The princess and the queen live within me And they each serve a purpose the princess cares about the men in her life She’s soft and submissive, kind and generous She’ll do anything for love, she’s loyal But sometimes the princess get taken advantage of And the queen steps in The queen is determined, she is strong and opinionated And ambitchous and bossy She’ll do anything to protect herself and her kids and gives zero fucks about anyone else And lately I’m trying to find a perfect balance of embracing these two beings who live within me
Some days I can’t deal with the boredom and restless It all leads to chronic feelings of emptiness And I asked myself Is it time for another depression spell? And I’m annoyed by me, by everything I attend to whatever I think my brain and my soul needs Sometimes it’s music, sometimes it’s sunshine Sometimes it’s writing Sometimes nothing appeases the Gods of BPD And I just to deal with my emotional instability I wish for at least a week of tranquility within Instead of a pendulum of ever changing mood swings When will I finally get calm and peace?
Faith found me one day and told me to keep going when I didn’t want to Faith made me believe in GOD when I wanted to fall into the abyss of depression Faith held me as I cried endless tears of my about my latest life’s catastrophe Faith loved me when I couldn’t love myself Faith brought me people who believed in me When I couldn’t believe in myself Faith decided to one day bring it’s accomplice HOPE
When I open my eyes,I whine and grunt Another day where I whine,whine, whine Working to live? Or living to work? I can’t remember which is better Living is really just guesswork Maybe today I won’t feel so much anger Perhaps I should find hope in this new day Instead of living in doom and gloom Maybe the darkness will stay away Or I’ll cry at work in the bathroom again
Deep inside of me is a treasure chest full of wonder, full of splendor Deep inside of me is a treasure chest full of sadness,full of sorrow Deep inside of me is a treasure chest full of love, full of laughter Deep inside of me is a treasure chest full of anger, full of hate
C.E Hoffman’s chapbook collection Blood, Booze and Other Things in Nature is definitely a must read if you like your poetry vulnerable and thought provoking . This collection is raw and in your face and doesn’t shy away from telling you the harsh truth about the world but the poet does in a way that’s witty and full of dark humor. The poet addresses complex issues of mental health, love, sex, parenthood, and poverty. They address the inequalities that hit you in the gut and make you question the status quo.. I’ve never read a poetry collection like this before. I’ll talk about 4 poems from the book that I really liked. Their poetry feels like thoughts I’ve had that I have been too afraid to write down; much less share with the world.
The first poem is “Bloom (Blow Job) “and I really liked how this poem transitioned from giving a blowjob to other things in the poet’s life. I interpreted as things to talk about or are talked about after a blowjob. The line in this poem that really resonated with me was “you wipe spit from your cheek when/your lover says it was the hardest they came in their life, and/you believe them “(Hoffman). I’ve had this said to me quite a few times and my friend has as well. It’s a common line that men say to their partners/flings. Yes, MEN, we do talk about these things.
Another poem that resonated with me was “Magnificent Shits” in which the poet talks about how they imagine their unborn child to be like and how much they already love them . I resonated with this poem because as a parent myself, I’ve had similar thoughts. I resonated with the lines, “But no matter where you go/forever drives your soul/YOU ARE A MASTERPIECE that shits and smiles and needs and creates and kisses/explores and speeds “(Hoffman). These capture that feeling of loving your child and acknowledging their humanness.
Another poem I really liked from this collection is “Prenatal Yoga aka Relearning Breath”. It deals with complex issues of “passing” and even deals with the poet dealing with privilege. The line that I really liked from this poem was, “And I know it’s strange to find peace in a space of appropriation/’cause 8 outta 9 of our faces are white/ so when it comes to “passing”/ I really can’t talk, can I? “(Hoffman) As a woman of color who’s spent most of her time in predominantly white spaces, I understand this sentiment of feeling like an “other” or “out of place”. Often at times, I try to blend in and 9 out of 10 times, I am able to without incident. However, there is that 10 % where I feel uncomfortable because something unintentionally prejudiced is said or a wrong assumption is made about me.
