This was my response to prompt #25:A thing your life has in excess
I lie to myself about my lack of love
The truth is that love is everywhere to be found
My mom who calls to check in on me
My tia who sends me Buenos Días videos
My coworkers who put up with my many moods
My kids who tell me “I got you ma” when I can’t
figure out the latest household gadget
My friends who listen to me without judgment
Love is everywhere I am and it’s time for me
to radically accept it
This is my response to prompt #15: the best kind of surprise
Love surprises me with a glance, with a slight touch on my hand
And 99.9 percent of me wants to run
I don’t want to take a chance once again with my sanity
but the romantic in me say “fuck it”
maybe this will finally be a different story
one where my lover doesn’t leave
I wrote this in 2016.
Faulkner wrote about her ancestors
She stood like a pillar of strength between her mother and daughter
She stood strong as both of them held her arms that were their life jackets
as they drowned in endless sorrows
Tears silently fell from her face as her father laid in his closed home
And the reverend went on about him being in a better place
And her strength did not falter,
She let her loved ones hold on tight while she tried to blink away tears ,
She swallowed her pain and absorbed the pain from those around her
She wasn’t just strong for her mother and daughter,
but she was a goddess of strength among the mere mortals
around her that wept
Escribí este poema en el 2016 cuando una ola de nostalgia me visito y me puse a pensar en mi primer amor.
La inocencia del primer amor
Se queda como un tatuaje en tu mente
Nunca podrás olvidar cómo se sintió
Ese primer beso nervioso
O como buscaban rincones escondidos
Para mostrarse amor
Nunca se olvida la gran emoción
Que llevas dia por dia al verlo
Y nunca, nunca
olvidarás el primer amor
Que falleció con su repente desamor
I wrote this poem in 2016 when I was reflecting on how different my children were. At the time, my middle son was going through a difficult time and it was hard to deal with.
Living with my three children
Is like living in three different countries
My oldest would be Singapore
With strict rules and laws,
He hates flaws in himself
And others and is unforgiving
It’s challenging to live in
Singapore
My middle child would be a war torn ridden country
Like Syria
That’s currently filled with constant chaos,
He is trying to find himself in a place
He feels unwanted and lost
It is an unpredictable struggle
To reside in Syria
My youngest child would
Be an established and friendly country like Spain
He is vibrant, laid back yet energetic
Occasionally you hear about political protests
That reminds me of his occasional tantrums when
His life feels unjust
It is almost a predictable and easy existence to
Live in Spain
I wrote this in 2015 inspired by a situation I was going through.
A Song to My Lover
Songs are written about people like us
Good songs and bad songs,
r&b songs, pop songs,
and of course country songs
Songs that try to capture
the complexity of infidelity
Most of them try to capture the guilt
and the grief
Some of them capture the romantic notion
Of secret meetings, stolen kisses
And the excitement
But there doesn’t seem to be
A particular song for us…
Could a song really capture something
so profound and beautiful ?
Something tainted by the reality
of our situation
Being with my husband is a commitment
I made
It’s an everyday task, not for the faint of heart
Being with you is easy
It’s refreshing not having to try so hard to make
sweet reality work
It’s amazing that you know what to do
to make me feel wanted
And my poor husband still hasn’t got a clue
It’s refreshing that when you are with me,
You see a person, a lover
and not just a wife and mother
These are things neve appear in songs
because our truth is an alternate universe
of the complexities of finding contentment
from someone else at the wrong time
I wrote this poem sometime around 2014 or 2015. I was feeling nostalgic about a former flame I had been obsessed with. This tends to happen a lot with me. Letting go of my past is hard at times.
Shadows of my past
Envelop my future
Everywhere I go
Time has passed
I am older
Harsh experiences
Have made my cynical
And embrace
My mediocrity
But still
Shadows of the past
Envelop my future
Everywhere i go
I’m happy that you found
Your idyllic happiness
With someone else
And living the life
You always wanted
But shadows of our past
Envelop my future
Everywhere I go
I love my children
I love my spouse
But for one more moment
Of us
I would leave them
And everything else behind
Shadows of our past
Envelops my future
Everywhere I go
I wrote this in 2008.
