I had forgotten this poem I wrote in 2002 when I was going through something pretty hard.
I’ve fallen out of-
I’m no longer yours to-
I keep trying to find the right words
to tell you I’m done with “us”
but everytime I try
it all feels so inadequate
and I fall under a blanket of shame and guilt
and I can’t go through with it
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/03/poetry-tired-2/
Mis amigas son mi peor enemigas
Sacando a la luz todas mis inseguridades
y siento ansiedad que me trae insomnia
pensando si ellas tienen la razón
seré en realidad una mujer suela?
seré en realidad una madre negligente?
seré en realidad una estupida,
por querer superarme?
y me convenzo que nunca
seré suficiente para lo que se
espera de mi
y me siento deprimida
con esta realización
y me quedo dormida
con un corazón lleno
de miseria toxica
Aqui esta la version en Espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=1929
I wait and wait for the impossible to happen
for me to fall in love again
even though I’ve sworn off romance forever
because of the catastrophic emotional earthquake
that takes place within me
everytime a lover stops loving me
but the romantic in me refuses to die
and won’t listen to logic
she tells me, “it would be truly tragic to deny
yourself another love story, you never know,
the next one could be your happy ending”
Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
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
I wrote this poem in February 2022.
To write is to fight
words that cuts like swords
How do I stop this torture?
of suppressing a petty light
Pen stabs paper with might
about past regrets and lost love wars
and memories best left ignored
of a dreadful and chaotic life
To write is to fight
Demons I want to hide from
But I can’t help but succumb
to my constant inner fight
Pen stabs paper with might
and I try to find closure
about past lovers
I write from love and spite
To write is to fight
Do I really need to say that?
Yes,it’s my trauma to unpack
and my words take flight
Aqui esta la version en espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/24/poesia-que-espera/
I can’t wait around for you to choose me
I’m losing sleeping with dread and anxiety
imagining you loving her
I think this needs to end soon before I lose it
I’m not made to be the “other”woman
I’m not meant to be a third party
in anyone’s love story
Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.
When I look at you-
I see a promise of love
in the purest form
No ulterior motives
No second guessing
You’re sure of me
You love me
I’m not used to this
This-which is easy
This-which is true
This-which is happiness
This -which is a gift of intimacy
Wrapped up in your embrace
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
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/07/te-vi/
everytime I see you
I want to sin with you
you are the forbidden fruit
I want to taste, I want to make love to
I wrote this poem in February of 2022.
I fantasize about death after my boyfriend’s rejection
I’m so out of touch with reality, a car stops inches away from me
the driver honks at me and cusses me out
I am 15
I want to throw myself of the bridge on the way
to confirm I’m my parent’s worst failure
but a kick inside me saves me
I am 17
I want my baby to stop crying, my head is starting to spin
with psychosis and I hold him a little too tight
until my husband takes him from away me
I am 30
I’m crying while spewing nonsense
while my lover looks at me in horror and disgust
I know it’s over
I am 40
I wrote this on Valentine’s Day of 2022.
I fucked many recklessly without a purpose
some part of me was looking for love
it was a temporary cure when I wanted to avoid emptiness
it was a temporary cure for my painful loneliness
so I used the the magic of my body
to feel like somebody, like I was worthy
But one day I got tired of how it wasn’t enough
and found my worth and self love
I mean, sure it was fun but I’m done, done and done
I forgive the person I once was who mistook lust for love
I didn’t know any better and settled for prince charmings
when I really needed a king to match my love energy
A king who accepts all of me and not just her body
A king who wants to evolve and grow with me
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/23/hey-mister-%f0%9f%91%8b/
me estoy hundiendo en tu magia
es porque eres algo prohibido para mi
es porque eres malo para mi
Siempre me enamoro de lo que será
mi perdición y mi autodestrucción
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
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
I wrote this in January of 2022.
my real diagnosis should be “failure at love”
childhood trauma gave me abandonment issues
teenage trauma cemented it and added identity issues
combined with chronic emptiness
I couldn’t stand the constant void within
so I chased love trying to fill it
constantly sought out validation from men
to stop feeling ugly and alone
I’ve used them and they’ve used me
as band aids for our mutual loneliness
and when I start to feel sure of their love
it suddenly disappears
and all of my issues came back with force
with suicidal ideation entwined
And still I dusted myself off
and tried my luck with love over and over again
thinking each time it will be different
except it never is
they always tire of me and decide to leave
and once again my insanity hits and I break
Intrusive thoughts spiral in my head in an endless loop
“’i’m a failure to love,i’m a failure at love,
i’m a failure with love,i’m never enough,
i’m worthless, death must be better than this”
this was my tragic love story for 26 years
but on year 26, I said “fuck this tragic love story”
and I got the courage to change it
I’m not a failure to love, I’m not a failure at love
or I’m not a failure with love
I’m enough by myself, I can be alone by myself
and I turn into a success story of love
Life on the BPD 