escribí este poema en julio del 2022.
Cuando me respondiste en una forma desdeñosamente
Casi me morí
Casi perdí la esperanza y la fe
Pensé que me merecía como me trataste-
pense que fui una estupida por gastar mi tiempo contigo
pero después de un tiempo me di cuenta
que tu tambien tenías tus inseguridades
es verdad que yo tenía mis problemas
Pero usted señor también tenía las suyas
escribí este poema en Julio del 2022.
Perdí mi razón porque me quitaste tu amor
Perdí mis ganas de vivir cuando te fuistes
Pedía que la muerte me lleve para no sentir
el más profundo dolor dentro de mi
me sentia que me hundia en una arena movediza
de amargura y furia
y no encontraba nada para sacarme
escribi este poema en Julio del 2022.
Me pregunto si ella te hace sentir
lo que alguna vez sentistes conmigo
o si ella te llena de placer como yo alguna vez
lo hice
y una última pregunta
que tenía ella, que tu me dejaste
porque la elegiste?
Acaso yo era tan mala?
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence
clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women
about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is women’s empowerment
and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit
it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment
perhaps it’s because I’m a working class immigrant woman
who struggles in America
perhaps it’s because the rights of the marginalized and working class
are being ripped away from us
and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears
how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie
oh yeah, we worked together briefly
and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should
check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity
while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability
but I stop
this barbie isn’t worth my time or energy
it’s time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe
who only serves to trigger my working class rage
who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality
in this capitalistic and racist American society
escribí este poema en Julio del 2022.
Demacrada y desconsolada estuve después de tu partida
No encontraba esperanza o fe aunque el sol
Brillaba por mi ventana
No encontraba paz o tranquilidad
Aunque estaba en terapia y tenía una vida llena
pero poco a poco, hora por hora
me levante aunque no quería
porque dios prendio una pequeña llama de ira
dentro de mi que se volvió en un fuego de furia
para poder sobrevivir él duel0 dentro de mi
que me quería matar
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
I want to be dripping in velvet and have the problems of the rich
like finding a new pool man
because the last one got sick of my condescending and pompous ways
or cry because I’m bored and can’t figure out how to fill up my day
in a way that keeps me entertained
but instead I’m stuck in my working class cursed life
where my joints and bones ache in chronic pain
from constantly over working
where I’m constantly fighting to make ends meet
without losing my sanity
And constantly questioning my existence because of my suffering
I wrote this poem about someone I haven’t met yet.
honest and real intimacy comes with the passage of time
it comes with stupid and terrible fights
Where love survives
it comes with health scares
and encouragement as each person evolves
honest and real intimacy is not about consummated desire
that happens between the sheets
it’s not about butterflies and daydreams
it’s about saying
“Goddamn, this man is an oblivious and sometimes an
arrogant asshole
but I still want to keep him”
2/26/2024
escribí este poema en Julio del 2022.
Por fin paró el dolor que sentía por tu ausencia
Por fin te puedo agregar a mi historia de amor
Sin resentimientos o tristeza
Por fin puedo cerrar el capítulo que fue nosotros
Por fin puedo encender y quemar todo lo que alguna vez fuimos
I wrote this poem in July of 2023.
a text from an unknown number reminded me of my past
when I was sick with a love addiction
when I gave in to my impulsivity
when I gave my energy freely to anyone
who paid attention to me
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
As I let go of my self limiting beliefs,
I grieve the woman I used to be
so insecure and unsure of herself
so hesitant to take control and power
Overthinking and catastrophizing constantly
it held me back from living the life of my dreams-
Jealousy and envy filled me up
Scrolling the professional and personal successes
of others on social media
Thinking, “that could have been me”
and giving too much importance to the opinions of others
wondering constantly-
“are they judging me?”
It was a toxic story I told myself since the age of 16
and it continued on and on until one day in my middle age
I exploded and decided to fight my inner critic
and challenge everything I thought was wrong with me
slowly, I learned to turn my story around
Slowly, I went from victim to heroine
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I want to fast forward to the version of me
who’s not always in her head
who’s not struggling to regulate her emotions
who’s not so fucking jaded and negative
when it comes to love
who’s not terrified of change
who doesn’t take things personally
I know, I know
I shouldn’t wish to be anyone else
and fully live and enjoy this version of myself
but lately, I’m having a hard time moving on
to the next level of my life
everything feels so comfortable
everything feels so peaceful
I’m scared to make any waves and return to chaos
even if I know it’s necessary to get to YOU
the future version of me who embraces change
with courage and bravery
Only this version of can dream of
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I’m a poet, I’m a writer but when it comes to expressing the romantic in me
I have the hardest time
I’m great at expressing my anger, my disappointment, my shame
but when it comes to love, I shy away and put my guard up
it’s a mix of trauma and cognitive distortions I’ve held within me
since the age of 16
self limiting beliefs that no man has ever loved or respected me
and failing at all of my love stories no matter
how hard I tried to succeed, no matter how much I accommodated
or changed for my partner, he leaves me
and I’m left flabbergasted, devastated, traumatized
so embedded and attached to my past tragedies
I’m apprehensive and hesitant when it comes to trying on someone new.
when to comes to pursuing anything more than friendship
it leaves me in the land of “I don’t know how to fucking do this again
without it breaking me”
and so I sit still, waiting for my crush to say something, do something
to restart my heart once again
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
I avoid the flutter of butterflies in my stomach at all costs
I don’t want to get lost and consumed by love
Some people call this avoidance cowardice,
Some people call this a trauma response
I call it keeping my sanity intact
and being more safe than sorry
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
after the thunderstorm came and went
I wrote a hundred poems about what happened
I didn’t know how to process it
and 1 hour in therapy didn’t cut it
the epic flood of grief that followed
and while it may seem excessive and melodramatic
It was either I kept writing
or I kept dreaming of dying
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
we could have been friends but you ruined it
by crossing my boundaries
by showing your unhealthy attachment to me
saying you’ll wait for me to change my mind
acting like I’m a challenge to take on
seeing me as an objection of your affection,
a pretty girl to jack off to
so I was left with no choice but to block you
from my universe
if you can’t respect my “no” and listen to me
when I’m assertive about it
I’m sorry it’s not me, it’s definitely you
and you can no longer have access to me
maybe upon a time I thought I needed you
to validate me, to make me feel sexy
but now I see you were just a temporary fix
to give me confidence
and when I saw how unhealthy this was
I tried my best to be honest with you
let it be known that I’m not here for any sexual or romantic energy
but you didn’t take me seriously
and now we can’t even be friends
we are far better off as strangers
Life on the BPD 