Posted on by pattytacuri

Poetry: State of Modern Womanhood

I wrote this poem in December of 2021. I was kind of angry. Lol.

performing this poem at open mic in October of 2022

Let’s hashtag the fuck out of our imperfect perfect lives
smile for the camera but make it look candid
this is for instagram after all-
we want to present an image of authenticity
Authentic needs to look put together and balanced
there can be no cracks in our suburban realities
no one wants to see tears and frowns
let’s continue to act like modern clowns
except our lipsticks presents a false smile
that hides our misery inside and let’s add a witty caption
that spells out live,laugh, love
and hashtags about #momlife,#gratitude, and #bestlifeever
depression, sadness, and anger has no room in our modern world
where we pretend to be perfectly imperfect moms and wives
with these amazing and perfect lives
let’s continue the facade of authenticity
even as we burn inside and want to die
we are not just okay but we are fucking fabulous
so honey continue to smile for that selfie
even as the expectations of modern womanhood
continues to burn us all up

Posted on by pattytacuri

Poetry: Racing Thoughts

I wrote this poem in March of 2022.

What do I do with a mind that won’t quit?
It keeps me on this never ending guilt trip
These racing thoughts keep me up at night
And tell me write, write, write
And I want it all to stop the overflowing inspiration
from my muse cup
But this is who I am
and forever will be
a bipolar and BPD me
trying hard to deal with existing

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Uncomfortable

Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.

in order to grow, we must lose parts of ourselves that hold us back from reaching our potential

saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
even as I lost her in parts
first came the extra pounds and inches I ran off from the curvy girl who used food as comfort
and for a while a stranger stared at me from the mirror as I wondered where my cleavage went
or how my waistline got so small
then came the spectator and the passenger I lost as I gained confidence and power in sharing my truth, in sharing my art and I became the main character and the driver of my own life
finally I lost the princess who held onto others for safety, who relied on others for acceptance and love-she left on a windy October day when she conquered a phobia that haunted her for 15 years
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
but she couldn’t stay around if I wanted to grow, to evolve, to become the mother my children
always deserved, to become the woman I always wanted to be

Posted on by pattytacuri · 6 Comments

Poetry: A Knock on My Door

I wrote this poem in February of 2022.

this kid makes my dark days worth living

When darkness comes in and my sadness sets in
it covers me and I can’t see the point of it all
And then I hear a knock and it’s my son
And I remember, today he’s my life’s purpose
I need to get up and face another dreadful day
My child needs food and shelter
I can’t let my depression win
I’m a mother first
My darkness will have to be martyred
Remembering over and over again
on days like today my child’s presence
makes my bad days worth living

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

Poetry: Existing

I wrote this poem in February of 2022.

Existing was this never ending sorrow
Existing was a “what the point of it all” status
Existing was a horrible and exhausting nightmare
I couldn’t want to wake up from
But now..
Existing is welcoming the excitement of the morning sun
Existing is looking forward to my next chapter
Existing is a hopeful and lovely dream
I’m currently living in

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Poetry: Borrowed Time

How does death change your perspective?

word press prompt of the day
Masking be like
Acting until I make it

lately I feel like I’m on borrowed time-

lately I feel like I’m not doing enough 

and  lately this fucks me up

so I over work, over exercise,

and over post

to make myself worthy of my existence

I want to make sure I’m leaving 

some kind of imprint, some kind of legacy 

behind that I’m remembered by

but it’s really me trying to please 

the inner critic in me

who comes out when I’m most vulnerable

in my grief

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Poetry: Forgiving My Younger Self

I wrote this poem in February of 2022.

I forgive myself at 15 for crying over an idiot
who was never worth my time and energy
but he did spark my poetic voice

I forgive myself at 20 for writing more than 50 poems
about a 6 week relationship in 2001
but it did make for some hilarious blog content in 2021

I forgive myself at 25 for not fighting harder for my dreams
and for swallowing my anger and angst for the comfort of others
but that year I became a playwright

I forgive myself at 30 for drowning the writer in me
as I lost myself in my roles as wife and mother
but that year I launched my blog

I forgive myself at 35 for swallowing a bottle of xanax
because I felt like a failure as wife, mother, and worker
but the dark poetry from that time is some of my best

I forgive myself at 40 for wanting to die for two weeks in July
after being discarded by the “supposed” love of my life
but that summer I found the confidence to call myself a writer

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Poetry: Restless and Unsettled

Aqui esta la version en Espanol:

https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/17/poesia-inquieta/

I am restless and unsettled
realizing you never loved me
I was just another girl to you
nothing special, nothing meaningful
just someone temporary to pass the time with
I’m growing tired of this repetitive story
Another love that expires when I ask
for something more
Another story that starts off with so much promise
only to end up as another tragedy

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

Poetry: Fighting

I wrote this in January of 2022. I was angry.

I ask myself this question every day

Fighting for my cause
I question everything I learned
I take time to pause
my childhood lies burn
and make feel lost

Fighting for my family
I get so fucking angry
Why are people so shitty?
insulting my ancestry-
projecting their insecurities onto me-
Wait, are they jealous of me?