The Wound
It’s a wound that never closes
No matter how many years
are spent trying to close it
To taste the pure heaven that is you
and have it swept
from under me in a sudden swoop
made the everlasting wound
I looked everywhere
for somebody to help me close it
But no matter how hard
they tried, the wound
wouldn’t come close to closing
I finally met someone who lessened the pain
of the wound
with his gentle and understanding nature
But even after 6 years as his patient
the wound remains open
I wrote this poem in late 2007 when I was depressed about my life. Again, instead of going to therapy, I just wrote a poem about it. Lol.
Tainted dreams
of life is what
I have left.
A career of abstract
nothingness lies
before me.
Chaotic and sensitive off springs
I must put before me.
Frigidity and
senility in my
marital bed lie
next to me.
Is this it? Is this
what is left
of my
foolish childhood dreams.
Scattered dreams
in my past
become failures
of my present.
Will my soul
ever recuperate
from the cost?
Will I ever be that
hopeful again?
I wrote this poem in December of 2016 after my almost love affair with death on December 5th. It’s strange how aside from my journal entries from that month, I hardly remember that month. I just remember feeling so broken inside and like a failure after that happened that it was so hard to get up every morning. I do know that writing saved me during that time because I started journaling way more consistently. I would learn years later after being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that up to 10 percent of people with BPD die by suicide. Five years later, I’m glad that I had people by my side that prevented me from becoming one in ten. I’m glad that afterwards, I was able to slowly come back from this even if I was mostly depressed the year after and it was a fight to get up every single day.
For more information about the high risk of BPD and Suicide, here is a link from Psychology Today with info about it:
I wanted to sleep
Sleep beckoned me
Like a magical place
Where I could forget
Forget-
The burdens and responsibilities
Forget-
The performance reviews, the report cards, the bills
Forget-
The husband, the kids, the friends
I wanted to sleep
So I planned my journey there
Call in sick, act natural,
Take the bottle of xanax
I wrote love letters
To my children, my husband, and friends
Just in case I fell in a forever dream
I wanted to sleep
Selfishly, without interruptions
I wanted to sleep
So I didn’t have to think
About my mediocre and suburban reality
My lost dreams of greatness
My wastefulness on this earth
I wanted to sleep
But I was interrupted
By my husband shaking me
Halfway carrying me
To the couch, forcing coffee
Down my throat
I wanted to sleep
But I had to wake up
And endure the reality of life
This another poem inspired about the great breakup of 2001. I probably wrote this when it first happened. My sense of reality is shook up after a break up and it feels like a never ending nightmare that I’ll never wake up from after it happens. This doesn’t happen with every break up…just the ones that really affect me.
Waiting
So I wait for the phone to ring
To hear you say
this loneliness has all been a horrible dream
So I wait for you to show up at my door
To tell me you can’t stand being away from me no more
So I wait for your love letter in my mailbox
To begin getting back together
I wrote this in 2007 about my husband. I was frustrated that he was always so guarded with his emotions and his past. I hated that I could give him my vulnerability and he couldn’t give me his. Looking back now, I should have realized how incompatible we were at the time, but my stubborn and optimistic self wanted things to badly work.
A steel and locked fence guards you.
It does its job well.
Your insecurities and emotions never
come out to play with mine.
Your past never comes out to
join mine in a game of nostalgia.
Will your fence ever open for me?
I wrote this poem in the fall of 2007. I wrote this one about my husband. It was a good moment but even during the good moments, I’m still insecure.
Veins of love’s
moss grow
every minute
I’m with you
Will the veins
ever run out
of moss?
Will you ever
leave me?
I wrote this in 2006 about my husband and my husband were in a good place…meaning we were having sex again after taking a break for several months from it. I tend to place a lot of importance of sex in a relationship and well…if that’s lacking, I get bored and depressed in the relationship.
For once desire and passion
Has entered our lives once again
And the pieces start to fall perfectly
In our lives again.
Is this a dream or just another short lived memory?
He runs his hand through my back and it’s like
Electrical wires going through my body and it turns on
Something wonderful inside of it.
Whatever happened to our
rut and miserable boredom for each other?
He wants me once again and I want only him.
What did I do differently this time?
Life on the BPD 