Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/10/poetry-mixed-feelings/
eres mi sueño y pesadilla de amor
y estoy cansada de vivir en este caos emocional
esperando que me llames a escondidas
¿ valerá la pena esta tontería?
Viviendo en un mar de incertidumbre
que me roba mi calma y me llena con inseguridad
continuando hacerte mi prioridad primera
mientras soy algo apenas notado en tu vida
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/22/poetry-special-friend/
me acuesto en mi cama en una vida
llena de mentiras
fingiendo que estoy bien
mientras guardo una miseria profunda
dentro de mi misma
esperando que un hombre me salve
Esperando que mi destino se transforme
espero, espero, espero
que algo cambie en mi vida
para que pare de obsessionar
por que nunca soy suficiente
I wrote this in December of 2021.
Thanks to learning about my BPD
I’m finally free to be me
There is a reason for my numbness
and for why I’m such an emotional mess
Genetics and trauma played a part
for me constantly falling apart
There is a reason for my impulsivity
and for why I distort reality
There is a reason for men running away from me
when I go from being sweet to being crazy
And now that I know I have BPD
I can conquer the world of DBT
I hope that after I’m more calm
And stop going off like a bomb
Hopefully I have more control over my emotions
And there will no longer be hysterical explosions
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/19/poetry-forget-me/
quisiera ser una maga
para que te olvides de mi
para que nunca hubiese existido en tu vida
porque me odio por haberte causado
un mundo de dolor
pero no vivimos en un cuento de hadas
Vivimos en una realidad dura
donde soy incapaz de decirte algo
para que tu dolor sea más fácil para superar
lo único que puedo hacer es rezar por ti,
desearte lo mejor, y esperar que algun dia
encuentres el valor para empezar denuevo
con alguien que te sepa amar
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/17/poetry-something-so-fake/
maldito sea por pensar que era una santa
y colocarme en un pedestal
la mujer de cual te enamoraste
fue un mito de cuatro meses
todo estaba bien con nosotros
mientras me callaba
no soportaba tus gritos
que yo era una estúpida, una loca
que siempre estaba equivocada
Entonces aprendí a ser lo que querías
una princesa sin una opinión
pero no podía seguir con esta farsa
me estaba matando adentro
guardar todo que era importante en mi
tuve que escoger entre tu y yo
y me escogi a mi
no te estoy pidiendo perdón o comprensión
no mas te estoy dando la razón
por terminar nuestro cuento de amor
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
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
Life on the BPD 