I wrote this in May of 2002 about Lucas. I was missing him and feeling nostalgic about him. It was hard because while we were still keeping in touch via email, we hardly saw each other.
I tried to escape the thought of you
But it follows me wherever I go
Your scent, your voice, your kiss
Always remains fresh on my mind
No matter how long it’s been
Even if I try my hardest
To live without you
I somehow end up again
Trapped in the caged memory
that was your love
I wrote this poem in June of 2002 and almost 20 years later, I still have the same questions. Lol. At this point, I don’t know if I’ll ever know what romantic love and that’s okay. My life is filled with all kinds of different love that I’m not focused on finding romantic love or really care to.
I want to write about love
but do I really know what it is
Is it a certain look?
Or a certain action?
Is it caring for someone’s happiness
more than your own?
Or is it being with the one
that makes you crazy
and your heart race
with the sound of their voice?
What is love?
I wrote this about my ex boyfriend Ron, the one I cheated on with Lucas. I felt so much guilt and shame about the whole romantic fiasco. I should have broken up with Ron BUT this was a really confusing time and I was probably scared to be alone once again. I knew that the fling with Lucas would end eventually and that Ron wasn’t go anywhere…and honestly that’s probably the worst reason to stay with someone.
As I lie next to him
So much is left unsaid
So much I want to tell him
But the words cannot
Escape from my mouth
I want to tell him the truth
Instead of live in this big web of lies
I have mistakenly driven myself into
I want to tell him
I was with another but I do love him
But I can’t say anything
I don’t want to hurt him
Instead I lie next to him
in this defying silence
When nothing is said
and he thinks I only love him
I wrote this in 2002 about my coworker Lucas. This is a good example of the black and white thinking that happens with me when I’m in a relationship.
You’re so close to me
And impossible to reach
You’re the one I want to be with
And the one I want to run away from
You’re my best dream
And worst nightmare
You’re my reason for my happiness
And the epitome of my frustrations
You give me a reason to live
And a reason to leave this life
You’re the first on my list
And I’m the last on yours
I wrote this in 2002 about Lucas after he dropped me off at home. I really thought we had this special and unique connection at the time even though the situation was so fucked up.
He drops her off and waits for her to inside
opens the glove compartment
and picks up the note
she leaves for him
He feels ecstatic and miserable
at the same time
by her simple way with words
It’s not so much the content
It’s the meaning behind it
He wants to stop and love her
but he can’t
He realizes she leaves that note
as a reminder that she will
always love him
I wrote this in early 2002 about my married coworker Lucas. I remember going out to lunch with him one day and writing this poem about it the next day.
As I look upon him with my dopey love eyes
I wonder how he would feel next to me
at this exact moment
As we are listening to this song
and looking at each other at this very moment
I wonder what his exact feelings are
Maybe it’s something I can never know
or feel for sure
but this moment with him
is something I can forever cherish
I wrote this in 2002 when I was really depressed. I probably should have gone to therapy but instead I wrote poetry.
My emotional pain is killing me
at a steady pace with no means of stopping
Or even slowing down
I don’t know how to feel good
about myself anymore
I forgot what it’s like to laugh or smile
What’s left of my pride is gone.
I wrote this 20 years ago reflecting on how rough 2001 was for me. I mean there was my whole Jake Gyllenhaal episode and of course “the great breakup of 2001” that inspired dozens and dozens of poems. 2002 wouldn’t be any better but I survived it. Whatever doesn’t kill me makes for good blog content later. Lol. As I reflect now on 2022 and any expectations I have. I honestly don’t have any. I mean 2021 was rough in it’s own right, there was my BPD diagnosis and of course “the great breakup of 2021” BUT it was also a year of tremendous growth and progress for me. And that’s all I hope to have in 2022, continued growth-as a mother, friend, writer, and coworker. As always, I strive to become a better person than I was yesterday.
Another new year
Supposedly filled with promise and hope
As any new anything
Whether it be a new relationship
New job or even a new hero
But will this year really live up to all it’s hype?
And if so, it would be the first wonderful year
with more happiness than sorrows
Or will this new year be another year
Wasted on dead end frustrations
Filled with more sadness
than one can bear
Only as the days and weeks
And eventually months go on will we be able to know
I hope for my sake
That at least will be somewhere in the middle
I wrote this in January of 2002 about my married coworker Damon. When I have a crush on someone, I kind of use to get obsessed about them. It’s borderline Joe Goldberg vibes. Lol. I can’t tell if it was me having BPD or me being a normal 20 year old.
