this poem is inspired by the 2006, “let’s go to your store”
take me on a tour of your utopia
the one you always talk about
the one where mental illness doesn’t exist
and we all go to sleep without the need
of meds and sleepytime tea
the one where everyone is respected
and being different is celebrated
and not used as fodder for insults or war
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
you donate to endless non profits, sit on boards of organizations
that want to bridge communities together,
you volunteer at the soup kitchen or as a mentor
for underprivileged at risk kids
you share your stories of trauma
and you do all of this telling yourself
I want to help others
I want to be a healing light
this cesspool of a world desperately needs
and despite dozens of explanations
I’ll ask you
are you doing it to help others
or are you doing it to fuel your ego?
are you doing out of the purest of intentions
to make a difference
or to make yourself feel better
about your mediocre first world privilege existence?
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=11693
no hay diferencia entre ella y mármol
sus manos y pies quedan quietos
y ella hace los gestos apropiados
aunque nada tiene sentido
en este momento
lleva un volcán de ira guardado
dentro de ella
mientras hablaban sobre tonterías
y ella lleva una sonrisa falsa
en su cara
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
Reddit wants to make sure I’m real and not a spam bot
and even I ask myself this today
as I feel completely numb
as I feel like my emotions are turned off
And I’m a new kind of mellow
the kind of mellow that’s a zombie
functioning and existing with a stoic demeanor
feeling completely detached from who I truly am
over medicated and toned down
to barely subtle static and white noise
Is this what it’s like to be normal?
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem, “the horsefly stood on her shrug”.
blankness spills across her pretty face
no distinction between her and the marble
her hands and feet are still
watches herself say the right words
and make the appropriate gestures
nothing makes sense in this moment
rage burns inside of her
she smiles and nods politely
as they talk about the weather
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
the downpour from this morning made me uber emotional
driving through a flood, trying to not lose control of my car
and with God by my side and Olivia Rodrigo on the radio I made it to work
the downpour didn’t stop
and my coworker mentioned it was an upside world when the morning
looks like evening
and the dreadful weather triggered the on switch to my depression
and out pours the thoughts about grief and death
the downpour of my emotions started and nothing could stop it
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
I channel the luchadoras before me
the ones who had to work in the chacras
to provide for their families,
the ones who had to work with their bare hands
to build generational wealth
the ones who survived infidelities, abuse, and tragedies
and still came out on top as Queens
the ones who never had the option to lay down
and princess to be doted on, be taken care of
they had to become working class luchadoras
for the betterment of themselves
and their families
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem “racy lacie”
aol chatrooms serves her purpose
for attention and validation
slowly Lacy become a love junkie
with a combo of low self worth
and undiagnosed mental illness
she never feels like she’s enough
so she uses her beauty and her body
to search of wholeness
no one thinks to stop her
or monitor what she’s doing online
has plenty of dates with strange men
in parking lots
at 16, she feels on top of the world
sneaking hits of lust
After school and on weekends
using her friends to cover for her
never thinking of the consequences
and always living for the moment
this is inspired by the 2006 poem, “did I ask for your advice”
well meaning unsolicited advice and opinions from others
Made me feel like I was a failure
like I wasn’t doing enough to better myself
it always comes after a life changing event-
a new baby, marriage, and most recently my divorce
In my 20s it drove me crazy
In my 40s I nod, smile, take whatever is helpful
and move on
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
How long do I have to scroll before the algorithm fucks me up
Before the algorithm makes me feel like I’m not doing enough
before I lose my shit and say “this is bullshit”
and delete all of my social media apps
How long do I have to scroll before the algorithm makes me feel better
before the algorithm starts to validate my existence
Before some random stranger slides into my dms and tells me I’m pretty
this poem is inspired by the 2006 poem “desire”
What did I do differently this time?
you’re looking at me as if I was magic
the icy cold wall between us melts
and we’re back to who we once were
this poem is inspired by this 2006 poem “risen”.
https://wordpress.com/post/lifeonthebpd.com/4529
I was ready to give up
Until I felt a sudden caress on my hand
you looked at me with desire, and I blushed
and our passion was awakened
from a year-long deep sleep
Is this a short-lived daydream?
or the impossibility of our new reality?
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
my life flashed before my eyes as a fog took over my mind and body
What would happen to my ex? What would happen to my kids?
they can’t function without me
I’m the one who makes sure the rent and electricity get paid
I’m the one who always takes the initiative to better our family
I’m the one who’s trying to break generational curses
so my kids don’t suffer as much as I did
my life flashed before my eyes, and I mentally prepared a list
in my head of every one of my children’s milestones
i would miss out on if God took me now
and as the fog finally started to lift
I thanked God for his mercy and understood the message
from the universe
I really need to take better care of myself
my health can never be taken for granted
I’m too important for my family, my friends
to learn to live without me
this was my great awakening
this poem is inspired by the 2006 poem “the light”
hope is found in a lucid dream-
It’s a whisper reminding me, “it won’t always be like this”
it’s my abuela telling me “tu vida apenas está comenzando”
and I wake from the fog of existential dread
I’ve been feeling lately-
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
another new year is here
another season of my life
will soon be renewed
more chances for new experiences
and adventures
more opportunities to fuck things up
and give fodder to the inner critic in me
to emotionally beat me up
more time to question myself
am I doing enough for me and my kids
to prosper
more moments of joy and laughter
with my boys as they get older
and continue to find their autonomy
more grief and sadness as the working class
and marginalized communities
continue to be stepped on
more memories made that ignite a spark
of creativity within me
another new year
another transformation under construction
Life on the BPD 