i straightened my hair today
for the first time in three weeks.
my mother was happy
but i was not.
--
last night
she said,
i know you're an artist,
pero no andes como una loca.
don't go around looking like a crazy person.
--
i kept touching my hair today.
missing the stray curl that stayed behind my left ear.
missing the space my hair used to take up,
wild and free.
feeling smaller.
in a body that was not my own.
--
this hair, mami,
does not belong to an artist,
y no es de locas.
es mío; con él nací.
in it i carry the waves
that carry me
that carried the bones
of my ancestors all the way here.
--
these curls, mami,
they are big enough to hold me,
to hold all that i am.
they are a garden in which beauty grows.
they are rivers that lead to the ocean.

no. 703

lean into this,
the hard work
the heart work
the art work of growing.
know that this isn't forever.
your body, your home will catch up
to the blossoming of your soul.
days and months and years will pass.
but then, like a child, like a flower in spring,
you will bloom, you will rise.
here.
unrushed.
in your time.

i hope you always find reasons to smile
that kind of smile that closes your eyes
i hope you always have a window to look out of
so that at night you can wish on stars
i hope you always find beauty in yourself
in your lips, in your eyes, in your heart
i hope love finds you
and that it never lets go
and i hope
i hope
i hope.

no. 696

one day
maybe
you will understand all that you are:
a never ending story
a star in the night
and the night
and the sky
a flower
and the garden
and the earth
you are art
and the artist
the song
and the voice
you are more than you know.

there are words
hidden in trees
and growing in flowers.
there are words
between people's lips
and in songs being carried
by the summer breeze.
there are words
on our fingertips
and lingering in our ears.
there are words
left unspoken
and there are some
that were spoken
all too quickly.
there are words
in our body  
and in everything
that is alive.
because life is
a combination of words
and we're just trying
to make them rhyme.

© Copywrite Rosa Lía Elías

these curls
these waves
they tell the story
of the people before me
how they came across the ocean
an ocean with waves like mine
these curls
they are springs
they are the spring
they are the life inside me
the earth that grows flowers
they are telling you that i am here
and that i am the story
the story of stories
the retelling of the lives that came before me
they tell of home,
of movement and flavor
these curls
they are mine
and they are good

i am giving you
my heart
carry me
gently
like a bird that hasn't learned to fly
carry me
like a song
don't forget my words
keep my heart
alongside yours
because i, too, carry your heart with me ( i carry it in my heart)
keep my heart
it belongs to you (and i don't want it back)
i am giving you
my heart
carry me
in your hands, i will make them my home
keep my heart
in a honey jar
so that my love is infused with its sweetness
i am giving you
my heart

poem no. 693. inspired by 'i carry your heart with me' by e.e. cummings.
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