Poesía: Concentración Perdida

For the English version of this poem, click on this link: https://lifeonthebpd.com/2021/11/02/poetry-lost-concentration/

Escribí este poema en 1998 cuando me di cuenta que estaba embarazada con mi primer hijo.

Febrero de 1998

No me puedo concentrarme
pensando en mi desgracia
La muerte sería mejor
que seguir mintiendo
Me estoy subiendo de peso
Y la regla no me baja
No puede seguir aguantando
esta pesadilla que es mi vida
estoy perdiendo esperanza
¿Quién me puede ayudar?
Todo esto
por unos minutos
de placer

Poesía: El Mentiroso

Here is the link to the English Version of this poem:

Poetry: The Liar

Escribí este poema en 1997 cuando me enojo con el padre biológico de mi hijo mayor. Me desilusione cuando el paro de llamarme.

verdad

Creí cuando me dijiste
que me amabas
Fui una tonta en confiar en it
Creyéndome tus promesas falsas
Fuiste cruel al usarme para apagar
tu sed primal
Me dejaste como otra víctima
de tu juego desalmado de amor
Tu corazón debe ser hecho de hielo
para mentir por tu antojo sexual

Poetry: Acknowledgement

I wrote this in 2006 thinking back on my time with Lucas.

Tired and contemplating life
me around the time I wrote this poem

A shadow of our friendship
is all there is left
After life gets in the way
of wanting something more
And when I see you around
A wave, a nod
An acknowledgement we once knew
Each other
Our conversations are now long gone
But we’re forever etched in each
other’s minds and dreams

Poetry: Resignation

From the ages of 18 to 23, I worked for a government agency as an interpreter. I was well-liked by many of my coworkers and my first supervisor was appreciative of me. I was very good at my job and even cross-trained in many other areas that didn’t “pertain to my job”. However, at that job, I was also bullied and discriminated against for being Latina. I was also slut-shamed by my second supervisor and coworkers the latter 2 years I was there. I don’t want to say I deserved being slut-shamed but I’ll just say that I trusted the wrong coworkers with my private life and they went on to gossip about me to everyone. It was also a very stressful environment because of the work I did and clients I had to interact with. My depression and anxiety went haywire. In 2003, I decided to enroll in my local community college and major in English. In 2004, I was trying to go to school full time, work full time, and deal with my child’s new autism diagnosis. I was breaking down mentally and something had to give so I quit this job. I was fucking done. And this poem was inspired by that moment. I thought I had processed this trauma until it came back up in therapy in the summer of 2021. I didn’t realize it at the time but I had suffered a deep racial trauma that impacted me and still triggered reactions in me. I was angry. There is actually way more to this story and one day I’ll share it when I’m ready.

So much anxiety and depression hidden behind that smile 😭

This was the hardest thing I did

but it had to be done

I couldn’t stand the gossip

or the two faces of everyone

the way they pretended to be my friend

but the minute I turned my back to them

they talked like I was the biggest wench

so much envy and hate

I HAVE TO ESCAPE 

FROM THIS MISERABLE FATE!

so today I resigned

I didn’t tell them why

all I know is that for the first time

in a really long time

I feel something like happy

so long to the only place I have known

for an almost five year term

for once I breathe a sigh of relief

I finally had the courage to leave

so long to the hypocrisy of this place

to let myself stay here for another day

would only be a fucking waste

Poetry: Our Spot

I wrote this in February of 2004 when I was feeling nostalgic about Lucas.

I sit here at what once was our “spot”

and contemplate our last conversation

And I think over and over again how that last phrase got to 

“Me and my wife had a long talk-and we decided to work things out”

I know I should have been happy but I was sad

I know I should’ve smiled but instead I cried

Of course I hid this very well from you

And the few words I could muster up was

“Well that’s good, I’m happy for you”

And I wonder why when I should’ve been happy for you, my friend

But I was sad for me

I sit down and wonder why

I always end up with the same lost guy

Who doesn’t know what he wants and hurts me tons

Who uses me just as an escape 

to get away from his mate

Who never wants to tell me I love you

and thinks of me as anything but the one

who never cares after our tragic love affair fails

Poetry: Last Week

I wrote this in February of 2004 after my car accident after I was feeling lost and deep sense of despair and worthlessness. It was a trauma that would affect me for many years to come. I’ll tell the story of the accident one day when I’m ready to.

Last week I was where I needed to be

Today I am lost again with no sense of who I am

Or where I want to go

They tell me I’m a mother, daughter, coworker, 

Student, sister, and girlfriend

But I don’t seem be right fit into any of those roles

So can somebody instruct me

on how to get to where I once was 

Or more importantly on how to be happy just to be me

Poetry: Lost

I wrote this shortly in February of 2004 shortly after my car accident. I was feeling so much depression and anxiety because of it.

I feel so lost

without sense of direction

So many feelings of frustration

over my life’s woes

Feelings of rejection

by the ones who once loved me

Feelings of anger

for never doing anything right

Where can I find the shining light

that I desperately seek?

Poetry: Dear Son

I wrote this poem in January of 2004 when I was frustrated with Matt and blamed him for my life going awry. Looking back, it was misplaced blame on a situation that only I had control over. At the time, it was much easier to blame Matt rather than take a look at myself and how I was responsible for the mess I made of my life.

Dear son

How do I stop

from feeling all of this resentment and anger

at the deadbeat who calls himself your dad?

Dear son

Will I ever feel better

about our almost dead-end situation

your dad has put us in?

Dear son

Will you ever forgive me

for not having everything

someone as wonderful as you should have?

Dear son

Can you show me where to

find a glimmer of hope

and that without him

 both of us will be alright?

Poetry: When Something Bad Happens

I wrote this in May of 2003 when one of my close friends had a miscarriage.

It’s so funny and ironic
When something bad happens
most people says things
Like “it’s God’s way”
or the famous
“Whatever doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger”
It makes you wonder if there
are actual people out there
who would say,
“It’s okay to be mad at God’s way”
or
“It’s alright to be weak instead of strong”
or that it’s perfectly fine to scream out loud
“FUCK THE WORLD”
If there is a least one person like this,
I want them to become my new “best friend”

Poetry: Pathetic Games

I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. Maybe he tried to come back to be an FWB and I got mad and that’s what inspired this poem.

Never

Why do you continue to be
such an asshole to me?
With your pathetic games
you make yourself look lame
You expect me to sit around and wait for you
whenever it’s fucking convenient for you
but I guess this is my fault
for letting us almost fuck
So now I have to tell you something
I will no longer be your fucking fling
So start to forget
that we ever met
Go on your merry away
and stay away
for i am lot more
than an on call whore

Poetry: Not Just Lust

I wrote this in January of 2003 but I’m not sure who I wrote this about. Haha.

truth

I think you should know
I want to take things slow
I don’t want to rush
And end up again a lush
I want to know you
Before kissing you
I want us to be friends
Before getting intense
You’re going to have to understand
Before becoming my man
I want it to be true
And not just lust

Poetry: Stupid Game

I wrote this poem in December of 2002 cause well dating sucks and it’s still timely. Haha.

2002 was such a rough year for love

I hate playing this stupid game
Called dating
Trying to decide
Which move to make
So you can have him at checkmate
It’s no longer about falling in love
Or even real feelings
But it’s about winning
So if sit here wanting to hear hisvoice
I don’t dare give in to this yearning
To want to call him
Because then they’ll almost be winning