Poetry: Father Son Mile
I wrote this in 2002 about my oldest son’s father. I really wanted him to step up to be a dad to our son despite our turbulent past.
You make me think
to look past that fateful night of fucking
So I forced that memory to fade fast
Even when a baby was made
Cause you chose her over me
I had to assume it was fate
That there could neve be a “we”
Just forget about that night
And clean our slate white
And walk with him the father-son mile
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Poetry: Fucking Waste
I wrote this in November of 2002. As I mentioned in my previous post, November was a chaotic month and I can’t remember who I wrote this about. Haha. Obviously I was angry at this dude. Maybe he ghosted me? Who knows?
I know you didn’t mean to
But you’ve made me so blue
With you nonchalant ways
To you I was just a fucking waste
So tonight I’ll leave
Why does this always happen to me?
Ending up with jerks like you
Maybe one day I’ll get a damn clue
And stop fucking around
with you fucking clowns
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Poetry: Wrong
I wrote this in November of 2002. November was such a chaotic month that year that I don’t remember who wrote this about. I think it was probably a one night stand that I had a connection with. It’s obvious that I read way too much into the situation than I should have.
My mind tries to forget
Everything that happened last night
But my heart puts up a fight
My mind tells me it’s wrong and a mistake
But my heart yells that it wasn’t just sex
But it was also fate
My mind considers it a lost cause
but my heart finds a love feeling once lost
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Poetry: Reclaiming Myself
I wrote this in November of 2002 about my son’s oldest dad. I don’t know; maybe I read too much into it when he told me he had feelings for me. I guess that maybe I thought he would choose me. Idk. I guess I was delusional or something.
Once upon a time
I wanted to kill myself
I almost felt myself cross that line
Felt like I had no inner wealth
But seeing you again
Inspired me to pull myself together
And this time I knew how to weather
When once again you’d decide we couldn’t be together
And I’d had to once again face your “accidental” departure
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Poetry: A World Full of Regrets
I wrote this in November of 2002 about my oldest son’s dad. I guess I was trying to view things from his perspective. Seeing him again felt surreal and almost like a dream.
His memory draws blank
Trying to think of that naïve girl
And how they made that baby
He would later on deny
And five years later
After meeting again
That once precocious girl
Turned into a woman
He remembers her tender beauty
And the sexual tension
That drove them crazy
to that baby making night
And meeting his son for the first time
He encounters a world full of regrets
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Poetry: Remorseful Sentiments
I wrote this in 2002 and it wasn’t actually inspired by any past relationships/ breakups. I don’t know, maybe I understood deep down that I had a tendency to self sabotage relationships.
Remorseful sentiments of you still come to mind
And I ask myself
“How could I have been so blind,
to screw up everything
that meant everything to me?
With my selfishness and lies,
I destroyed our paradise
And I still remember the look upon face
As you drove away full of disgust and hate?
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Poetry: Pretending
I wrote this in 2002 about Matt. I think that the experience with him really put any residual abandonment issues from my childhood to the forefront. Interactions with him throughout my son’s childhood were hard emotionally for me for this reason.
We meet once again
And you pretend to be my friend
Like nothing ever happened
Like I forgot you never took a stand?
To be a father to our son
How can you be so damn dumb?
How could it have taken you so long?
To finally admit you were wrong
But I’ll forgive you
But I won’t ever forget the hell
you put us through
Just remember
It can never go back
To the way we once were
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Poetry: Thoughts
I wrote this in November of 2002 about Matt when he contacted me again and said he was coming to see our son for the first time. It was a really confusing and chaotic time for me. Even after everything that had happened and I had been through I was still romanticizing him. Ugh. Gotta love that BPD.
I thought my feelings for you
had come to an end
When you thought it was best
For us to go our separate ways
And all of a sudden
Once again you appear
Explaining you felt a strong need
To be near me
That in your time away
You realized you made
The biggest mistake
By breaking us apart
You broke your own heart
A part of me is sad
A part of me is happy
I want to save my dignity
What am I to do?
I want to be with you
But don’t want to end up a fool
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Poesia: Tardes Remordimientos
Escribí este poema en el 2002 acerca del padre de mi primer hijo. Sentía sentimientos encontrados después de no verlo en muchos tiempo.
El no se acuerda de esa niña adolescente
Y como llegaron ha hacer
Aquel bebe que el nego
Y ahora cinco años después
Al conocer de nuevo esa niña consentida
Convertida en toda una mujer
Se acuerda de su belleza
Y esa fricción sexual de como locos
Los llevó a la cama
Y al ver a ese bebe convertido
Le vienen los tardes remordimientos
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Poetry: Early Excitement
I wrote this in November of 2002 after meeting John. When I get excited about someone, I get EXCITED!
I don’t know how you got me
to feel like this again
So happy, so free
For once, I’m excited about living
Maybe it was the way
We danced to the music
Quickly finding our own rhythm
Or the way you kissed me
Gently on my face
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s love
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Flash Fiction: Passage of Regret
She came in before him into the same house she was at a year ago. She wonders to herself why she‘s there at all. She knows the minute she steps into the room; it will be like welcoming back a ghost into her life. She feels like she has no choice. He offers her a drink, and she gladly takes many, hoping that this will numb the outcome her mindless and impulsive actions have taken her to. She wants to say “no” and that she has a boyfriend she wants to be faithful to but knows that now it’s too late. She stops him for a minute after he takes off her shirt and unhooks her bra. She tells him she needs to use the bathroom, and in the bathroom, she writes this. A night she would like to forget.
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Poetry: Newfound Emptiness
I wrote this in November 2002 after a seeing my one of my exes. Chronic feelings of emptiness are one of the symptoms of BPD and in the past I’ve tried to escape it with alcohol or sex. I tried sex this time and it didn’t work.
She wants to enjoy herself
as his once familiar hands and lips
explore her body
But she can’t
He kisses her breasts
and she feels nothing
His hands touch those special
turn -on places in her body
And her body remains cold and numb
Then she realizes this meaningless act
of intimacy she uses to satisfy
her body’s urges
is no longer enough
She now needs something more,
she is frightened but the newfound emptiness
Of it all
She realizes she need love
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Poesía : Pequeñas Riquezas
Escribí este poema en Noviembre del 2002. Fue inspirado por muchas experiencias que había tenido en ser siempre “la chica divertida del momento” para los hombres y nunca la chica con la cual quieren compartir su vida.
Ellos quedan acostados en la cama
El la mira, ella tan dormida, tan quieta
Y el piensa en muchas cosas
Aquel acuerdo que hicieron
Cuando todo esto empezó
Las condiciones que el le pidio a ella
Que ella nunca podría enamorarse de el
Y lo único que ellos podrían tener
sería un juego de sexo y nada mas
Tan simple que todo esto empezó
Pero el nunca contó con enamorarse
de esta niña-ingenua, inconveniente,
e inocente de la vida
No contaba con extranar a esta niña
Caprichosa pero con una dulzura tierna
Y por fin
Nunca se imaginaba con este dia
que ahora no siente poder vivir sin ella
y sus pequeñas riquezas
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Poetry: My Past
I wrote this in 2002 about Matt, my oldest son’s bio dad. I was about to see him and having a lot of feelings about it.
My past hangs over me
like a song that keeps
repeating itself over and over again
The more I try to run away from it
The louder and closer it gets
I don’t want to do it
But I will have to face him someday
It is better sooner than later
So I can start looking
Forward to my future
Life on the BPD 