I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I feel raw with emotions
It’s like someone has ripped off
the scab of an almost healed heart
and it’s bleeding once again
And while this time
it’s not pulsating with anger and rage
it still hurts
like a small paper cut
you can’t see but it’s still there
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I hide the craziest parts of myself
The parts that get sad,
The parts that get obsessed
The parts that lose hope
I hide the worst parts of myself
the parts that feel empty
The parts that feel numb
The parts that want to die
I hide the craziest and worst parts
of myself
so no one else will leave
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I wish I could be perfect to everyone in my life,
the perfect mom, the perfect coparent, the perfect mistress
but the pressure gets too loud within me
And I need to get away from how I want to be perceived
I’ll never be the perfect anything
I’m never be June Cleaver or the perfect dream girl
I can only be authentically and imperfect me
And maybe me and everyone in my life
need to accept that’s the best I can be
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/12/30/poetry-precious-moments/
Al escuchar aquella canción de Alejandro Sanz
Me visita la nostalgia de nosotros y me pongo a llorar
y casi te llamo pero-me controlo
necesito para esta obsession contigo,
Quisiera poder olvidarte
pero, pero, pero no puedo pelear
el amor que todavia siento por ti
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I told the full moon to listen to my pleas
to lessen my pain
to turn me from victim to victor
I told the full moon to let my mind rest
and stop my intrusive thoughts
that tell me I’m worthless
and not good enough
I told the weary moon to fill me
with self love
instead of self hate
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/10/poetry-mixed-feelings/
eres mi sueño y pesadilla de amor
y estoy cansada de vivir en este caos emocional
esperando que me llames a escondidas
¿ valerá la pena esta tontería?
Viviendo en un mar de incertidumbre
que me roba mi calma y me llena con inseguridad
continuando hacerte mi prioridad primera
mientras soy algo apenas notado en tu vida
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
My diagnosis doesn’t define me,
It empowers me, it makes sense of my nonsense
I’m not crazy or chaotic or even hard to love
I’m a dream come true wrapped up in complexity
sure at times I feel like a nightmare
But don’t all of us get rough at times
So whoever gets scared and runs away from me
Sorry not sorry, I’m too much
and you’re just not enough
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/13/poetry-do-i-know/
no se que es el amor
y dudo que alguna vez sabré
porque cada vez que intento vivir
un cuento de amor
para de repente o pierdo la cordura
Y con cada amante nuevo
pienso que aprendo algo del amor
Pero, siempre resulta ser un empiezo falso
y me siento demasiado cansada para seguir
obsesionandome con algo que nunca sera para mi
I wrote this in March of 2022 for World Bipolar Day.
I wear the stigma of a bipolar diagnosis and hide this big secret
This secret has been a part of me since my teens
This secret explains my sometimes uncontrollable insanity
This secret at times robs me of my sleep
This secret has taken me on many fun and lustful adventures
This secret makes me write, write, write
so I don’t want to die, die, die
I keep this secret and take medication for it
But one day, I’ll scream out loud my mental health truth
I’m bipolar 2
I’m not enough to ruin your life but just enough to fuck it up
a little at a time
Here is the English version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/22/poetry-special-friend/
me acuesto en mi cama en una vida
llena de mentiras
fingiendo que estoy bien
mientras guardo una miseria profunda
dentro de mi misma
esperando que un hombre me salve
Esperando que mi destino se transforme
espero, espero, espero
que algo cambie en mi vida
para que pare de obsessionar
por que nunca soy suficiente
I wrote this in December of 2021.
Thanks to learning about my BPD
I’m finally free to be me
There is a reason for my numbness
and for why I’m such an emotional mess
Genetics and trauma played a part
for me constantly falling apart
There is a reason for my impulsivity
and for why I distort reality
There is a reason for men running away from me
when I go from being sweet to being crazy
And now that I know I have BPD
I can conquer the world of DBT
I hope that after I’m more calm
And stop going off like a bomb
Hopefully I have more control over my emotions
And there will no longer be hysterical explosions
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/19/poetry-forget-me/
quisiera ser una maga
para que te olvides de mi
para que nunca hubiese existido en tu vida
porque me odio por haberte causado
un mundo de dolor
pero no vivimos en un cuento de hadas
Vivimos en una realidad dura
donde soy incapaz de decirte algo
para que tu dolor sea más fácil para superar
lo único que puedo hacer es rezar por ti,
desearte lo mejor, y esperar que algun dia
encuentres el valor para empezar denuevo
con alguien que te sepa amar
I wrote this in March of 2022.
I never needed anyone to teach me how to love
what I needed was understanding and acceptance
while my love is kind and sweet most of the time
my love also cannot be tamed at times
when it gets wild and out of control
it’s better to just ride the big wave of it
until it is tamed and soft again
it wasn’t that I didn’t know how to love
It’s just that most don’t know how to handle it
my kind of overwhelming love is a crazy kind of love
it will hurt you, challenge you and bring conflict
it will make you want to slap the shit out of me
because yes it’s that intense
but my kind of of love is always worthy
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/17/poetry-something-so-fake/
maldito sea por pensar que era una santa
y colocarme en un pedestal
la mujer de cual te enamoraste
fue un mito de cuatro meses
todo estaba bien con nosotros
mientras me callaba
no soportaba tus gritos
que yo era una estúpida, una loca
que siempre estaba equivocada
Entonces aprendí a ser lo que querías
una princesa sin una opinión
pero no podía seguir con esta farsa
me estaba matando adentro
guardar todo que era importante en mi
tuve que escoger entre tu y yo
y me escogi a mi
no te estoy pidiendo perdón o comprensión
no mas te estoy dando la razón
por terminar nuestro cuento de amor
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I’m tired of the bustle and hustle
that comes with my social status
and the color of my skin
Why wasn’t I raised with privilege
and wealth instead of being raised
with poverty and trauma?
And I try and I try and I try
to find a way out of this cruel existence
but it’s futile
I take pride in my never ending hustling
but at times it feels so exhausting
There seems to no end in sight
for this fruitless fight
Life on the BPD 