I wrote this poem in October of 2022 inspired by my middle son.
me and my middle child in March of 2022
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year I’ve felt the screams of those close to me asking God why he took their babies too young Young men who will never be fathers, Young men who will never see their children grow up into rebellious and sassy teens and while I understand conflicts happens between parent and child I also know we’re both on borrowed time and I don’t want our angry words to be the last exchange between us if its his or my last day today
Happy Mother’s Day! I wrote this poem in April of last year inspired by my sons.
us in May of 2022
finding someone to love used to be a priority until love burned me one too many times besides I’ve always had 3 somebodies to love that always deserved all of my attention with them I’m never alone with them there will always be inspiration with them my love overflows at this point, it would be useless for anyone to compete with this complete kind of love
Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Month! I wrote this poem inspired by my favorite Asian American, my oldest son.
me and my oldest in 1999
I was young and so stupid a kid having another kid but with you I grew up and learned the meaning of love you’re everything a mother could want a wonderful and amazing son and while I’ll feel some grief the day you’ll your spread wings I’ll feel a special kind of pride as I watch you shine your golden light
I met my first king at 17 when the nurse placed an alien like being in my arms She was like “feed him”and I was like “how do I do that?” What should I do with him? Eventually I figured it out
I met my first king at 24 as a birthday present, just like me he had to make a dramatic entrance but it was love at first sight No one could take him from my arms I knew what to do
I met my third king at 30 He was a dream delivered After a dream lost the previous year He was planned, he was awaited, he was loved He was welcome by everyone with him, I felt a completion of love
At 41, my mother worked two jobs, raised 3 kids, and still kept the spark in her marriage alive I don’t know how she did it all without ever breaking apart- I don’t remember ever seeing her cry but I do remember her temper, her anger and being afraid of her sometimes
This was my response to prompt #25:A thing your life has in excess
I still get mad when it rains though
I lie to myself about my lack of love The truth is that love is everywhere to be found My mom who calls to check in on me My tia who sends me Buenos Días videos My coworkers who put up with my many moods My kids who tell me “I got you ma” when I can’t figure out the latest household gadget My friends who listen to me without judgment Love is everywhere I am and it’s time for me to radically accept it
This was in response to prompt #28: The person you’re always happy to see
me and my youngest son
My son is my light during my darkest of days He’s a burst of an infectious kind of of good energy Maybe it’s because he got the best of me he was loved even before he was thought of and when he was born he was more and everything I dreamed of he was a much sought out rainbow after the worst of my storms
Christmas sounds like Mariah Carey and Wham competing to blast their christmas songs from my radio or a Christmas Story playing on the tv Christmas looks likes the crooked christmas tree almost tipping over with an excessive amount of ornaments and way too many gifts under the tree christmas taste like mashed potatoes with ham and alcoholic eggnog to swallow uncomfortable conversations about politics christmas smells like candles burning with scents called christmas tree farm christmas feels like happiness with everything in my life and the warmth and magic of my little family
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
I wrote this poem in 2016 when I was reflecting on how different my children were. At the time, my middle son was going through a difficult time and it was hard to deal with.
my 3 sons in July of 2021
Living with my three children
Is like living in three different countries
My oldest would be Singapore
With strict rules and laws,
He hates flaws in himself
And others and is unforgiving
It’s challenging to live in
Singapore
My middle child would be a war torn ridden country
I wrote this poem in December of 2016 after my almost love affair with death on December 5th. It’s strange how aside from my journal entries from that month, I hardly remember that month. I just remember feeling so broken inside and like a failure after that happened that it was so hard to get up every morning. I do know that writing saved me during that time because I started journaling way more consistently. I would learn years later after being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that up to 10 percent of people with BPD die by suicide. Five years later, I’m glad that I had people by my side that prevented me from becoming one in ten. I’m glad that afterwards, I was able to slowly come back from thiseven if I was mostly depressed the year after and it was a fight to get up every single day.
For more information about the high risk of BPD and Suicide, here is a link from Psychology Today with info about it:
I wrote this poem in fall of 2005 when I was feeling overwhelmed by my responsibilities of being a mother, a girlfriend, a student and a worker. As usual at that time, I took on too much and was trying to be everything to everyone. One trait of BPD that I’ve carried throughout the years is over extending myself sometimes to my detriment in order to make other people happy.
I wrote this poem in 2004 about my oldest son. Even though, I was 17 when I had him, I always tried to be the best mother for him. I worked to support him since I was 18, he was one of my biggest motivations for going to college, and even though I was extremely insecure as a young mom, I learned to advocate and fight for him to get the services and therapies he needed when he was diagnosed with autism.
Life on the BPD 