This is my response to prompt #10: One thing you could not give up
You might as well do radical lobotomy
before you make me give up writing
You’d be asking me to give up
one of the things I most love–
my creativity with poetry and prose
brings me purpose and meaning on my good days
and helps me stay alive on my bad days
so if you ever ask me to give up my paper and pen
Understand you’d be asking for my slow death
Click the link below for the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/10/16/poetry-losing-my-mind/
Recibir esa llamada infame
mato mi calma e ego
descubriendo que había sido engañada
por el que me profesaba amor
Me hizo perder mi cordura
¿cómo pudiste hacerme esto?
Fuistes otro desastre
lleno de duplicidad
te odio con todo mi corazón
por destrozar todo lo que éramos
I wrote this in December 2018 when my husband forgot our 8 year anniversary. I guess I was a little salty and kind of still processing the breakup of our marriage.
He forgot our 8 year anniversary
I didn’t remind him because it didn’t really matter.
Hopefully, this time next year, we will be divorced.
There was no use in feeling sad or spilling tears
Over something that would end soon.
There was no use in feeling devastated over
Something that never should have happened.
Vows that should never have been taken.
Promises of love that were doomed from the beginning.
Empty words that were never believed in.
8 years of marriage; an institution we thought
would bind us for eternal life.
So that maybe the sting of resentment and neglect
wouldn’t break us apart.
He forgot our 8 year anniversary
Just like he forgot all of his promises to
“Try harder” or “to change”
So I wouldn’t leave.
He forgot our 8 year anniversary.
And it’s fine.
You don’t celebrate something
That is already dead.
Para la version en Espanol, haga clic en este enlace:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/10/poesia-yo-pense/
I thought nothing could ruin our love
now everything we once were is lost
because once again I was wrong, wrong, wrong
I wasn’t aware of your secret lust filled missions
you’re another confused boy
and to you I was another toy
You were another tourist
in my book of love and lust
Here is the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Big Lie
Fui bruta y me queme
No queria creer
Que ibas a ser otra decepción
Aunque había muchas señas
Mi corazón se rehusó a resignarse
No quería concebir en la noción
que tu amor era una desilusión
ahora me siento inutil
a ver el mal que me hiciste
se que estará mucho mejor sin ti
Aunque sea imposible dejarte
Es adios para siempre
Al ver que tu amor fue otra mentira más
I wrote this in 2017 during my great depression.
The sun is shining
Everything is green and bright
And yet winter feels eternal
In my heart
The blackness that is my sadness
Seems to seep and ooze everywhere
Inside of me
Is this what true loneliness feels like?
Will I ever get rid of what feels like
my forever depression?
Or do I just learn to live
with the elephant that
lives on my chest?
That I try desperate not to awake
Writing, exercise, friends, tv-
Everything to keep it calm
But no matter what
The elephant always seems
To wake up
I wrote this in 2017 during my great depression.
I want to write about love
But instead find myself
Writing about depression and loss
Everything feels so vague and fake
I don’t know what or who’s
Real anymore
Is it existential dread
Or a midlife crises
Or a mixture of both?
Living in a world rampant
With comparisons
With the click of a button
Tears at my soul
Thanks to the ridiculous
And never ending standards
Modern society thrusts upon us.
It’s all a constant competition
About who has the best life
Have we all become society’s
Attention whores?
So I had forgotten to post this poem from the great breakup of 2001.
I guess it was fate
For you to cross that thin line
Between love and hate
You were really a waste of time
Now you’ll never know
How good you and me could’ve been
Or how much I really loved you so
But your love was only a smoke screen
I even thought we had forever
because I wanted to believe you were true
but I guess you were another whatever
and I was another one you’d screw
Now there’s nothing left to say
and it’s time to forget everything
I wrote this in 2017 during my great depression. I guess I was just annoyed and angry by society.
Simple decency is becoming extinct
Manners and politeness is rare
rudeness and sarcasm is the norm
Being kind feels outdated
in this narcissistic society
filled with superfluous and superficial people
Who bring their harsh and shallow attitudes
everywhere
There is no escape from this epidemic
of the nothingness
that tries to appear profound
It is a society that blames the victim
“ but what was she wearing?”
or
“He was hanging out with the wrong kids”
It is a society that’s prejudiced against
anyone different
“Go back to where you came from”
“You’ll never belong here”
“People will always remember
how you made them feel”,
Maya Angelou said
Unnecessary, weak, aloof, isolated alone
Is how this world makes me feel
I’m a FAILURE trying to accommodate myself
to this world full of shallow feelings
I miss the kind and real people
in this world
It’s rare to find them now
They are almost extinct
I wrote this poem sometime around 2014 or 2015. I was feeling nostalgic about a former flame I had been obsessed with. This tends to happen a lot with me. Letting go of my past is hard at times.
Shadows of my past
Envelop my future
Everywhere I go
Time has passed
I am older
Harsh experiences
Have made my cynical
And embrace
My mediocrity
But still
Shadows of the past
Envelop my future
Everywhere i go
I’m happy that you found
Your idyllic happiness
With someone else
And living the life
You always wanted
But shadows of our past
Envelop my future
Everywhere I go
I love my children
I love my spouse
But for one more moment
Of us
I would leave them
And everything else behind
Shadows of our past
Envelops my future
Everywhere I go
I wrote this 2013 about my husband.
Silence, awkward silence is what was left after everything they needed to say was said
It was the same fight over and over again.
Old wounds were brought to the surface and reopened.
She blamed him for derailing her ambitions
and he blamed her for derailing the productive and selfish life he once led.
They both couldn’t see that they were both at fault
for not continuing to push each other to flourish
but instead they fell into a complacent spell
And a pattern of a comfortable
and the fruitless routine of suburban life.
And the years went on and they had nothing to show for it
except debt and wrinkles they both inflicted upon themselves.
And the years went on and all that was left
was regret for her for the things that she didn’t get to experien
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
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
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
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?
Life on the BPD 