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
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
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
My copy of Love Pangs is a little banged up because I keep rereading it
Melia Cogan has done it again with her second poetry collection. She paints a picture of the beauty of love and the euphoria it brings to one’s life. This book will make you weak at your knees and perhaps even want to get you on a dating app to look for that special someone to experience the magic of love. Cogan explores the mosaic of emotions that come with love. Through Cogan’s verse, I was transported to the alluring and sometimes tumultuous journey of love.
I’ll talk about my 2 favorite poems from the poetry collection.
One of the poems that really resonated with me was “Should I Allow Myself”. I liked how profound this poem is-it speaks about allowing yourself to fall in love recklessly while risking your vulnerability. It’s risking everything to be in the moment of that special memory of love. This is presented in the lines “Together/the possibilities/reach for me in the night/and primarily/I wish they were you (Cogan)”. It’s a desire for longing to be with that special someone.
The other poem that I really related to was “I’m Hiding from Love”because that’s kind of where I’m at right now. This is captured in the lines “Well. I enjoy my boat not toppling over in the sea/and my house not catching on fire (Cogan). Cogan is perceptive of what heartbreak feels like and how some of us are so burned by it,we’ll avoid it at all costs. The metaphors of the boat and fire feel like a truth I’ve encountered many times. It’s how anger and sorrow makes me feel like I’m either drowning or burning inside when it comes to heartbreak. Cogan captures these strong emotions in an intelligent and creative way that I’m sure resonates with mine and others’ experiences with the agony and torment that grief from heartbreak can bring.
I would recommend this poetry collection if you like to explore the depths of love and the complex emotions that come with it.
text message from me to the person who inspired this poem
Maybe I was captious in thinking you wanted sex but you were really depressed and needed help I was moody and tired and couldn’t be bothered so I turned off my phone and wanted to be alone I thought it was no big deal to not get back on our idiot ferris wheel and now I hope it’s not too late and prioritizing myself wasn’t a mistake because I couldn’t stand the thought of you harming yourself be my fault
we’re procrastinating our end not wanting to face the consequences of our doomed relationship so we keep wasting our time pretending we’re fine putting a bandaid of sex on our petty conflicts and keep using each other as blankets for our loneliness instead of being grown ups and admit how our love is no longer worth any effort
is it the devil who takes over me and makes me crazy? Or is it God punishing me for past mistakes or maybe it isn’t either And I really have fucked up genetics
I fell into the trap of “acceptance” not understanding I was slowly losing parts of myself for the sake of fitting in, for the sake of other people who loved to judge me accept that you’re too fat to wear that bikini accept that you’re too old to chase your dreams accept that you’re too hard to love it took me too long to figure out the acceptance of others was costing me my sanity and my self worth and I said, “fuck your opinions on who I should be” from now on, I’ll wear whatever I want, I’ll chase my dreams, and I’ll always be worthy of love”
Sept of 1986-me blowing out a candle right before me and my family started our immigration journey-my aunt had a goodbye party for us
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams about America It was beautiful and blue I pictured a celestial and warm ocean where the waves tenderly touch my toes I was taught it was a better existence than the one we were living in but no one told me that dreams sometimes don’t come true and the reality of America was filled with a hardness that even 35 years later I’m still processing indentured servitude, exploitation, depression, addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects of going for the American dream
picture of how it feels of when I’m asked “what’s your bra size?”
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
I hate it when men ask me, “what’s your bra size?” it’s like my bust-line invites unwanted and sexist questions and comments about my body and it makes me want to throw up and write about them violently because out of all of the questions in the world to ask ME, a mother, a public health worker, a grocery store clerk, an immigrant, a Peruvian, an American, a friend, a poet, a blogger, a woman, a PERSON- they choose to ask me an awkward question about my body- I used to entertain them and tell them while laughing uncomfortably holding in my disgust and anger for them but now I either ignore them, call them out, or block them my boobs or any part of my body are no longer up for the objectification of others
I wrote this poem in December of 2021. I was kind of angry. Lol.
performing this poem at open mic in October of 2022
Let’s hashtag the fuck out of our imperfect perfect lives smile for the camera but make it look candid this is for instagram after all- we want to present an image of authenticity Authentic needs to look put together and balanced there can be no cracks in our suburban realities no one wants to see tears and frowns let’s continue to act like modern clowns except our lipsticks presents a false smile that hides our misery inside and let’s add a witty caption that spells out live,laugh, love and hashtags about #momlife,#gratitude, and #bestlifeever depression, sadness, and anger has no room in our modern world where we pretend to be perfectly imperfect moms and wives with these amazing and perfect lives let’s continue the facade of authenticity even as we burn inside and want to die we are not just okay but we are fucking fabulous so honey continue to smile for that selfie even as the expectations of modern womanhood continues to burn us all up
How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?
I used to think I was the poster girl for failure I’m a failure at love, I’m a failure at life, I’m a failure at everything but all of these are thoughts of a past version of me the version of me who saw herself as a victim the version of me who took comfort in her misery in my middle age I changed that narrative I no longer see myself as a failure I see myself as a person who makes mistakes who’s deeply flawed, who has caused pain it’s doesn’t make me a loser or a disaster It makes me a human who’s trying her best to live her life and sometimes that doesn’t always look pretty I now see failure as stepping stone,a learning curve to continue to grow, to continue to evolve to become better and healthier than I’ve been before
I wait and wait for the impossible to happen for me to fall in love again even though I’ve sworn off romance forever because of the catastrophic emotional earthquake that takes place within me everytime a lover stops loving me but the romantic in me refuses to die and won’t listen to logic she tells me, “it would be truly tragic to deny yourself another love story, you never know, the next one could be your happy ending”
Life on the BPD 