here’s the English version of this poem:
Poetry: Unhappiness
me pierdo bajo tantas responsabilidades
y odio a la mujer que miro en el espejo
mi llama se apaga mientras me hundo
en la monotonía de mi rutina
todos me dicen que estoy loca
que debería enfocarme en mis bendiciones
pero mi mente me cuenta un cuentos diferente
I never asked to be born, much less to be a mosaic of trauma, insanity, and creativity
I prayed many times to be normal-to be someone else
but the day came when I had to embrace the masterpiece of duality and insanity that I am
to understand not everyone will understand me
to do the best I am with the deck of cards I’ve been handed
12/13/23
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.
On new year’s day of 2023,I have resolutions but they’re simple
a trip to my homeland that’s been set in stone
teaching my son to drive
a divorce as a late birthday gift to myself
keep my bangs because that’s really who I am
pushing my oldest son to be more independent
Continue to share my poetry with the world unapologetically
Be wary of anything that pollutes my energy
try my best to ebb and flow with the turbulent waves of my emotions
take any obstacles that might occur in life in stride
make more time for my friends and family
become a new kind of brave woman
and continue to do things out of my comfort zone
to help me grow and evolve
become an example of determination, discipline, and creativity for my kids
to follow-
and continue to inspire others with my journey of self discovery
2023 will be chaotic with everything I’m planning
2023 will be the year where I’m the definition of bravery
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is to tell my story, my truth in order to recover
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I want the transparency of your being-
the stuff you won’t show anyone else
the secrets you’re afraid to share
I want your vulnerability in our intimacy
Even if you think it’s messy or cringy
I promise I won’t judge and there will be no need
for sorries
now that I’m falling for you
I want to know every part of you
I won’t do what the others have done to you or me
I’ll stay because love means loyalty and honesty
I wrote this poem in november of 2023.
I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone
most people look at her with curiosity
some people are horrified
my family cringes and and whispers to me,
“it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy”
I get mad and flip everyone off
and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way
to share her story and create drama and chaos
who cares if no one understands our process
of how sharing her story is the key to my recovery
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
I’m going to surrender myself to the source
to find my meaning and purpose in the universe
It doesn’t matter how many times I whine or bitch
about how hard this recovery is-
it’s going to be worth it-
and I’m going to look back on this journey
and will be glad I took my time
and didn’t try to jump any steps to get to where I’m supposed to be
I wrote this poem in October of 2023.
I give you a yard and you give me an inch-
it’s a game of back and forth nonsense
one where I respect your unspoken boundaries
and need for space
until one day the push back from you
pulled back into a dark place I haven’t been in a while
a place where my confidence breaks, a place where I start to question my worth
a place when my sense of self breaks once again
and I know right there and then, it’s better to give up
whatever this was
I’ve outgrown men who send me mixed signals
here’s the english version of this poem:
https://lifeonthebpd.com/2022/01/24/poetry-lucassong/
Nuestra canción suena en la radio
y el recuerdo de nuestra corta aventura de amor regresa
me pierdo en nostalgia y remordimientos
cómo es que una conversación de música
se volvió en unos de mis cuentos más dolorosos de amor
Cómo es que la vergüenza y culpabilidad de nuestro cuento de infidelidad
todavía me persigue en sueños y me hace sentir mal
quizás no fue tu intención causarme un infierno de trauma
Quizás debería superarte porque fuistes un desperdicie de mi tiempo
Pero a lo mejor es tiempo de perdoname y entender que hay algo de sanar
quizás contar nuestro cuento es la llave para recuperar
y poder enfocarme en el futuro que estoy construyendo
I wrote this in september of 2023.
The ME from June of 2014 sends me a message and asking, where are you?
I tell her, life didn’t go as planned-you’re divorced and looking for a place for your ex
but your kids are thriving-your oldest son has his driver’s license and is on his last semester
Of accounting at Athens Tech-
Your middle son will graduate from high school this year-
and your baby is now taller than you and becoming his own person
You’re working 2 jobs and you’re a citizen now and you’ve been to therapy
to learn healthier coping mechanisms-
you even drive now-you’re independent as fuck and live life on your own terms
you’ve even been to Peru twice-
You’re learning to follow your intuition and how use discernment in your choices
in how you live your life-
you’ve discovered your values underneath everything society brainwashed into you
and at the end of the day all you want be is a good mom and a good person
that’s the extent of your life’s purpose-
now that we know who we are
our next step is to plan the future we want-
we’ll keep on thriving girl-you were the go getter and determined woman in me
Even among one of my greatest depressions
You still got up and followed your passions-
And you laid the foundation-we’ll be okay-I promise
I’ll make you proud of me-
Love patty
I wrote this poem in August of 2023.
the outline of her body in the middle of the road-
told the most tragic of stories
she wasn’t looking when she crossed the street
she was lost in her thoughts
and the driver speeding didn’t see her
and splat went her body
death came quickly to her
her last thought was mission accomplished
but the world thought
another victim of an unexpected and tragic circumstance
I wrote this poem in December of 2022.
in my literary war chest lies a lifetime of love failures,
insecurities about motherhood and confusion about my identity
in my literary war chest lies unfiltered thoughts about grief
for everything I never was and potential unfulfilled
in my literary war chest lies the answers to how I survived
Catastrophe after catastrophe-
In my literary war chest lies proof of my strength and resilience
in the worst of times
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
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.
As I let go of my 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 important to the opinions of others
wondering constantly-
“are they judging me?”
It was an 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 May of 2023.
not every day can be filled with peace, calm, joy or excitement
Some days are absolutely shitty and depressing
Some days it’s hard to get up in the morning
without screaming fuck repeatedly on your way to work
Some days are overwhelming to push through
as hormones and emotions fuck you up
Some days are for questions your life choices over
and over again allowing doubt and insecurity
to cloud you its accomplice self invalidation
Some days are for getting up only to look forward to the end of it
when you can sleep with the hope for a better day
