I remember that day so clearly— Well the morning of that day.

I was showering, the light dim, A song playing that takes me far into my past.

There was…  Something about that moment,—There was a feeling I became familiar with.

That moment was so…  Hauntingly beautiful,— Like blood on white roses. It was sickeningly perfect; it seemed wrong yet so right—


The feeling I had was dissociation. But it wasn’t the normal kind, not like the type I have now.

It felt like vape smoke deep in my lungs, filling my head, my mind. But it was dark, like smog. Hovering around me, filling me.

It twisted around my head, like a dark foreshadowing of the horrors soon to come.


I felt clueless…

Yet…

At peace.

It was almost like I was floating.

That morning was like peaceful dribbles of rain, before it strengthened and became a strong storm…

It certainly felt like there were soft droplets falling from a cloud within my head.

Like the dissociative fog became so strong it needed to rain.
How could I have known my soft droplets would turn to pounding rain, with booming thunder and flashing lightning?

How could I have known my heart could beat louder than that thunder?

How could I have known my heart would be that thunder?


But still—

Despite the dreadful day it became.

That feeling— That memory— That day—

Holds a special carved-out place deep within my soul.


A place created from the eye of the storm.

A place of peace, fear, unpredictability,


Yet,


familiarity.

I found an order in the chaos,
a home inside the rubble
that I had turned my room into.

I hid inside my books,
trying to find somewhere where I belonged
in a place that had never been mine.

There was a black man on the street, asking for a handout.
The glass between his hands was empty
as he begged the people that passed by
who, ashamed, looked down and walked away.

They glanced at the black man,
and they saw a blade under his worn-out coat;
a man who wasted his money on ****, ***** and drugs;
someone who didn’t want to study.

What I saw was a desolate man.
Someone who had tried to live, but hadn’t been allowed to.
Someone who wasted his spare money on food to feed the
kids he had had because he couldn’t afford protection.
Someone who invested the little that remained
on Spanish lessons so he could thank the few people
who looked at him like he was human, real;
thank them for the five cents they gave him.
I saw a man who wanted to get off the street.

A sweet and desperate man.
A man that was born on the wrong side of the tracks.

A hard-working man.
I spared some change for him,
and he held my hand
(Gracias)
His touch was rough after working;0
rough after building the foundations
of the buildings where people
who looked down when he begged
lived in.

Don’t blame him when they tear down.

"Brave”, “strong”, “decisive”.
You use these words to describe me,
in an attempt to console me.
Unaware that they are nothing more
than bandages covering my flaws to me.

Straps of fabric surrounding my scars,
hoping that if I can’t see them,
I’ll be able to forget them.

I never understood the sentence
"I have my heart in my mouth."
Not until I tasted it,
not until I spit it,
not until the words got stuck in my throat
because I felt a weight on my mouth that didn’t let me breathe.

I didn’t understand the sentence
until I felt my chest empty
and its beating on my neck.
Until I cried because I couldn’t even talk.

I didn't understand what
"Having your heart in your mouth"
meant
until I found it there
and I had no one to turn to.

I was home,
The feeling that suddenly hit my heart-
Spreading through my body,
The sense of comfort and belonging-
Hugged my body gently,
It’s Raw and natural beauty-
“Simple”- but not to me,
It was so intricately painted-
Every tree,
every brushstroke: making the mountains
every uniquely mixed color,
Came together in harmony.
The familiar, spiractic, sharp but soft-
Trees cut through the sky,
As if they were waving,
Revealing their pattern as the sun shone through,
And in the distance-
They looked like golden bushes,
Caught in the suns light.
The beautiful white and orange houses poked through the dark green trees,
Like a used and messy paint pallet,
That was somehow still so pretty,
As if the beauty could not continue-
Yet the pink and purple clouds appeared,
Like kind giants,
Slowly drifting through the light blue sky

I always thought it was strange-
Hearing about people falling in love with countries or cities,
But now I understood.

I knew then-
And every time I was reminded,
This was my place,
The country I fell in love with
I had to come back one day,
But that time- I would never leave,

And in that moment,
All my worries were at a halt,
And only happiness remained

-JJ
08/04/25

The feeling
The worst one,
Oh how it feels- Never ending
When there is nothing-
-In the world-
To seize the pain your feeling,
wonder far, wonder wide
Try to grasp and reach,
To distract you from this pain,
Feeling empty, feeling numb-
left undistracted for too long

Wish to drift into endless bliss,
Mindless entertainment-
To quiet the buzzing mind,
How no one could survive it.
What a jumbling maze,
With no words to describe,
And in this moment nothing could satisfy-
-   My dear, confusing mind

-JJ
22/02/25