I wrote this poem in 2004 when I was pregnant with my second child and mad at my boyfriend (future husband) for his lack of affection and attention to me. I was obviously very upset when I wrote this poem and instead of talking to him I wrote and bottled up my anger.
I wrote this poem in 2004 about my oldest son. Even though, I was 17 when I had him, I always tried to be the best mother for him. I worked to support him since I was 18, he was one of my biggest motivations for going to college, and even though I was extremely insecure as a young mom, I learned to advocate and fight for him to get the services and therapies he needed when he was diagnosed with autism.
I wrote this in 2004 inspired by a rough family situation I was going through at the time. I needed to process what was happening in some way because I couldn’t confront the person. And well, I wrote this narrative poem.
I wrote this 2001 when I took a break from writing angry breakup poetry-lol. As an immigrant that grew up here, I’ve struggled with my identity for most of my life. Issues with identity are also another trait of BPD. I think this was a time in my life when I was especially reflecting on this part of my identity because I was become aware that men were fetishizing me.
Caught between two worlds what am I made up of more hopefully I won’t ever have to choose sometimes I wish to just cut loose
Too Latina for the American side Too Americanizada for the Latino side So what is the politically correct term for someone like me? Not American, not born here Not fully Latina either for I lack that latin allure
So I’ll call myself one of a kind a girl with much Latin beauty and an American mind like a delicious half and half cream whose taste is an amazing mixed dream
I wrote this poem in January of 2004 when I was frustrated with Matt and blamed him for my life going awry. Looking back, it was misplaced blame on a situation that only I had control over. At the time, it was much easier to blame Matt rather than take a look at myself and how I was responsible for the mess I made of my life.
I wrote this in 2003 about Lucas. I was again obsessing about him.
Everyday I think about you more and more My heart can’t help itself I close my eyes for a brief second and your wonderful and attached self is what my mind sees. I catch myself missing you and it doesn’t make sense to miss something I never really had. You did something to me without having to do anything. Maybe you accidentally put a spell on me . I still can’t figure out why you, Mr.Forbidden has become my new unrequited love obsession Maybe love really does come out of the least expected place Or maybe I will always Desire the one that I can’t have.
I wrote this in May of 2003 when I was going wrestling with a terrible bout of depression. I kept trying to find the light of the end of the tunnel but it was hard.
A sponge is what I am as I start to absorb this mortifying and painful experience From a sponge I become A meatloaf of frustration From a meatloaf I become A tall and full glass of self pity and regret From the tall and full glass I’m trying Very hard to become a hard rock of acceptance
I wrote this in May of 2003 when one of my close friends had a miscarriage.
It’s so funny and ironic When something bad happens most people says things Like “it’s God’s way” or the famous “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” It makes you wonder if there are actual people out there who would say, “It’s okay to be mad at God’s way” or “It’s alright to be weak instead of strong” or that it’s perfectly fine to scream out loud “FUCK THE WORLD” If there is a least one person like this, I want them to become my new “best friend”
I wrote this in April of 2002 when I was depressed and felt empty. Chronic feelings of emptiness is a trait of living with BPD. It’s rough sometimes.
I’m at a very bad place I struggle and struggle to come out of this miserable and horrible place But somehow feel confined With a helluva strong glue at the bottom of my pitiful feel Stuck to the pit of here( my life) I continue to Dream and dream The impossible dream To someday become unstuck
I wrote this in March of 2003 when I went back to Hawaii. I had a lot of conflicting feelings about this trip.
I’m back here Where it all started A place I once called home But now I’m not so sure I always wonder if I should’ve stayed But now I see why I had to go away It is filled with both Beautiful memories of the loved ones I left behind And ugly memories of the ones that left me behind when I needed them the most I don’t regret coming back Because it’s what I needed In order to heal and move on from you my past, and let you go
I wrote this in May of 2003 when I was depressed. At the time, I didn’t think about getting help. I also didn’t understand what was happening to me. No one knew because I had become a master as masking my emotions. Instead poetry was my therapy.
The sadness creeps up on me like a wild animal upon its prey Slowly but surely I become all too quickly Miserable again I ponder the question Why, why, WHY? I am young and healthy Yet I begin to feel like I’m slipping on thin ice and what scares me the most is I DON”T KNOW WHY?
This was another poem I wrote about the first Andrew in early 2003. I think I was dreaming about him a lot and got inspired. I think at the time I kept returning to this past memory of love because I wanted to hold on to the hope that someone like the first Andrew was out there for me.
The memory of you visits me And a realization washes over me You were the light in the dark tunnel in my then hopeless life You were the song in my heart That I can’t stop seem to stop playing Now matter how loud the music Of my new life tries to drown you out
I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. Maybe he tried to come back to be an FWB and I got mad and that’s what inspired this poem.
Why do you continue to be such an asshole to me? With your pathetic games you make yourself look lame You expect me to sit around and wait for you whenever it’s fucking convenient for you but I guess this is my fault for letting us almost fuck So now I have to tell you something I will no longer be your fucking fling So start to forget that we ever met Go on your merry away and stay away for i am lot more than an on call whore