I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I’m tired of the bustle and hustle
that comes with my social status
and the color of my skin
Why wasn’t I raised with privilege
and wealth instead of being raised
with poverty and trauma?
And I try and I try and I try
to find a way out of this cruel existence
but it’s futile
I take pride in my never ending hustling
but at times it feels so exhausting
There seems to no end in sight
for this fruitless fight
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/16/poetry-coward/
lo siento por ser una cobarde al evitarte
debes de haberte dado cuenta
que no soy la santa que colocaste en un altar
que no soy la chica de tus sueños
que nunca seré la madre de tus hijos
estoy llena con remordimientos por esperar
tanto tiempo en cortar nuestros lazos de amor
ojala que tu no cuestiones tu valor
porque no supe valorar tu amor
ojala que encuentres a una mujer madura
que te aprecie y no te quiere cambiar
What was the best compliment you’ve received?
people call me dramatic
because I’m loud and crazy,
because of my salty poetry
and maybe I am dramatic
but I’ll never be sorry about it
or even shame myself for it
what can you expect after
a life full of chaos and drama?
so what if i’m if dramatic
Does it bother you if I don’t
fake subtlety?
or does it bother you
that I live out my authenticity
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/20/poetry-drunk/
borracha, me encontré en una cama extraña
desnuda y vulnerable
tratando de olvidar el pésimo dolor en mi corazón
cubriendome con el calor de un hombre desconocido
cedí a mis deseos salvajes para llenar el vacío
que llevaba dentro de mí
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
this year I lost myself in poetry
to help with unexpected loss and grief
to make sense of my nonsense
and I discovered my voice
And I discovered my brand of crazy
and there’s hardly a day that goes by
without using poetry as therapy
I no longer filter myself, I no longer judge myself
I allow whatever swims in my mind to land on paper
and sometimes it profound and great
Sometimes it’s emotional and angry
but most of the time it heals something within
Maybe poetry should be my new lover
because it’s always rescued me
from my chaos of emotional instability
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/15/couldve-been/
Anoche escuche nuestra canción
y me puse a llorar
pensé en lo que habíamos sido
y todo lo que pudo ser
y el recuerdo de nuestro amor
todavía me sacude como un terremoto
Donde estaras?
Con quien estas?
¿Alguna vez la nostalgia de mi también te sacude a ti?
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Maybe I was captious in thinking you wanted sex
but you were really depressed and needed help
I was moody and tired and couldn’t be bothered
so I turned off my phone and wanted to be alone
I thought it was no big deal to not get back
on our idiot ferris wheel
and now I hope it’s not too late
and prioritizing myself wasn’t a mistake
because I couldn’t stand the thought of
you harming yourself be my fault
What activities do you lose yourself in?
There are so many stories within me aching to get out
every single one wants to be a priority
but which one do I pick first
most are dramatic, some are angry and sad,
a few are happy and lovely
every story is important in a life
full of chaos and trauma
I don’t know why I attract so much drama
So I’m going to tell each story
Because I own everything that’s happened to me
Because I’m finally taking myself seriously
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/29/poesia-falso/
we’re procrastinating our end
not wanting to face the consequences
of our doomed relationship
so we keep wasting our time
pretending we’re fine
putting a bandaid of sex
on our petty conflicts
and keep using each other
as blankets for our loneliness
instead of being grown ups
and admit how our love
is no longer worth any effort
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
My sense of urgency was lost
When I finally felt like enough
I no longer had a rush
To jump to the next crush
I no longer had a need
to have a lover next to me
I no longer wanted
to be love addicted
I finally learned
To me I needed to return
I finally had a new outlook
And I started a new storybook
I finally understood
It’s okay to live my truth
And now my sense of urgency rarely appears
After so many tears and months of therapy
Are you superstitious?
is it the devil who takes over me
and makes me crazy?
Or is it God punishing me for past mistakes
or maybe it isn’t either
And I really have fucked up genetics
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/15/poetry-escape/
trato de escaparme de ti
pero tu me sigues dondequiera que vaya
tu olor, tu voz, tus besos
me persiguen en mis sueños
y aunque yo trato y trato
de vivir sin pensar en ti
siempre me encuentro en la jaula
que es el recuerdo de tu amor
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I fell into the trap of “acceptance”
not understanding I was slowly losing parts of myself
for the sake of fitting in, for the sake of other people
who loved to judge me
accept that you’re too fat to wear that bikini
accept that you’re too old to chase your dreams
accept that you’re too hard to love
it took me too long to figure out
the acceptance of others was costing me
my sanity and my self worth
and I said, “fuck your opinions on who I should be”
from now on, I’ll wear whatever I want,
I’ll chase my dreams, and I’ll always be worthy of love”
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=5970
ya no te-
no soy tuya para-
trato de encontrar las palabras adecuadas
para decirte que nuestro cuento de amor a cabo
pero cada vez que trato
todo se siente insuficiente
y la culpabilidad me cubre
y no me atrevo a herirte
What is the last thing you learned?
Learning to uncensor myself was a hard process
I always walked on eggshells for the comfort of others
Said yes when I wanted to say no
Toned myself down for fear of being too much
Accommodated constantly to keep the peace
Cut off pieces of myself to make myself digestible
But I got too old and tired of hiding who I really am
of continuing to pretend to be something I’m not
or never will be
so I chose to stop hiding the real me
who’s loud and dramatic
who’s crazy and creative
who’s moody and depressed
who ‘s a beautiful and majestic Incan Queen
Life on the BPD 