I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
desperation and despair sounds like a former friend
calling me out of the blue,
asking me for numbers of drug dealers I used to know
saying it’s a matter of life and death
in shock, I tell him I’m a different person
from who he used to know
I couldn’t help him-the call ends-
I’m no longer the person he used to know
I finally understand my value and worth
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wouldn’t visit your grave a second time once you died
you’re not worth my time, you’re not worth my energy
I’d already would be forced to say my goodbyes at your passing
due to our familial connections
and I want to be respectful to my sister and nephews
but after that I never want to think about you again
with your death
I want to bury the harm done-the trauma you caused and move on
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
sometimes I wish you were here-
so you could share your wisdom, so you could explain your truth
I followed in your footsteps of being a teenage mom
And it would have ripped me apart to have abandoned my son
so I’m wondering how you did it-
were you full of guilt or was it because of your lack of options
how did you survive being away from your child
and go on with your life as if he was an afterthought
Perhaps I’m judging you harshly
and I don’t understand the whole story
I just want it to make sense
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I had fallen in love with brown and hazel eyes
Before the disaster with blue eyes walked into my life
Those blue eyes would make me believe in love again
Those blue eyes would be the first to make me want to die of shame and guilt
and cause more trauma than he ever intended
Then again, I was only twenty
and there were a dozen years between us
he should have known better than to fuck
with a girl who was barely a woman
but carnal desire ruled both him and I
And we were tricked thinking it was love
but we were completely wrong
and he got to walk away without any consequences
While I was slut shamed and had to endure the trauma
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
while our friendship has been various shades of gray
I’d never imagined that one day it’d turn black
without an explanation
leaving me alone to find closure
leaving me in tears to find acceptance
and understanding that somehow our friendship
wasn’t meant to be
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I want to be just like you, so confident, so carefree
you never allow responsibility guilt you or bring you down
So I mirrored and mirrored you leaving my old self behind
wanting to free myself from the chains off my husband and kids
I wanna be fun, I wanna be sexy
let me fuck whoever I want
and I try but it never makes me happy
it was like jumping continuously on a trampoline of self destruction
sabotaging my chances at happiness, at success
at true self awareness
and one day the trampoline broke along with me
and I picked up my broken pieces
Dismissed the distractions and my need for validation
and I learned not to mirror you or anyone else
I finally found comfort and love in my own skin
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
I wish I could forgive everyone who did me harm-
but something in me won’t allow me too
maybe it’s unprocessed trauma that still wants to speak-
about every single atrocity I’ve experienced
at the hands of those who said
they care for me and love me
I really wish I was better than this-
constantly holding onto these old grudges
but something in me still needs to heal
so I can stop obsessing about revenge
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
outgrowing old patterns is like I’m shedding my skin
And new healthy skin is replacing it
at times I want to scream and feel like I’m dying
and other times I’m fine
Am I finally close to recovery from BPD?
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
breathing out the past, inhaling the future
I fall into emotional stability and it’s uncomfortable
I didn’t understand or know how to live a life without chaos
because for most of my life
I danced in the fire of chaos-wildly swinging everywhere
Discordant and without direction
And now I found rhythm along with direction
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
The way my body feels as my legs take flight brings freedom to my soul
It brings me a sense of amazement thinking of how
I went from couch potato to a woman who needs a run in the sun
to feel grounded, to feel sane
With cherry chapstick, I felt like a woman
I felt like a sexy vixen from the telenovelas
even though I was only 9-
and while everyone around me still treated me
like a little girl-
after applying my cherry chapstick
something awakened inside of me
Was it the beginning of puberty?
10/2/22
I wrote this poem in October of 2021.
The rain falls steadily in Autumn
and I remember the 9 days in the summer
When the tears wouldn’t quit raining from my eyes
The eternal emotional pain wouldn’t stop
the lonely nights I couldn’t sleep
the infinite anger and sadness that I felt
the emptiness that wouldn’t
go away
the food I couldn’t eat.
And yet I still woke up
every day with a determination to live
live for my kids
live for my friends
live for myself
even at my worst,
even at my most vulnerable
Somehow, I managed
managed to find strength
managed to find inspiration
and somehow managed to
find my way back to myself
Summer was the season
I died when I was
rejected by the one who
claimed to love me
Autumn is the season I was reborn
and I fell back in love
with myself, forgot him
and fell into the magic
that is me
I wrote this poem in October of 2020.
The stillness in my life makes me insane
I’m craving an adventure
I’m craving ecstasy
I’m craving the unpredictable
To lie in the stillness feels like dying
and I want to live
Live life spontaneously,live life musically
Live a life full of excitement
To live in this stillness makes me feel like
I’m drowning in a lake of stagnation
I wrote this poem in October of 2019.
And just when I think I have it all figured out–
Everything falls apart again
the universe has a funny way of humbling me
just when I think I finally have it together
When does it get easier?
Am I being punished for not conforming
to society’s expectations of me?
Should I be sorry for not wanting to just be
a wife and mother?
Will I ever be free of society’s shackles
thrusted upon me?
I wrote this poem in October of 2024.
we went from devils to fools within a span of a couple of years
it’s a journey that almost broke us
one that needed to be taken apart
you needed to find out who you were without alcohol
I needed to find out who I was without a lover
and when we met again
I was deathly afraid to let you back in
and kept my guard up
making sure we didn’t fall back into the toxicity
we used to bask in
and various times I thought that meant
blocking you, ghosting you, taking what you said personally
but really it was me being careful with my ego and energy
not wanting to risk another emotional relapse
and the last time I let you go
I really thought we were done
but on a september night, you texted again
And while I tried to keep it platonic
I couldn’t help myself and found myself
in your arms once again
trying desperately to keep it casual,
to say no strings attached at all,
you can leave when you want to
but how can I do this when I keep
thinking about you
and suddenly I find myself a fool
in our journey
Life on the BPD 