Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/23/poetry-youre-a-mess/
Me alejo de ti porque esto ya no funciona
Me alejo de ti porque no puedo seguir en tu aura
de desmadre y caos que eres
Me alejo de ti por el bien de los dos
para que tu encuentras tu calma
para que yo no pierda mi cordura
Aquí está la versión en Español:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/05/poesia-cobardia/
you burned our novel of love
because your courage ran out
because you couldn’t fight for us-
even when you told me over and over again
how being with me made you feel alive
how I was different from anyone you ever met
none of that mattered because you chose your wife
because she brings you security
because she’s your peace
because she’s comfortable
because you preferred a static and predictable life with her
Instead of living a life full of excitement and challenges with me
The creases and wrinkles of my body should make self conscious
because I’m getting older, because I’m getting fatter
but I think the creases and wrinkles of my body
make me the most beautiful version of me
My body proves I live a life with an abundance of food
My body proves I’m still here in middle age making mistakes
and learning from them
Society wants me to believe I don’t hold much value
since I don’t fit their standard of youthful beauty
Well I say fuck society and their standards of beauty
I’m happy and proud to be unconventionally pretty
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I feel raw with emotions
It’s like someone has ripped off
the scab of an almost healed heart
and it’s bleeding once again
And while this time
it’s not pulsating with anger and rage
it still hurts
like a small paper cut
you can’t see but it’s still there
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I hide the craziest parts of myself
The parts that get sad,
The parts that get obsessed
The parts that lose hope
I hide the worst parts of myself
the parts that feel empty
The parts that feel numb
The parts that want to die
I hide the craziest and worst parts
of myself
so no one else will leave
I wrote this poem in April of 2022.
I wish I could be perfect to everyone in my life,
the perfect mom, the perfect coparent, the perfect mistress
but the pressure gets too loud within me
And I need to get away from how I want to be perceived
I’ll never be the perfect anything
I’m never be June Cleaver or the perfect dream girl
I can only be authentically and imperfect me
And maybe me and everyone in my life
need to accept that’s the best I can be
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/17/poetry-something-so-fake/
maldito sea por pensar que era una santa
y colocarme en un pedestal
la mujer de cual te enamoraste
fue un mito de cuatro meses
todo estaba bien con nosotros
mientras me callaba
no soportaba tus gritos
que yo era una estúpida, una loca
que siempre estaba equivocada
Entonces aprendí a ser lo que querías
una princesa sin una opinión
pero no podía seguir con esta farsa
me estaba matando adentro
guardar todo que era importante en mi
tuve que escoger entre tu y yo
y me escogi a mi
no te estoy pidiendo perdón o comprensión
no mas te estoy dando la razón
por terminar nuestro cuento de amor
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Maybe I was captious in thinking you wanted sex
but you were really depressed and needed help
I was moody and tired and couldn’t be bothered
so I turned off my phone and wanted to be alone
I thought it was no big deal to not get back
on our idiot ferris wheel
and now I hope it’s not too late
and prioritizing myself wasn’t a mistake
because I couldn’t stand the thought of
you harming yourself be my fault
What activities do you lose yourself in?
There are so many stories within me aching to get out
every single one wants to be a priority
but which one do I pick first
most are dramatic, some are angry and sad,
a few are happy and lovely
every story is important in a life
full of chaos and trauma
I don’t know why I attract so much drama
So I’m going to tell each story
Because I own everything that’s happened to me
Because I’m finally taking myself seriously
Aqui esta la version en Espanol:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/29/poesia-falso/
we’re procrastinating our end
not wanting to face the consequences
of our doomed relationship
so we keep wasting our time
pretending we’re fine
putting a bandaid of sex
on our petty conflicts
and keep using each other
as blankets for our loneliness
instead of being grown ups
and admit how our love
is no longer worth any effort
Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
I fell into the trap of “acceptance”
not understanding I was slowly losing parts of myself
for the sake of fitting in, for the sake of other people
who loved to judge me
accept that you’re too fat to wear that bikini
accept that you’re too old to chase your dreams
accept that you’re too hard to love
it took me too long to figure out
the acceptance of others was costing me
my sanity and my self worth
and I said, “fuck your opinions on who I should be”
from now on, I’ll wear whatever I want,
I’ll chase my dreams, and I’ll always be worthy of love”
I wrote this poem in March of 2022.
Lately i reach out to God and the stars
to comfort me and reassure me
Lately i embrace the universe and the sun
for faith and warmth
Lately I look in the mirror
for the definition of strength and resilience
Lately I write my love story
filled with the wonders and horrors of love
How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?
I used to think I was the poster girl for failure
I’m a failure at love, I’m a failure at life, I’m a failure at everything
but all of these are thoughts of a past version of me
the version of me who saw herself as a victim
the version of me who took comfort in her misery
in my middle age I changed that narrative
I no longer see myself as a failure
I see myself as a person who makes mistakes
who’s deeply flawed, who has caused pain
it’s doesn’t make me a loser or a disaster
It makes me a human who’s trying her best to live her life
and sometimes that doesn’t always look pretty
I now see failure as stepping stone,a learning curve
to continue to grow, to continue to evolve
to become better and healthier than I’ve been before
Here is the English Version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/03/poetry-tired-2/
Mis amigas son mi peor enemigas
Sacando a la luz todas mis inseguridades
y siento ansiedad que me trae insomnia
pensando si ellas tienen la razón
seré en realidad una mujer suela?
seré en realidad una madre negligente?
seré en realidad una estupida,
por querer superarme?
y me convenzo que nunca
seré suficiente para lo que se
espera de mi
y me siento deprimida
con esta realización
y me quedo dormida
con un corazón lleno
de miseria toxica
Life on the BPD 