Happy Halloween! What’s scarier than a regular bitch?
Poetry: Rejection
I wrote this in 2009 about Brad.
Rejection
Is an interruption
Of the infatuation
I felt towards you
Rejection
Is a profound sadness
With a river of tears
That flows down my cheeks
Rejection
Is a broken promise
You made
That breaks my heart
Along with the rest of me
Rejection
Is the start of learning
Who you are
Behind the facade
Of infatuation
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Poesia: Esperandote
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/10/02/eliza-conquers-heartbreak-poetry-edition-2/
Espero, espero, y espero por tu llamada
para oír que mi soledad fue una pesadilla
Espero, espero, y espero que aparezcas en mi puerta
para decirme que todavía me deseas
Espero por tu carta por correo
diciéndome que me echas de menos
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Poem: Depression
I wrote in December of 2012 when I was amidst a great depression.
Recognizing the triggers of
My depression is one of
The hardest things I have to do
It’s when I’m silent
Wishing all the bad things
Would go away
It’s when I stop listening
To music
It’s when I struggle
To open my eyes
And face another dreadful day
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Poesia: Lo Siento Por Ti
Here is the English Version of this poem:
Poetry: So You
Lo siento por ti
piensas que has ganado
pero serás otra mujer usada
crees que te ama
pero es una de sus mentiras
piensas que el es tu príncipe azul
pero tu dignidad parara en el suelo
tienes un canalla y mentiroso a tu lado
que te dejará con un mal sabor en tu boca
no digo esto porque te tengo envidia
es una advertencia
para que no acabes como mi
otra de sus muchas mujeres
que el trate como una muñeca de trapo
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Poetry: Horizon
I wrote this in 2009 when I was feeling contemplative about life.
Horizon
The horizon stretches out before me
In a limitless manner
I see a future but am unsure
Of which path to walk towards
Everything is a blank slate to me
Undefined by my indecision
The moment I choose
Is the moment I’ll become
Something, anything
Than the nothingness
That I am
The horizon stretches out before me
Offering everything and nothing
Offering this or that
Offering a wasted life
Or a meaningful one
The horizon stretches out before me
And I need to stop
My hesitation
And become a person of actions
And do something, anything
So the horizon is not wasted
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Poesia: Otra Canción Melancólico
Here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/10/13/poetry-same-old-ugly-song/
Pensaba que tu amor era como sueño celestial
me sentía bendecida
pero te volviste en una pesadilla infernal
y aprendí de nuevo
que tu eras otra canción melancólico
otro inútil más
mi amor se volvió en un mar de odio
me di cuenta muy tarde
Que estaba ciega
a que me estabas usando
y me lleno con un fuego de furia
Me hundí en una arena movediza de amargura
Desafortunadamente todavía me acuerdo
de nuestro amor y tu ternura
pero tú arruinaste eso cuando te fuiste con ella
Ojalá que te quedes con ella
porque ahora soy un nunca en tu vida
Quiero olvidarme de todo los que fuimos
porque estoy mejor sola que mal acompañada
tengo que aceptar la mentira que tu fuistes
tengo que aceptar que tu fuistes
otra canción melancólica
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Poetry: The Wound
I wrote this in 2008.
The Wound
It’s a wound that never closes
No matter how many years
are spent trying to close it
To taste the pure heaven that is you
and have it swept
from under me in a sudden swoop
made the everlasting wound
I looked everywhere
for somebody to help me close it
But no matter how hard
they tried, the wound
wouldn’t come close to closing
I finally met someone who lessened the pain
of the wound
with his gentle and understanding nature
But even after 6 years as his patient
the wound remains open
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Poesia: Otro Niño Confundido
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=1792
Eras un sorpresa lleno
de atención y afección
hasta me dejastes rosas en mi tablero
Pensé, por fin, llegó mi príncipe azul
Pero después de un tiempo
Sentí la distancia entre los dos
ya no tenías tiempo para mi
pronto me darás alguna excusa estúpida
porque me tienes que abandonar
y mi corazón quedará en pedazos
no habrá nada más que decir
me dare cuenta
que tu fuiste el mismo cuento
de otro niño confundido
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Poetry: Restless
I wrote this poem in 2008. One the BPD traits is feeling restless and oh my, I feel this a lot. Sometimes it’s for a few hours, sometimes it’s for a few days and I write about it.
Restlessness lies in
my mind at
night and does
not go away
easily. It invades
my thoughts and
questions me.
Will it ever go
away or will I
become insane?
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Poesia: Mi Valor
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/13/poetry-old-habits/
Ella era un hábito que no podías romper
aunque te di lo mejor de mi
Aunque te di mi amor
No era suficiente para ti
entonces corriste a los brazos de ella
y cuando me entere
me aleje de ti
Mientras ella se quedó contigo
porque yo no soy una estúpida
yo se mi valor
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Poesia: Mentira
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/10/29/poetry-lies/
Tenías puesto tu disfraz de príncipe azul
para que me queda contigo
Fingiste amarme
Fingiste apreciarme
y yo me creí el cuento
que me estabas contando
Y te amé y tú te volviste mi adicción
pero todo era una mentira
y ahora estoy llena de remordimientos
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Poetry: Why?
I wrote this in October of 2007.
Unanswered whys continuously haunt me
Why didn’t we last?
Why did “us” end?
We were the best love story
Where was our happy ending?
Why did our romance suffer an
abrupt and cruel end?
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Poetry: The Latina Thing
I wrote this in September of 2019 after I read somewhere about some politician making fun of AOC for doing the “Latina Thing”. It annoyed the fuck out of me.
Make fun of our accents-
Make fun of our names-
But y’all never have our rich history
Call us feisty, caliente, spicy
Call us fiery, loud, sexy
But y’all will never have the exotic magic
we carry within ourselves
Try to bully us into silence
Try to put us down
with racist and ignorant insults
But y’all will never have
our immigrant work ethic
or ingrained determination
Try to stereotype us-
Try to make us feel less than
Try to kill us-
But y’all never kill our chingona spirit
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Poetry: Cold
I wrote this in October of 2007.
The freezing cold
hit me as you
said your last
goodbye.
No more warm
and cozy instances
of your body
entrapped with
mine.
Will I ever feel
warm again or
is the cruel cold
a permanent thing?
Life on the BPD 