I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the shelf of my bookcase breaks, and my poetry notebooks fall
every single one of my love stories scattered on the floor
Failure after failure
Were any of them worth the effort?
Was the experience worth the suffering?
Maybe it was for the inspiration behind my prose and poetry
and the growth I’ve had
Still, that doesn’t seem like an adequate answer
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
In humility I ask mama Killa for guidance
To send me a sign of some kind
as I start to unravel and lose myself in my anxiety
and insecurities
As I start to question if I’m on the right path
and throw myself a pity party and cry
because no one is coming to save me
And how despite all the empowerment
I feel with my autonomy
I still miss being in a relationship
and cover myself up in defeat
Thinking I’ll always be this lonely
But mama Killa sends me a reminder of the love
of sisterhood in my dreams
to remind me I’m on the right path
Mama Killa, in her own way, reassures me that staying
true to myself and continuing what sometimes feels like
a challenging and cringy journey of self-discovery
Is the right thing for me to do in order to heal, to grow, to evolve
and to remember everything will fall into place
as long as I keep going and never give up
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
I breathe grief in, I exhale grief out
my pain needs a way out
because despair and sorrow fill up my lungs
and anger sits at the bottom of my stomach
and I’m tired of living like this
a life full of emotional intensity
And supposedly there’s a cure for it
with therapy and radical acceptance
but how do I accept that every man
who’s ever professed his love to me
always leaves
Will my romantic misfortune one day end?
or am I destined to repeat the same story
of abandonment
over and over again?
What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
the passage of time is a bitch
That I’m reminded of
with every one of my wrinkles I abhor
The passage of time is a bitch
and I desperately want to hold onto my beauty
wearing clothes I’m too old for
and taking an obscene amount of pictures and posting them to validate my self esteem
the passage of time is a bitch
and I self flagellate for not doing enough
to improve myself
and still deal with the same bullshit day in,day out
I thought I would be done with after years of therapy
and introspection
the passage of time is a bitch
and while I could wallow in defeat
thinking of all I could have been
instead I stand proudly and declare
I will no longer sit still and watch life happen to me
from now on I’ll make the best of the time
I have left
and become selective of what and who
I give my energy and time to
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic outweigh any rewards
everytime I start to believe in love it never works out
Everytime I start to believe in love it ends up in chaos and destruction
and i try and try again only always to have the same ending
and after 26 years of doing this-I don’t have it in me
to endure around love failure
someone who appears sure of me-only for them to change their mind
about me on a whim
the consequences of being a hopeless romantic has filled a dozen
notebooks and journals with sorrow and grief
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
No one is coming to rescue you, princess
no matter how much you wish to be saved or try your hardest to manifest
a prince to carry the heavy burden of responsibility
you’re constantly lifting
No one is coming to save you, princess
It’s up to you to save yourself
It’s up to you to continue to work hard
and be selective on what you expend
your energy on
No one is coming to help you, princess
You’re no longer relying on others
for a sense of identity or security
and you’re now an independent Queen
who’s learned only she herself
can save herself and is wise enough to block out
any negativity or toxicity
that threatens her autonomy
or wants to bring on another
Emotional relapse
escribí este poema en agosto del 2022.
El dilema de darte mi amor
me causa ansiedad e insomnia
como se que no seras otro error
otro príncipe azul falso
que me quiere hasta que se harta de mi
como se que de nuevo no acabaré
con mi corazón en pedazos
por lo que no pudo ser
I wrote this poem in August 2023.
I’m curious about the aliens on earth
and if they’re into NSA, telepathic sex
the kind where I get to lie down
and sleep, and they come into my dreams
and make me have multiple orgasms
Over and over again
perhaps these are crazy thoughts
from a middle-aged woman
who’s been celibate for more than a year
And is oh so thirsty for intimacy
but can’t stand the thought of a man
getting near me
it makes me want to vomit
at this point I’d take some extra terrestrial
Out of the universe sex without any feelings involved
the kind that fixes my craving for connection
and intimacy
the kind that doesn’t bring me another episode
of psychosis
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My bra is the milkshake that brings men to my playground
It gives me the cleavage that makes them feel like they’re in love
They’ll claim it’s my words or my eyes they’re in love with , but let’s not kid ourselves
It’s really my majestic breasts that pop out with their own personalities
they fuel their many exotic and erotic fantasies
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
anything resembling love threatens the home I’ve built
over the past two years
and yet the romantic threads in me won’t disappear
they want to weave another love story
they want to be pulled into the magic to getting know
someone new
and having arms to call home
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
Flowers bloom with patience and care
where there is sunlight and love
Flowers remind me of relationships
when relationships are not given
the right environment or patience and love
They die
I’m a failure at both-
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Gotta flex for my next ex
let me post some thirst trap pic
of my cleavage
and add a profound quote
about my self discovery journey
but nothing too crazy
I don’t want to scare him away
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.
My love data tells me I shouldn’t try again because every time
I crash and burn and cause trauma and drama
because every time it ends, I get hateful and want revenge
and While I do appreciate the poetry that comes
after every broken relationship
I don’t think I can withstand the heartbreak and hardship
the next time it ends
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
Am I doomed to men trying me on
just so they can change their minds-
days, weeks, months, years later
is it some kind of karmic energy in me
I still haven’t found the remedy for?
Perhaps I really need to stop trying
to find hope in love
and stick to what’s working for me
and that’s being alone
Life on the BPD 