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
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.
Here is the link to the book:
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
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
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/29/poesia-falso/
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
Are you superstitious?
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 wrote this poem in March of 2022.
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”
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.
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 wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Toilet paper, hand sanitizer,
Masks, COVID tests
the judgy quarantined
Karens and Brads
or
the overwhelmed essential
workers
Solitary confinement
or
Endless work hours
Creative new hobbies
or
No time to think or sleep
Neverending restlessness
or
Neverending adrenaline rushes
Mental breakdowns for all
This was the Zeitgeist
of COVID times
What experiences in life helped you grow the most?
Aqui esta la version en Espanol de este poema:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/?p=1929
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”
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
What do I do with a mind that won’t quit?
It keeps me on this never ending guilt trip
These racing thoughts keep me up at night
And tell me write, write, write
And I want it all to stop the overflowing inspiration
from my muse cup
But this is who I am
and forever will be
a bipolar and BPD me
trying hard to deal with existing
Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
even as I lost her in parts
first came the extra pounds and inches I ran off from the curvy girl who used food as comfort
and for a while a stranger stared at me from the mirror as I wondered where my cleavage went
or how my waistline got so small
then came the spectator and the passenger I lost as I gained confidence and power in sharing my truth, in sharing my art and I became the main character and the driver of my own life
finally I lost the princess who held onto others for safety, who relied on others for acceptance and love-she left on a windy October day when she conquered a phobia that haunted her for 15 years
saying goodbye to the version of me I used to be was uncomfortable and agonizing
but she couldn’t stay around if I wanted to grow, to evolve, to become the mother my children
always deserved, to become the woman I always wanted to be
If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be, and why?