Fighting for my life
I pause of a while
thinking about all of my strife
and the past I need to reconcile
to move forward with my life
but this fight is worthwhile

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Poetry: Crossroads

I wrote this in January of 2022.

yeah…stop that shit

I’m at another one of life’s crossroads
trying not to make a turn for the worst
don’t stop but don’t go too fast
I want my momentum to last
I slow down and observe
and carefully ride life’s curves
and this time I really listen
and reach out to close friends
I’m not okay but I will be okay
soon I’ll find my way
I’m still grasping for a stable sense of self
and learning how to love and accept myself

Posted on by pattytacuri

Play-Transition: Scene Two

Here is a link to the first scene:https://wp.me/p23LY2-1qp

Scene 2: 

SETTING: Landon’s apartment. The aesthetic in this apartment is minimalist There are no stray things around. There is a very expensive looking sculpture. Landon has a very simple geometric painting. There is a glass coffee table at the center and really sparse furniture. CHLOE is at the door ready to knock. LANDON is in an expensive jog suit and on his laptop writing a business negotiation. 

CHLOE knocks tentatively on LANDON’s door, Landon looks through his smallish peephole, sighs deeply, plasters a forced smile on his face and opens the door. 

LANDON: Chloe, hi! To what do I owe the pleasure of having my little sister come over here unannounced. Do you want a drink ?

CHLOE: (goes to sit down slowly on the expensive chair) No…uhh..I wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t think it was important. 

LANDON: Well, you know, you could always send me a text or call me.

CHLOE: You never answer your phone or reply to my texts. Besides, this is really important. 

LANDON: Well, you know, I’m a busy guy. You could have a little more consider-

CHLOE gets frustrated and yells.

CHLOE: It’s about dad!

LANDON: Jesus! You’re on that business again. I thought I had already made it clear to you what needs to be done.

CHLOE: No,you didn’t. You’ve skirted around the issue without resolving anything.

LANDON: What is there to resolve? He seems okay living by himself. 

CHLOE: You only see him once a month at the most . He’s struggling and doesn’t want to admit it. He’s not only holding on to mom’s old stuff but is accumulating new stuff as a way to deal with his grief. And to make matters worse, the landlord is about to put him out. We need to reason with him. 

LANDON: How is the landlord going to put him out ? I give the old biddy a little something extra so she doesn’t bother him. 

CHLOE: You don’t understand.It’s not about money, they want him out because dad has basically made the place a hazard. We need to help dad. 

LANDON: And what is your suggestion. Einstein?

CHLOE: Well, you know, he could always move in with you.

LANDON: Like hell he can. Listen, I got a better suggestion. I put up the money, you make all the arrangements and we put him in one of those assisted living places. He’ll be surrounded by –

CHLOE: Are you nuts? A nursing home because you don’t want your life inconvenience

LANDON: I don’t see what’s so bad—

CHLOE: It will kill him! He will hate it. You can’t always just throw money at every fucking problem. You are such a selfish jerk. 

LANDON: And you are a mindless little idiot. Are you done now?

CHLOE: (feeling rather defeated and sighs) Will you at least come with me to reason with him. He won’t listen to me but at least he will listen to you, his favorite child.

LANDON: Sure. I need to see when I’m free. Maybe next week, I could pencil something—

CHLOE: God damnit! Don’t you understand that the situation is urgent? He could be out on the street by the end of the week.

LANDON: Must you always be such a drama queen?

CHLOE: Ugh..there no use talking to you (Chloe mutters under breath, you just don’t fucking care)

LANDON: What did you say?

CHLOE: Nothing.

LANDON: Fine, I’ll go with you this Wednesday afternoon.

CHLOE: Okay.

CHLOE  slams the door and sighs deeply.

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Poetry: Decade of Lies

I wrote this poem in 2019 when I found out my friend Brad had lied to me for a decade about something pretty important.

I was the unknown sidepiece

17 years of friendship ruined

Because of one lie

One lie turned into a decade

Of lying to ME–

  His supposed close friend

ME

A girl he supposedly loved and cared for

ME

The one he claimed meant a  lot to him

But he couldn’t come clean

With his truth 

He couldn’t man up and be honest

Instead he lied and lied and lied

Until 

The lie came out 10 years too late

I’m overreacting, he says

But friendship like I know friendship 

Is not built on a foundation of 

Lies, betrayal, and mistrust

 Fuck off,

Glad you’re gone,

Good riddance,

Hope you remember the words of anger

I wrote to you 

And you keep your promise 

To never contact me again. 

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December Poetry Challenge: Tomorrow

This was my response to prompt #23: What’s you’d really like to do tomorrow

Kailua Beach, Hawaii-my former paradise

Tomorrow I’d like to swim for the first time in my former paradise
and after lay out in the sun in my bikini
I’ve loved feel the sand everywhere instead of tolerating
another dreary and rainy day in Georgia
My mood would improve and I would write more happy poems
Instead of writing about how I hate my existence
and everyone and everything in it

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Poetry: Tell ME

Aqui esta en enlace para la version en Espanol:

https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/22/poesia-dime/

Why did you break our romantic ties?
What did she have to make you leave me suddenly?
Why do I keep repeating the same stupid story,
of finding myself the woman used and scorned?
I’m fucking exhausted with rage
always making the same mistake over and over again
giving all of my myself to another confused man
who leaves me when I’m no longer easy

Posted on by pattytacuri

December Poetry Challenge: De-cluttering

This is my response to prompt #16: Your favorite household chore

it’s always your responsibility

Springtime is here, it’s my favorite time of the year
I blast out music from Alexa and start de-cluttering
Anais Nin books I’ll never read go into the donation box
her life no longer inspires me
Dresses and outfits I wore to my trauma
are packed in a suitcase destined for Lima
Dozens of therapy sheets are recycled
I finally found calm and serenity
Springtime is here and it’s to get rid of everything
that no longer fits this new version of me