Compared to a lot of things around me.
I come from a different world, a world within their world.
A third world.
I come from struggles
Wonky neighbors, communities, and families.
I’m a result of conflicts.
Of trivial desires and strong feelings.
Of a moment.
I originate from peaceful sights on Golden Beach
From bustling streets with peculiar smells
Sweltering summers and rain invested winters
I originate from Red, White and Blue.
From the lone star.
I am the effect of hard work.
Of a fighter
A single mother.
The repercussion of strict rules.
Respect branded in me
Obedience molds my body.
I am an original stereotype, insanely mindful.
I strive to forge new roads.
I am conventionally unconventional
I walk the unpaved jungle lighting my own way.
No matter where I go
There’s one thing I’ll always for sure know
I come from a different world.
A world within their world, a third world.
I will always have arms to return.
A culture that is my own.
A sense of self that is me.
When people say that life is full of surprises I thought I knew what they meant
Like instead of getting that new bike you get a scooter whose handle is bent
Or instead of marrying your high school crush you spend the rest of your days with you best friend.
Yeah he figured they meant just simple things like that.
But life is full of surprises
Ones that turns over your life
Life changes as fast as the tides
Something you struggle just to stay afloat instead of enjoying the ride
For years he struggled to stay afloat.
His mother once told him she will try her best to support whatever he handed his heart.
He was way ahead in planning for the future. He would have a wife whose presence would always put a smile on his face despite his day. He would have four kids just as his mother and father.
If he had done Lady Luck enough favors one of those sets would be twins. Two boys two girls, the perfect family for him.
But life is full of surprises
Ones blind and cripple
His small world was colored red. His favorite color, one he knew how to handle it. His love, whomever she was would come to him in the brightest of red, a crimson goddess at dusk.
His world was bathed in red and he loved it.
But life is full of surprises
Tumbling and shifting tides
His eyes that only saw a familiar red now also saw an impeding menacing blue.
A blue whose existence only brought calamity
Whose existence he shunned and tried to bury; yet the more he tried the wilder it got.
It crept from his left eye up to his left brain even down to his left toes.
His world no longer painted only in his beloved red. Now he saw two sides to the world. His little world now had unexplored areas.
He thought they just meant simple things
But his life was no longer simple
He was taught that we should live with red
The red of the only son of God that was spilled.
But his red was tainted.
Confused and scared he prayed
Night after night
Hoping for his world to be purified
Weeks after weeks he prayed
Asking to rid himself of the impure blue
Months after months
He cried for a solution, a sign for who he should be
Years after years, his tears joined leagues with the Nile.
His blue was a sin he could not rid himself of.
His blue was a sin that made him Baba’s son
A sin that drew them together.
Again he prayed for a sign that he would still be accepted. With his blue and all.
Life is full of surprises
Ones that turns your world over
One that unknowingly
Reveal who you are.
Surprises you can’t hide nor run form
Yes we are to live with red that he spilled for us, but we can also live with the blue that dripped of his mournful face.
The blue that was shed for him to go back when he drifted away.
His decision justified by the sign
The sign that has given him the courage to open his heart to the blue.
To his blue world.
He lives in a world bathed in red and blue, one world two sides
A world he has yet to share.
Whose secrets he has yet to uncover.
A world that doesn't give his heart a chance to rest.
He knows life is full of surprises
Ones that make you rethink how well you know yourself
Ones that bring storms
But after every storm there's a rainbow.
He learned to love whatever his tie dyed world throws at him.
His dreams still the same
Only difference are the characters who will be cast.
So he asked his mother once more
“Would truly love Whatever I give my heart to?”
I am suffocating,
The words you
Pushed down my throat
Haven't been letting
Any air get past,
I would push them down,
But my throat is sore.
You grabbed it to hold
My mouth open
As you spoke into it
A story of how this happened.
Every morning I cover
The imprent of fingertips
Sighing the same thing
I've sighed since the day we met.
I know you won't do it again.
I'm so sick of myself
Sick of being alone with myself all the time
Sick of looking at these tattoos
Sick of being me
I grow so tired of doing the same routine every day
By myself every day
I put myself first now
But doing that is getting really old
They say insanity is doing the same things the same way & expecting a different result
I don't expect a different result
I just hope for one
Because I can't take much more of this
I'm supposed to learn to love myself
To be ok being alone with myself
But the longer I'm alone
The more I grow to hate myself
And miss who I used to be more and more
I don't know how you do it
Take drug after drug to escape
When I'm realizing it's not working for me
It doesn't do anything anymore
Trying to escape through alcohol
It's a numbing agent pure and simple
It doesn't keep me from thinking of you
It doesn't make me happier
It's about as worthless as I feel.