New Moon in Cancer (Radical Honesty 101) was my favorite poem in this book. I interpreted this poem as the anxiety of the poet written in verse. I loved how honest Hoffman is in addressing everything that goes through their mind openly talking about their mental health, relationships, and what it’s like to be a writer in today’s environment of instagram, twitter, etc. One of my favorite lines from this poem was, “I don’t believe in The One./I’ve initiated most of my break-ups, cheated on basically/even in open relationships-/Shit. Maybe I just suck at this.” )Hoffman. I feel like Hoffman basically describes almost all of my romantic relationships and the thoughts I have about that part of my life. Examining and deconstructing my relationships this past year, I’ve often thought, “man, maybe I just suck at this, let me quit while I haven’t slashed anyone’s tires yet”(haha). The other line that I really liked from this poem was “Honestly I’m sick of wanting to get better, dying to be better, trying to do better than whatever I am or can” (Hoffman). Being in this recovery journey from my BPD feels like that sometimes. I have a strict routine I adhere to, read so many books about BPD, monitor my moods and honestly, it gets tiresome at times. Like Hoffman, I get sick of trying to “be better” and I often wonder when I can stop being so vigilant and rigid in everything I do. When can I say I’m finally better and can stop doing so much?
Blood, Booze, and other things in Nature is definitely the poetry collection for you if you’ve ever felt like a pariah, like an outcast, like an outsider in this world that tries to tone you down for being too crazy, too loud, and too bizarre for it. Reading this poetry collection is the medicine you need for that beautiful and chaotic soul of yours that refuses to conform to the norms and expectations of normalcy in this patriarchal society.
Below is a link to the book:
Don’t believe me? Here are other testimonials about the book and the author:
Praise for Blood, Booze, and Other Things in Nature:
This book resonates with anyone who’s ever called a crisis line and had them respond, “Oh wow that’s a lot.” This chapbook isn’t a cocktail. It’s a shot.
-Kit Stitches
This is no nipple-slip, no wardrobe malfunction. This is deliberate, personal exposure, revealing heart, head, and the wounds of living. The battle songs, the laments, and the healing gather here.
-Neil S Reddy
This collection is a dirty meditation, a longing for escape, an ecstatic fuck you to the traps and ties of societal expectation. A delightful, messy romp through the entrails of the heart.
-Nicole Morning
This is the kind of writing that inspires fandom.
-Alexandine Ogundimu, Filth Magazine
Praise for C E Hoffman:
C E Hoffman is a fearless writer.
-Jack Wang, author of We Two Alone and winner of the Danuta Gleed Literary Award
The human spirit remains fresh-voiced, optimistic and youthful in Hoffman’s imaginative writing.
-Martin Millar, author of Lonely Werewolf Girl and winner of the World Fantasy Award
Hoffman’s writing style reminds one of Burroughs at his most straightforward or Irvine Welsh at his strangest, but with a presentation dominated primarily by women and queer characters- a refreshing change in this particular milieu.…Hoffman is definitely a writer to watch for, and I look forward to what they give us next.
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
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
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
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.
cada cuarto está lleno con la nostalgia de ti la sala donde miramos películas de Almodóvar la cocina donde me hacías el cafe pensé que siempre estarías aquí peleando conmigo, criando nuestro hijos nunca pensé que el universo tendría otros planes y que el cielo necesitaría otro ángel
I wrote this in January of 2022 when I was depressed.
honestly
I welcome death to take me away tonight- death must be better than the anger that has made an eternal home in me death must feel better than this emptiness that lies in my heart death has to be better than this sorrow that floods my pillow with tears continuously death would be better than my emotions that threaten to consume me
I wrote this in December 2018 when my husband forgot our 8 year anniversary. Iguess I was a little salty and kind of still processing the breakup of our marriage.
December 9, 2010
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.
Life on the BPD 