I remember these early times
The first
Downtown in the cold
Lights out.
Adults living like heathens
Teens on the streets
My inspiration
The freedom which comes
from taps on bricks
cold air to put
you right back in your body
Frightening.
It was freedom nonetheless

She learned from a young age that
Rage,
Anger,
Defiance,
Meant nothing.
Not to her
Nor to others.
So she kept silent
As silent as the sun can
When she's raging in the vacuum of space.
Her eyes would ***** with tears
And her jaw would clench in frustration.
But she'd rather stare into hell and cut off her tongue before it meant anything.
She is a patient woman they say,
She is a proper lady
She is as passive as a flower
And as kind as sunlight after a thunderstorm.
She is a balm to the suffering and to the evil.
She is God's child.
But
I have thorns
I can burn you
I can drown you

She has a child’s temper
In a woman’s body.
She weeps alone,
Rages alone,
Starves alone.
She quietens her struggle
And pretends she is only marble.
Grief is an option
And
Anger is a choice.
She chooses neither
So she feels nothing.

How she would like to
Yell and scream!
How she would like to hurt,
To let go
And hold on selfishly to her happiness.
Freedom is an option too.
She does not choose it.

When I was younger I told my mother
"Yo quiero ser como tu cuando crezca"
She kneeled down and said
"No"

I remembeer when I was younger
I looked up to my mother and I dreamed,
of the day I would grow up and be just like her.
She would always say "No"

Hasta que un día, me canse y le grite
"Cuando crezca voy a ser igualita a ti!"
She kneeled down and said
"Tu vas a ser mucho mejor que yo!"

I remember the first time I talked to my mom in english
"A mi me hablas en español!"

The first time I asked if I could go to a sleepover,
"Que no tienes casa o que?"

The first time I asked her permission to go on a fieldtrip
"Entonces para que te mando a la escuela?"

And the first time,
I told her I wanted to go to college,
"Pues a ver como le hacemos pero esta bien"

I remember her eyes, slightly dissapointed
Not at me, but at herself.
She wanted to give her daughter, only the best!

She wanted me to have the chances she never got

She wanted me to be better than her.

I don't remember:
A day that she didn't work
A day she didn't cook
A day she didn't say
"Echale ganas mija"

I do remember:
When she dropped me off at college,
She smiled and said,
"Eres como yo!"

"Eres como yo!"
Trabajadora,
Luchona,
No te rindes,
Humilde,
Sensilla,
Generosa,
Amorosa,
y Valiosa! "

I wish I was young again
When we were five we
didn't know how to judge
We just knew harmful words

Yet the context was foreign to us

Those who witnessed these words
spill out of others mouths
Did not know the hidden emotions

of the words they were called
That was until the years floated past
And the explanations conducted
an orchestra in our heads

That orchestra conducted words
But not ones filled with myths
as we were used to
Instead they were filled to the brim

of a truth

One that we would have to face
We realized
That our existence
Would not be filled with the fairytales

we were told every night
But what we saw in our parents eyes everyday


Fear.                                                    Anguish.

Occasionally something would try to fight through
That shine would soon fade away

That's when we realized
Our truth

Was not the fairytales we were told
But the nightmares we only noticed at night
As they allowed us to see them more
with each passing night

We knew
they were going to come out and play

The blue squares were safe.
The white squares were lava.
The cool kids huddled in their corners were irrelevant.

It didn't matter where I was going
or what I was exploring.
Maybe ancient pyramids,
perhaps a dinosaur dig.
Probably "the jungle," wherever that was.
I always changed my mind half-a-dozen times.
It didn't matter where I went
because I could handle every adventure
all by myself.

The benches were safe.
The wood chips were lava.
The crawl space under the rock wall was my escape pod.

My crew both was and wasn't imaginary.
If they had names, they had the names of real people.
Just versions of those people who were
around a little more often.

The loud days were safe.
The quiet was lava.
Then the quiet was safe,
and loudness was lava,
and then I never could tell what was safe anymore,
really.

But, oh, I'm so glad I found You again.

Your embrace is safe.
Your heart is lava,
and every day is a quiet adventure.