Another Borderline

Poem about living with BPD

Just another statistic, another Borderline -
I am a blank face with no name, a set
Of symptoms – tick them off,
One, two, three – Borderline.
She’s manipulative, she needs to be changed,
Moulded into socially acceptable ways.
The cuts on her arms and the pills she takes,
The threats and notes and death wises
Are dangerous. She is a monster. They need to make
Her new, turn her into Recovered Borderline
For their praise. She will change. She will become a better
Human being, normal, boring, confirmative -
We can’t cope with her.
Look at her arms.
Her tears aren’t real, they’re just a performance.
But her suicide attempts are more
Than just the empty games
They believe she plays.
‘She’s Borderline, she doesn’t mean it.’
She wants to flee from the voices in her head.
Another broken record -
How do we control
Such a disease?
They are desperate to fix her when
All she wants is a listening ear,
A hug, a promise that it’ll be okay.