I've ruined all my relationships
I can't fix a fucking thing
Everyone has moved on
And I'm still standing here covered in regret and emptiness.
There is a boy who claimed to love me,
His hands would grab at my waist
Like his lust was cured with the touch,
But they roamed over every body
Within their grasp like explorers
Too afraid to settle down
Afraid they'd get bored with just
The landscape of my body
Just the mountains of my hips
The rivers of my hair
They'd tire of the hill of breasts
Of the lake between my legs
And so he never stayed for long.
I realize now he never intended to,
Always his plan was to leave
After he knew every inch of me
And I was stupid enough to
Hand him a map and mark my heart
Right in the middle just incase.
But I am worth more than my body
I am worth staying,
He is not worth baring all explorers
He is not the example for how
Every hand that touches me will end,
He will not be the last
And he most definitely cannot stay,
As a child
My body was mine.
My plump round stomach
And chubby legs
Felt like a part of me.
There was nothing to change or fix
I was simply me.
And my body was mine.
As a pre-teen
My stomach was biggest at night.
When I looked down,
It was hard to see my toes.
But after a shower, my hair curled softly around my face and fell in waves down my back
And when I looked closely in the mirror
I could see golden flecks in my greens eyes.
My long arms and legs made me fast
Despite my protruding stomach,
There was nothing to change –
I was me,
And my body was mine.
As a teen
The hair on my legs was too dark
And made me look like a boy.
The hair in other places disgusted
And angered me.
It would never go away.
The tenderness in my breasts in the morning
While my flabby arms
And bulky hips
Stayed hidden in oversized T-shirts
And saggy jeans.
Looking in the mirror -
Was I still me?
Against my wishes
My body was mine.
As a young adult
I discovered the release of running
And the loss of appetite and slim waist that came with it.
Sometimes it would take skipping a meal or two
But when I laid down,
I could feel my rib cage.
Even if my body was out of my control
And continued to change and bleed and contract and expand
I could take it where I wanted
I could push it as far as it could go
I could taste my sweat and feel my heart and lose my breath.
Only in these moments
Was my body mine.
My chest filled out
While my waist shrank to reveal muscle and bone.
My hips afforded a generous hourglass figure;
Heads turned when I walked.
My hair no longer frizzed and fried at the ends
And my teeth shone straight and white after years of braces.
My cheeks glowed and my eyes sparkled.
I discovered the pleasure my body could bring me
And the pleasure it could inspire in others.
My long legs and arms
My breasts and hips and butt
As were my greens eyes, golden hair, and full lips.
But something inside
Something inside was cold and lonely and afraid
That my body would not be respected
Only used by those who took pleasure in it.
I needed to protect it.
To ensure that my body was mine.
Running and running and running and running
You can only go so far before your mind catches up.
And you can only play being in love so many times
Before you start to wonder, if this body is yours -
Why it feels nothing.
And when you look in the mirror
And recognize little of the child
Or the pre-teen
And the teen
And the young adult –
It’s easy to let anyone use your body.
But with time you realize
That like the carpet bag you sew flags and memorabilia into as you drag it through the world,
Your body is an artefact of everywhere you’ve been.
And everyone who has touched you.
And your muscles move at your command
And your lungs inflate with air
And your heart beats in your chest and resonates throughout your body
And your eyes pick up the smallest movement
From miles away
While your ears can detect a silent breath in a dark room.
And your crooked tooth
Gives you a slight lisp that brings a new tone to your singing.
And your acne scars serve to remind of everywhere you’ve been
While the bruises under your eyes remind of everyone you’ve lost.
And this body is all you have
To carry you through.
And though the outside may change and the face in the mirror may not always seem like your own
Inside, it is me.
And my body is mine.
It's always the little things.
The little things that people used to miss that they miss the most when they can't miss the moments anymore.
They miss the way you smiled at the ground when someone smiled at you.
They miss the way you tucked your hair behind you ear when someone embarrassed you.
They miss the way you laughed when you were just about to cry.
They miss the things they missed when they were with you.
They miss the things that would have let them know you weren't as okay as you said you were.
And you can bet they miss you.
you only know what you had when it's gone.
When I introduce the suggestion of answering my question,
it seems to puzzle your mind-
my eagerness for an answer is constantly declined.
Do you listen to me when I reply? Or do you just listen to yourself speak?
You continue to talk and don't hear me shriek because you know that I'm weak.
Why don't you listen?