I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
the nuns at Holy Spirit would be proud of me
if they saw me with my self imposed celibacy,
with the solitary confinement I’ve placed myself in
They’d mistake my vow of chastity
as me trying to get closer to the holy trinity
when it’s really me being dramatic
about my BPD recovery
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
poesia: Aqui
walking along Kailua Beach-remembering the young and impulsive girl I once was
always jumping without looking, always falling in love without thinking
until one day, it all caught up with me and I was ostracized and had to leave
and 4 years later I’m back to the place that brought me so much trauma and chaos
and while I could dwell on my past wrongs and misdeeds
today I’m choosing to give grace and forgiveness to my younger self
who didn’t know any better, who was still discovering who she was
I’d love to ride a motorcycle for the first time in Oxapampa, Peru. It’s something that used to seem so scary to me but when I saw whole families riding motorcycles in Oxapampa in April on this year, I thought I want to do that. I’m sure I can make this happen on my next trip there.
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
I no longer believe in always and forever
because everyone I’ve loved has always left
Or I’ve stopped loving them
always and forever is a fairytale programmed into me
when I was a young girl
It made me believe in the impossible dreams of true love and soul mates
the only thing love has ever brought me has been anger, sorrow, and self destruction
so my dreams of always and forever have burned to ashes
I bury in my poetry
escribí este poema en 2003.
de nuevo estoy aquí
en el mismo sitio
De los días de mi rebeldía
De los amores sin amor
De las aventuras sin cobardía
De los lazos que nunca existieron
De la soledad que me brindó tristeza
Y el amor
Que fue una mentira
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
With excitement in his eyes, my son used to bring me pictures of made up monsters
Drawn with crayons-
With pride in his stance, he now brings me target sheets showing me how he’s well on his way
to becoming a decent shot with a revolver
When did my child go from crayons to guns?
It seems like I blinked and he went from four to twenty four
He went from being a rambunctious little boy who was hard to keep up with
to a strong and independent man who no longer needs me
And while I’m full of joy about this transformation-
I still miss the carefree days of crayon drawn monsters
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Strange
me tienes en la esquina de confusión y desilusión como un animal
tratando de entenderte, siempre persiguiendote,
Viviendo de los trozos de atención y afección que me tiras
cuando te da la gana
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day
I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year
I’ve felt the screams of those close to me
asking God why he took their babies too young
Young men who will never be fathers,
Young men who will never see their children grow up
into rebellious and sassy teens
and while I understand conflicts happens between
parent and child
I also know we’re both on borrowed time
and I don’t want our angry words
to be the last exchange between us
if its his or my last day today
here’s the english version of this poem:
Meaning
el propósito de mi vida nunca será un trabajo o una relación
Ni siquiera será en obtener un estatus lleno de lujos y respeto
el propósito de mi vida me vino claridad este otoño
el propósito de mi vida es ser una buena persona y madre
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
The wild elephant visits me and threatens my sanity and I can’t breathe-
Waves of trauma hit and overwhelmed my mind and body
It’s time for fight or flight and I choose flight-
A few minutes in the bathroom when I count my breaths and calm my inner child
who is screaming internally because she feels unsafe, helpless, and scared
And middle age me quells her-puts on a blanket of strength and resilience
Tells her, it will be okay and she’s safe-and I’ll protect her-
And within minutes I’m back to my normal self-
go back to work and take out any remnants of my panic driven energy
on the product I have left to stock
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Maybe it’s lack of sex or lack of sleep but I must declare-
Christopher Columbus is a piece of shit
Maybe it’s my own insecurities or maybe it’s a projection
but I must say you can get away with murder
if you’re a white male
Maybe it’s the BPD and the depression
But I must scream FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY
here’s the english version of this poem:
Poetry: Sadness
el monstruo de la oscuridad me persigue y me caza
no hay salida y me encuentro en una jaula
con la voz de mi crítica interna
que me repite “no vales la pena, no vales la PENA,
NO VALES LA PENA”
Y trato de razonar con la voz
pero no me escucha y me siento esclavizada
por ella sin saber lo que me espera
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
Eliza, eliza, eliza
what have you done?
Entering a beauty content you have no business entering
While you’re beautiful ,confident and powerful-
Beauty contests aren’t for you when european beauty standards
rule society
it’s not that you’re less than them
It’s just that your type of beauty is only meant to be fetishized
to be fantasized about
your beauty is a temporary place for men
your beauty can’t keep a man, only excite men
So while I’ll share the link
and every now and then remind people to vote for you
Remember your worth is not wrapped up in your beauty
Because you’re more than your good looks
You’re everything
Kind, loyal, intelligent, witty, sexy, everything a man can dream of
A woman a man can really love and be loyal to
You just haven’t met him yet
Trust is the process-trust in God’s divine timing
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
I don’t want to work that extra shift but my discover statement
tells me otherwise-
it tells me that once again I’m falling into a world of debt-
for daring to live a life above my means, above my class
and if I’m not careful I can slip back into poverty status
so I’ll work that extra shift and stop trying to live
a higher class life that’s not meant for me yet-
here is the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Wishful Thinking
esta vez, me sorprende que me sacaron los cuernos-
el era tan bueno, tan amable
me decía “te quiero” religiosamente
pero las apariencias engañan
y ahora me toca vengarme
Life on the BPD 