I hold onto my should haves for old times sake to inspire the poet out of me should have hugged him a few moments longer the other night so he’d get a hint of how I felt should have broken up with him in spring after that email should have cut ties with him in the summer the first time he kicked me out of his apartment should have divorced him the winter after I tried to die should have, should have, should have so many of them could have prevented some emotional disasters, earthquakes that broke my core but then again, should haves have inspired 1001 poems and stories in my tome of lust and love
I’m lead to a higher version of myself after integration it’s uncomfortable and I blush red in this latest transformation annoyed and hate everything I write as most of it takes a romantic undertone I started to miss the woman-scorned and empowered who decimated her exes the one who came up with the clever phrase electronic pink slip but that woman is slipping away from me transforming into a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve with her poetry transforming into a woman who’s grown bored of hating her exes and instead wants to be on friendly terms with them transforming into a woman who understands and accepts she not defined by her trauma or a diagnosis and instead should lean into the magic of love that lurks inside of her
Sometimes, I wish I could go back to being a princess go back to being a damsel in distress needing to be saved, maybe then I wouldn’t be so lonely but then I think of the sacrifices have to make to keep up that persona and every time it’s costs me my dignity and sanity every time I’ve ended up almost committed in the psych ward so for mine and my kids sake I’ve burned my dreams of becoming a princess again and keep on being the powerful and independent queen I am living life according to my terms, being selective who I give my lips and hips to and understanding that to become a princess again Would be a demotion to my identity
there’s a song I listen to when I know I’m truly fucked when I know I have feelings for someone when I get that sinking wave of romance in my gut that makes me want to vomit and swim in an ocean of anxiety and like the sentimental poet that I am I won’t tell you what that song is but I’ll give you a hint it’s the cover of a 70’s love song by Will to the Power
once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards desperate for attention, desperate for love desperate to cover myself up with another soul once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards I didn’t have an identity, I didn’t have any self worth I didn’t have any self love Once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards to find validation in my existence to use compliments to feed my ego to lose myself in someone else once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards I was undiagnosed with BPD I was incredibly insecure I was following the script prescribed to me once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards and that was a long time ago and now it’s been 3 years since I’ve been in a relationship almost 2 years in my journey of celibacy and 6 months since I’ve been declared officially single once upon a time I collected lovers like Pokemon cards and now I block anyone who tries to get near me and want to vomit when I interact with my crush
sultry July night at a pirate party fiery red Dionysian hair, body made by Gods caught his eye from a distance he wanted her, he craved her, he wanted to fuck her he approached her right away she saw through his toxic fuck boi vibe Said “no thanks” and introduced him to me I was already 3 drinks in, mesmerized by his body Covered in tattoos from head to toe, his boyish smile felt an electric energy between us (or maybe that was the buzz from my third margarita) he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, I WANT THIS BAD BOY! within a few minutes, we assessed each other and flirted he asked me for my phone number, giddy, I gave it to him and that was the beginning of the end of me and almost 6 years later, my friend still says, “Sorry, I introduced you to him”
entre la selva y la ciudad caigo en un purgatorio de identidad Caigo entre salvage y intellectual entre la selva y la ciudad caigo en dos mundos opuestos que alumbran la magia de mi dualidad
ramen 3 times a day in the dingy 2 bedroom duplex and it was an upgrade from the miniature apartment in mid city L.A the one where there was a bullet hole in my window so what if the stripper and the landlord’s son got in screaming matches so what if the marine next to us beat his wife weekly for her infidelity despite the poverty experienced, despite the trashy and toxic domestic energy that dingy duplex was freedom to me and my family it was hope and salvation from the nightmare of indentured servitude L.A had been
mami dressed me up in ruffles and pastels whenever she could I’d swirled and twirled in my dress until I got dizzy loved when everyone told me, “ay que bonita te miras” and I awkwardly bowed, smiled, and hid sashayed to every single one of my relatives and did the same thing it’s one of the few times I remembered being vain as a child one of the few times I didn’t feel weird and like an outcast external validation learned at the tender age of 8
It’s April again and it’s not only spring that is in bloom but also the creativity that goes along with it. And of course, it’s national Poetry month and every year since 2022 I try to participate in NaPoWrimo which is an activity where I write a poem a day and post it on my blog. I use prompts from this website for inspiration: https://www.napowrimo.net/ and as always I’m excited to see what crazy poems I come up with. Last year my favorite poem was a spicy one I wrote about Yung Gravy that I ended up performing at open mic.
my forever muse
Also, this year, I decided to give y’all my own original prompts to inspire y’all. Feel free to send me your poem and I’ll post it on my blog or you can just keep it in between the pages of your journal. I had a goal last year that I would post my own prompts for National Poetry Month and here we are. So here are prompts that I wrote sometime in early 2022. Here’s my contact info where you can email me or dm me your poem.
no me puedo pasar desapercibida en esta mundo privilegiado edad equivocada. apellido equivocado, etnicidad equivocada sintiéndome destinada para fracasar en esta universidad mientras que la presión para triunfar cuelga como una soga sobre mi cuello pero no me doy por vencida y me presento todos los días si solamente para darle una enseñanza a mis hijos a como seguir adelante cuando quieres renunciar
la ira y furia de mis antepasados femeninas viven en mi ellas me visitan en sueños y me mandan mensajes que cuentan sus historias, sus verdades aunque duelan, aunque algunas me llamaran sádica y dramática ellas me inquietan y me dicen es tiempo de gritar todas las injusticias y trastornos vividow que nuestras muertes no han sido en vano y aunque lloro y trato de ignorar la llamada de la sangre es inevitable-fui escogida- para sus venganzas, para sus historias de redención
Life on the BPD 