD. I felt completely overwhelmed with no sense of direction; I honestly didn’t know what to do next. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and cry while Alexa played my sad girl playlist from Spotify. Here is that playlist:
And while I did do that some of the time; I understood I still needed to get up every day and show up for myself somehow. And showing up for myself meant writing. And so I wrote every day in my journal and in my numerous notebooks. I wrote letters at 3 AM that I would never send, journal entries full of immense sadness and rage, and tons and tons of poetry.
these are just a few of my journals and well Sylvia Plath is of course one of my favorite poets
A few days after my breakup, I decided to blog about my diagnosis to start to make sense of it and here’s that post:
After writing that post and it got more than a few views and a couple of likes, it made me realize that there are other people like me. I also got the idea at that time that healing for me would look like me revisiting past traumatic situations through my poetry and reflections or writing a blog post. And this was chaotic in itself because I started posting poetry from all stages in my life. So around late October and early November, I started posting poetry for the most part chronologically from the early stages of my writing with the very first poem I wrote when I was 15 and here’s that poem:
My writings and poetry are confessional, sometimes childish, and at times super emotional. It’s meant for people who have felt misunderstood in their anger and grief, it’s meant for people who feel everything at once and feel overwhelmed by it, it’s meant for people who have traumas they’re still not over, and it’s meant for people who have given their trust and vulnerability to the wrong people only to be broken over and over again by doing this.
so I kept writing
My future plan for this blog is to continue to post poetry, essays, playlists, and other writings. Without intending to, this blog has become a storytelling blog. And it’s a story about a woman who is far from perfect. It’s a story of woman who lies, who loves hard, who hates even harder, who loves sex, who has been abandoned by lovers and who has abandoned lovers, who’s crazy, and who feels immense sadness and rage when trauma hits. It’s a story of a woman who fucks up continuously but still manages to get up and try to become a better version of herself than she was yesterday. It’s also a story of a woman who has continued to triumph after trauma. Most importantly it’s a story of a woman who is done accommodating to people’s and society’s expectations of who she should be and at 40 has realized that being authentic and true to herself is the only and right way for her to be. I may have changed a lot within a decade but what will never change is my love for writing and my purpose to continue to share my story.
Here’s to 10 more years of writing about my vida loca