Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/03/numb/
nada me fascina, nada me emociona
siento un vacio dentro de mi
que no se puede llenar
mi mami me dice “échale ganas”
pero quiero rendirme a mi depresion
y nunca despertar
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
Some days I can’t deal with the boredom and restless
It all leads to chronic feelings of emptiness
And I asked myself
Is it time for another depression spell?
And I’m annoyed by me, by everything
I attend to whatever I think my brain and my soul needs
Sometimes it’s music, sometimes it’s sunshine
Sometimes it’s writing
Sometimes nothing appeases the Gods of BPD
And I just to deal with my emotional instability
I wish for at least a week of tranquility within
Instead of a pendulum of ever changing mood swings
When will I finally get calm and peace?
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/30/poesia-pequenas-riquezas/
he watches her as she sleeps
and the emotions she stirs up in him
this was supposed to be a casual agreement
where only each other’s primal needs got met
she’s not easy or convenient
she has way too many issues
and yet here he is starting to love her
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
Old insecurities come to visit me again,
they shake up my newly acquired confidence
they tell me I’m not smart enough and I’ll never be truly loved
They tell me the only thing I have going for me is how sexy I can be
Otherwise I’m a waste of a person because of my bpd
And I try to shut it all down and not once again drown
Because I have made so much progress and have come so far
Only to once again fight an anxiety and depression war
but it’s daunting and exhausting not to let the negativity get to me
So here I go once again, trying to calm down my brain
from negative and intrusive thoughts by covering myself with self-love
I wrote this in May of 2022.
Overturning my right to choose feels like a slap to my face
it is my american dream of liberty turned into a nightmare
of reproductive imprisonment
because of my 3 unplanned pregnancies, because of my 4 IUDs
birth control pills and a patch
because I am a woman scared for my niece, for my future granddaughters
scared for the generations of women who come after me
and I sit here at a complete loss for words and understanding
at a loss for how this could happen
a fundamental right ripped from right before our eyes
while we were distracted with the modernity of society
a fundamental right ripped from us that will take us back to the 1950’s
I’m constantly working without any breaks or any hints of rest
because I thrive on being productive
I’m happiest when I’m filled with purpose
and I don’t stop because it keeps me moving forward
it keeps me from not feeling anything
but at what cost?
my hips and knees scream at me
and I’m addicted to energy drinks
my mind tells me to slow down, rest,
and process my emotions
but I’d rather keep hustling, keep moving
rather than to deal with the intensity of my feelings
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
People say I shouldn’t give up on love
and it’s really just my bad luck
But how do I explain
How love makes me insane
It’s not the men I pick
It’s really me, me, me
I’ll become the version they want me to be
thinking they’ll stay with me-
behave, swallow my words, hide my anger,
implode on myself in the privacy of my journal
but keep my mask of sweet princess on-
but this never last for long
something always happens
it’s just a matter of when
when will I get tired of hiding who I am
and start being erratic and crazy
When will they get tired of my bullshit
and decided to leave
and almost always, this ends up
as an emotional catastrophe for me
so I’ve come up with a solution
I’m going to make my newfound solitude
a haven, a sanctuary to fall into
give myself as much time as I need
to enjoy the gift on my own company
understanding that this isn’t an ending
but rather a brand new beginning for me
to write and edit my own unconventional love story
I wrote this poem in June of 2022 inspired by my youngest son.
At Tae Kwon Do class my son kicks
with a determined look on his face
It’s strength and resilience inherited from me
and his ancestors
It’s a competitive spirit passed down
generation after generation
from people that had to fight to compete
to survive and it fill me with excitement and pride
because even at ten my son shows traits
from his ancestral warriors
I wrote this poem in October of 2022 inspired by my middle son.
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.
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
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
In therapy I’m supposed to write about the last thing that cause me grief
and I think it’s funny considering the tons of poetry and journal entries
I’ve written about it
I’m tired of writing about it, I’m tired of talking about it
I’m tired of thinking about it
and I want to tell my therapist I don’t have homework for this week
but this is part of therapy
this is what I need to address the unhealed trauma within
so I’ll write for the 1000th time about the last thing that caused trauma and grief
hoping my therapist will provide valuable insight on how to let go of it
Happy international Nurse’s Day to all the nurses and especially my favorite nurse, my sister. We’ve had a complicated relationship through most of my life but within the past few years, our relationship has gotten a lot better. I have more to say about this but that calls for a longer blog post in the future. Today, I want to honor her for being the awesome human being that she is. Below is a picture of us at a concert we went in July of 2022 and a poem I wrote in December of 2021 when she turned 47.
To My Sister On Her 47th birthday
you’re 3 years away 50
but still look like you’re in your 30’s
Has anyone told you how amazing you are?
Have our parents loved you out loud?
I’ve always admired you for your fortitude and resilience
but wish for you to have peace and an opportunity to be soft
I get it though –
It is hard to be soft in
a society that expects you resemble a tower of strength,
where you take care of everyone first and put yourself last
It was something you had to learn at a young age
you used to be the
Villian in my book at times,
but lately I think of you as the victim
and the victor_
You’re a victim of life-
the victim because of the pressure
you were put under for being the oldest
the victim for being a woman of color
in a racist and sexist society
But you’re also the victor-
the victor never giving up-
no matter how fucked up life got for you
the victor for facing shit head on without any fucks
and with an intimidating confidence (maybe that’s why I was jealous)
oh sister of mine,
on your 47th year-I hope.
you get to sit and enjoy
the wonderful life you’ve created
I wrote this poem in May of 2022 inspired by this “woke” white woman. Lol.
you’re nothing but a selfish and narcissistic attention whore
constantly craving the limelight
by posting long and stupid ridden Facebook statuses
about the “truth” of the injustice you see
injecting yourself as the voice of minorities
it all unveils your world of deep seated insecurities
and the irony of all of this is should you know better
since you’re a therapist
but apparently you’re still dumb as fuck
It doesn’t matter how many degrees you have-you still reek of ignorance
I wrote this poem in May 2022.
I’d rather live in music, daydreams, and fantasies
than face the monotony and routine of real life
who wants to deal with spreadsheets
when I can get lost in dreams about finding the one
who wants to answer to karen’s idiotic questions
when I got taylor swift on repeat
who wants to open and read another email
about another stupid workplace policy
when I can fantasize about the best sex
I had the a few nights ago
real life is too boring for me
when I have music, daydreams, and fantasies
waiting to inspire the writer in me
I wrote this poem in May of 2022.
I believe in second and third chances
because more often than not
I’m the one who’s written off
because more often than
I’m left after the first time I fuck up
because more often than
I’m expected to be almost perfect
and this weighs on me heavily
but it’s my cruel reality
so I’ll give a second, a third, even a 4th chance
because I believe people can change
because I accept people for the humans they are
because even if my benevolence burns me at times
at least I don’t commit an emotional crime
cause judgment without compassion
makes one an inhumane and callous robot
Life on the BPD 