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

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.

Poesia: La Nostalgia de Ti

Here is the English Version of this poem:

https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/18/poetry-without-a-goodbye/

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

Poetry: Death

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

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. 

Poetry: Forgotten Anniversary

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.

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.

Poetry: My Book of Love and Lust

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

Poetry: The Elephant

I wrote this in 2017 during my great depression.

me around the time I wrote this poem.

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

Poetry: Superficial

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?

Poetry: Love and Hate

So I had forgotten to post this poem from the great breakup of 2001.

haha…it be like that sometimes

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

Poetry: Extinction

I wrote this in 2017 during my great depression. I guess I was just annoyed and angry by society.

me in 2017 around the time I wrote this poem

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

Poetry: The Modern Southern Woman

I wrote this in 2016.

me in 2016 when I wrote this poem

Faulkner wrote about her ancestors
She stood like a pillar of strength between her mother and daughter
She stood strong as both of them held her arms that were their life jackets
as they drowned in endless sorrows
Tears silently fell from her face as her father laid in his closed home
And the reverend went on about him being in a better place
And her strength did not falter,
She let her loved ones hold on tight while she tried to blink away tears ,
She swallowed her pain and absorbed the pain from those around her
She wasn’t just strong for her mother and daughter,
but she was a goddess of strength among the mere mortals
around her that wept

Poetry Review: Blood, Booze, and Other Things in Nature

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.

-Justin Bookworm, Razorcake Issue #123

Sex and the City meets Black Mirror.

-Alana M Kelley, Maudlin House Magazine 

Poetry: Shadows

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.

me in 2015 around the time I wrote this poem

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 

Poetry: Silence

I wrote this 2013 about my husband.

silence kills

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