So I look at you
with my droopy lovesick eyes
And talk to you with my schoolgirl crush voice
Because that’s all I can ever do
It can never go further than that
Because you’re married to another
And that’s something I’m obligated to respect
The only thing left for me to do
is to stay away from you
maybe then my obsession
Will slowly disappear
I wrote this in February 2002 about my first baby daddy. He had started to be in contact with when he got the child support order. I obviously had a lot of residual resentment and trauma and blamed him for losing part of adolescence.
She was the girl you left behind
with nothing but a baby
and a desperate hope to keep her alive
She was innocent, naive, and untouched
until the night she fell into your sexy scent,
your empowering embrace, and a world full of promises
She trusted, believed, and dreamed
Thanks to your unexpected departure
that naive girl you left behind
blossomed into a woman of depth, strength and wisdom
beyond her 21 years
She will lust but she can’t ever love
She wants to trust but finds herself full of doubt
She wishes to fill herself with guilt and morals
but has learned to have no scruples
So don’t try to come back and expect her
to believe in your crocodile tears
or your most insincere apologies
that girl you left behind
Grew up into a woman
at a surreal speed thanks to you
I wrote this in early January 2002 about some random dude I was talking to online. I never met the dude that inspired this poem.
So you want to meet soon?
I wonder why
You say because I sound
Sexy and great
But should I take another chance
And end up with another
horrible waste of a man
who will regard me
as just another good fuck
Or maybe I’m being too cynical
And you for once will be
Mr.Right
What I know is that
I couldn’t stand again being a fad
I wrote this in January of 2002 after I met my married coworker Lucas to who I became attracted to . I think I had just known him for a week but right away I became infatuated with him.
What am I doing?
Longing and yearning
For something that so obviously
not meant to be
What am I doing?
Hoping and wishing
that you’ll leave her soon
so you’ll be my love king
What am I doing?
Allowing to lose myself
Driving me to confess
That there’s something I feel
Maybe this time it’s for real
I’m not sure which ex I wrote this about but this is the general feeling I have when a relationship is going well. My anxiety goes up and I catastrophized. This was written in 2000.
I am scared
That my heart will tear
I am worried
One day you’ll be sorry
I’m so frightened
It’s just a matter of when
I am just tired
After so many liars
My mind is stuck
Thinking you just want to fuck
I am careful
Trying to not end up a fool
I wrote this in September of 2001, I guess I was frustrated with dating because it sucked getting stuck in relationships I had no business being in. Half the time, I did it to not be lonely but then I found myself miserable.
A Liberal Kind of Love
Holding hands and kisses
on the cheeks is
what we are no longer about
Hot and sweaty bodies
fucking with a goodbye
note in the morning
is now our nature
Respect, honesty, and trust
are long forgotten words
Deception, disillusionments and selfishness
are now our sacred words
I wrote this in 2001 about the great breakup of 2001. This is the last poem I wrote about this relationship. One of the aspects that I was hyper focused on during this breakup was being cheated on. Another reason, I flew into a rage was because “S” ex wife would not stop calling me after the breakup. It got to the point I had to change my phone number. She wasn’t exactly mean, I think she was trying to reach out as a fellow victim of “S” deception and wanted someone to process the pain with but I wanted no part of it. It felt too raw and painful for me at the time for me. And she wasn’t the only that called me about “S” cheating on me, there had been another chick by the name of Mariah. Also, the other part was that me and “S” communicated via email after the breakup for a few days just to fight about everything and place blame on each other. Emotions were really high not just on my part but for everyone involved. Also, this situation brought up triggers from my previous relationship with Paul. There are the reasons I went into a rage and ended up writing more than 40 poems about a 6 week long relationship. Reflecting on this now at 40, I can honestly say that I did process and heal from that breakup when it happened. I mean I did write like more than 40 poems about but maybe it’s what I needed to do at the time. I also don’t hold a grudge about “S” or his ex or anyone involved. Everyone was in their early 20s and we were all trying to do our best at that time and maybe our best looks shitty to other people.
You two were made for each other
Like the sun was made to be hot
To you I was just another toy
To play with,
But once the newness wore off
You decided to go back to
Your old comfortable teddy bear
Unfortunately old habits
are hard to break
Life on the BPD 