this poem is inspired by the 2006, “let’s go to your store”
take me on a tour of your utopia
the one you always talk about
the one where mental illness doesn’t exist
and we all go to sleep without the need
of meds and sleepytime tea
the one where everyone is respected
and being different is celebrated
and not used as fodder for insults or war
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
the downpour from this morning made me uber emotional
driving through a flood, trying to not lose control of my car
and with God by my side and Olivia Rodrigo on the radio I made it to work
the downpour didn’t stop
and my coworker mentioned it was an upside world when the morning
looks like evening
and the dreadful weather triggered the on switch to my depression
and out pours the thoughts about grief and death
the downpour of my emotions started and nothing could stop it
here’s the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=11683
las salas de chat de aol sirven su propósito
para la atención que le falta en su hogar
lentamente lacie se vuelve una adicta a validación
con su combinación de pobre autoestima
y locura
ella nunca se ha sentido suficiente
usa su belleza y cuerpo para sentirse completa
nadie la para y la cuida
y ella tiene un de citas con extraños
en sus asientos traseros
con solo 16, ella se siente poderosa
disfruta del placer y atención temporaneo
después de la escuela y los fines de semana
sus amigas cubren por
nunca piensa en las consecuencias
siempre dejándose llevar por el momento
this poem was inspired by the 2006 poem “racy lacie”
aol chatrooms serves her purpose
for attention and validation
slowly Lacy become a love junkie
with a combo of low self worth
and undiagnosed mental illness
she never feels like she’s enough
so she uses her beauty and her body
to search of wholeness
no one thinks to stop her
or monitor what she’s doing online
has plenty of dates with strange men
in parking lots
at 16, she feels on top of the world
sneaking hits of lust
After school and on weekends
using her friends to cover for her
never thinking of the consequences
and always living for the moment
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
How long do I have to scroll before the algorithm fucks me up
Before the algorithm makes me feel like I’m not doing enough
before I lose my shit and say “this is bullshit”
and delete all of my social media apps
How long do I have to scroll before the algorithm makes me feel better
before the algorithm starts to validate my existence
Before some random stranger slides into my dms and tells me I’m pretty
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
another new year is here
another season of my life
will soon be renewed
more chances for new experiences
and adventures
more opportunities to fuck things up
and give fodder to the inner critic in me
to emotionally beat me up
more time to question myself
am I doing enough for me and my kids
to prosper
more moments of joy and laughter
with my boys as they get older
and continue to find their autonomy
more grief and sadness as the working class
and marginalized communities
continue to be stepped on
more memories made that ignite a spark
of creativity within me
another new year
another transformation under construction
I wrote this poem earlier this month for a future version of myself. I wanted to end 2024 with a hopeful and romantic note.
lighting hits me and I’m in love all over again
this time I take my vows seriously
this time I believe in the whole
“til death do us part” bit
this time it’s far from perfect and ideal
but for once in my life
we’re enough for each other
and there are no seconds thoughts
that this is true love
I wrote this poem in November of 2024.
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me
as I sing out my guts to lyrics
that reminds me of you
the worst of my ideas,
the worst of my crimes
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me
hoping that this is the last bit of closure
I need from you
and that from now on
we’ll both live our lives free and clear
of each other
and soon you both fade into
the background of my memory
and soon you stop showing up
in my dreams
I wrote this poem in July of 2024.
I wash my hands of all my past sins
my wrongs never defined me
It was a toxic narrative I swallowed whole
when I was addicted to suffering
and being a martyr
I wrote this silly poem in April of 2024.
ancestor, ancestor-
which alcohol goes best with making shitty life decisions
ancestors says, not the PBR, not the michelob ultra light, it’s too basic of an energy
for the kind of epic shitty life decisions you tend to make
don’t reach for the margarita wine either, too obvious, too much of a cliche
and you already have plenty of them in your poetry
Go for the Guiness six pack
make your shitty life decisions with some English class
since most of your terrible decisions tend to include some asshole
whose ancestors are colonizer Englishmen
I wrote this poem in February of 2024.
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
it’s where my demons decide to come out to play
they dance with traumatic memories
making my fears and insecurities come out to the surface
it’s the wild wild west inside my head
being insane becomes my personality and aesthetic
scaring away any potential love candidates
it’s been a long time since I held someone’s hand
much less been in someone’s bed
It’s the wild wild went inside my head
And I wonder when will the demons get tired and leave
so maybe one day I’m not so jaded
so maybe one day I give someone the chance
to take me out on a date
I wrote this poem in January of 2024.
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved
every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure
I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember
Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then
My middle age self brings to the surface
and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying
it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
It’s time to say goodbye to the notion of love
I know I’ve said this more times than I can count
but this time, I really mean it
lately, I prefer my life of solitude
the one where I’m my own hero, my own savior
And I don’t wait for anyone to validate my worth
it’s so calm, it’s so peaceful
it’s actually bullshit
the romantic girl in me can’t be cured
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence
accepting we were always meant to be friends
no longer harboring resentment about our failed story of romance
Focusing on the long road ahead of us
Divorced and raising kids in a world full of oxymorons,
in a world that will try to make them fit
into unrealistic expectations of what it means to be human
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence
putting away our differences and any conflicts
And putting our childrens’ best interest first
understanding they’re the best thing
to come out of the failure of us
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
even the spambot body shames me
and I hate my body all over again
wanting to eviscerate that pudge
that’s been there since after my first son
hiding the flappy wings of my upper arms
wondering why God gave me my stupid curves
I’m constantly trying to hide
and every excess of skin I see in the mirror
That makes me wish I’d cease to exist
why can’t I be a skinny white girl?
instead of this pudgy mess of a woman
with body dysmorphia
who still uses the scale to determine
her WORTH
Life on the BPD 