I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
pride and ego keeps us from speaking our truths
we don’t want to be perceived as crazy or as a basket case
and we suppress, suppress, suppress-
only speaking with cordiality and respectability
when we should really cut through the bullshit
and let every unfiltered thought make it to paper
so we don’t drown in anxiety and depression
regretting everything that’s never been said
I wrote this poem in March of 2023.
When I tell you I’m a poet-
please take me seriously
don’t think I’m some cute girl
who writes a few verses in her room
about how your kiss is a new kind of heaven
Poetry for me has a much deeper meaning,
poetry is how I bleed out all of my emotions
I hold within
When I tell you I’m a poet-
please don’t laugh at me or mock me
don’t berate the simplicity of my words
I weave into verse
It’s how I make sense of my explosion of thoughts
It’s how I express what I can’t say out loud
When I tell you I’m a poet-
don’t try to cure me of my poetic nature
and prey on my insecurities and try to kill
my dreams of making my art seen
I know how the odds are stacked against
someone like me
I don’t do it to make it to the mainstream-
I do it so other women like me
can be seen, can be inspired to dream
And finally when I tell you I’m a poet-
Appreciate the artist in me,
make yourself a sanctuary to put my poetry in-
I’m not asking for endless compliments or an ego boost
I’m asking for a safe space in you to love
the poet I hold within
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
On days when I’m hopeful about love-
my laugh is lighter, my smile is brighter,
my thoughts are the color of the sky
thinking of the endless possibilities
of how I’ll be loved and the many places
me and my future somebody will go-
while my cringy playlists play on the car radio
and the many discussions or fights that might happen
because one of us said the wrong thing
or one of us won’t admit we got lost
I”m still hopeful though
keeping in mind that conflict is also part of how we’ll evolve
I wrote this poem in February of 2023.
I’m graduating from writing about revenge and everyone who has harmed me
I’m switched this narrative from woman scorned and full of spite
To a woman reborned opened to love and joy in life
While it’s fun to be petty and mean
It’s better for me to reclaim the corny romantic in me
the one I’ve kept hidden for 18 months
the one who cries at the end of rom coms
the one who’s desperate to fall in love again
to continue this narrative about how I’m in love with my solitude
no longer suits me
when I have a universe of love to give
I wrote this in January of 2023.
when my inner bitch wakes up and rises-you better watch out
I have no scruples, I have no morals
my wrath has no limits
I’ll come after you with my words
call you out for hurting me or my loved ones
I’ll forget everything I learned in therapy
about compassion, about forgiveness
I won’t just act like a woman scorned
I’ll act like a villain in a horror movie
out for revenge
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I could be the poster child for love fiascos-
I love too fast, and too hard-
I’m the fool of the tarot
risking everything even my sanity for love-
getting caught up in feelings and magic
being delusional that somehow it could work out
even when the red flags scream at me-
I say fuck it-I switch off the logic button in me
and go all in
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: I Think
Pienso que es mejor morir que vivir en esta pesadilla
es mejor escapar un destino lleno de incertidumbre y dolor
porque el amor de tu vida no esta seguro si te ama
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
This time it will be different-I lie to myself over and over again-
and for a while I’ll believe it-but it never works out and they always leave-
And I wonder how words fail me when this happens-
it’s a magnitude of emotions-
Intense, mega, uber, all consuming, overwhelming-
Some things cannot adequately expressed even with bilingual vocabulary-
maybe not everything is meant to be written down
it’s just meant to be felt, held intimately in my heart and mind
maybe it’s a private thing between me and the universe
here’s the English version of this poem:
Poem: The Cold Shoulder
estancados en un purgatorio-no sabemos cómo continuar
entonces nos mentimos que todavía nos amamos
cuando ni siquiera nos aguantamos
me dices que estoy loca por admitir la verdad
pero me harte y prefiero parar de desperdiciar mi tiempo
en algo que me está sofocando y robando mi paz
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
In my car-I scream, sing, write, and cry
I dissociate to my radio-blasting out Conan Gray
I can be as crazy I as want to be-
without the fear of being judged or talked about
the seat is molded to my petite frame
perfect for meditation
or for allowing myself to fall into my insanity
makes videos about how beautiful life is-
or how I no longer want to participate in it
my car used to feed into my deepest fears
and insecurities
but now I worship it
if it wasn’t for this sacred space away
from my office and home
I don’t know how I would cope
when the intensity of my thoughts
knock on my mind’s door
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Callar
our love dream has turned into a nightmare of stagnancy and routine
I walk carefully on eggshells to not disturb your peace so you don’t leave-
Is this how love is supposed to be?
More questions than answers, more confusion than clarity
More tears than laughter-
I want to stay for the sake of our family
but I’m starting to burn with resentment and anger
maybe my traumatic birth set the tone for the many rebirths I’d have
I’m the cat with more than nine lives
I’m the phoenix who always rises from the ashes
I’ve been through so many rebirths and transformations
It’s almost comical or maybe it’s brave instead
because I’ve always been able to get back up
no matter how catastrophic the fall has been
8/22/22
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
fragments of who I was weave in and out of my prose and poetry-
I keep trying to honor the old me
when she comes back with my insecurities
and reminds me of how I constantly screw up anything
resembling love
I no longer shame her or call her the worst version of me-
she was just trying to navigate life not understanding
she was an undiagnosed hurricane of emotions-
that couldn’t control or manage
She didn’t go to therapy or know about DBT
And she’s still full of grief for the life she couldn’t live-
so she keeps on showing up trying to shake up
my newfound confidence and power
it’s her version of jealousy, and I walk with her for a while
Console her, and let her know how because of her
I did the work, and now she can feel happiness and joy through me
I will forever be grateful to her and pay tribute to her when I tell her story
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Refusal
quizás me precipite en tratar de terminar nuestro cuento de amor
es que no se que pensar o hacer cuando te alejas de mi
cuando me haces sentir como una caprichosa por querer mas tiempo contigo
por querer tener un poco de tu afección
como podemos reparar las palabras hirientes que te tire
porque ahora nos une el niño en mi vientre
y no quiero que él sea el producto de un hogar roto
porque nosotros no sabemos cómo comprendernos
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
my transformation and rebirth meant giving voice to my shadow
who’s vindictive, petty, and mean
I’ve never really allowed her to breathe
much less be seen
and now she’s almost everywhere-
taking space in uncomfortable spaces
learning she’s not bad-
she just needed attention and to feel valued
I’ve finally accepted she’s an important part of me
who needs to be seen
Life on the BPD 