i was not created to fuel the male ego.
nor my own.
entitlement leads to a toxic karmic path.
i am nobody, and neither are you.
we do not float along to slut shame, or
to sneer at our peers for things we
misconstrue.
do you know me? i don’t know you.
i am an angel, an angel, an angel.
i do the things i should not do.
the Universe does not follow social
constructs. divine femininity taught
me i am my own father.
i am papí.
7.14.18
we pass on catty words —
that’s how we make friends,
see?
my hate is similar to your hate.
we sigh and breathe insults
at those we love or even better:
leave a gust of silence so still
it leaves puckered red marks
circling
our throats.
we have mouths that speak these
heavy words, and we become these
gory beasts instead of the gods
we think we are.
Here’s my useless energy. I’m passing it onto you.
7.12.18
How many white lies have you told? I’ve told more.
How many omissions have you kept, nestled away? Bet I can beat you.
I’m the best of the best.
Do I do this out of compassion for others? (30%)
Reality just disappoints the imagination.
So many delusions, the world says.
Keep the dream alive, I say.
And the dream? Is the truth that reality deserves.
Let it boom, lady.
Time for truth.
My anxiety softly touches my hair
in an attempt to soothe my worries. My
anxiety says dark things, half-seriously,
in an attempt to make things light.
I see a stray,
Daisy, and she yells upon sight.
She comes close, and sees I am a flower, too.
We walk on, led by the sunlight.
My anxiety says the rain will come soon,
don’t hold on to hope.
Daisy barks.
She looks at me and knows I needed to feel
like a hero today. Her escape was planned,
her quick glances say. You needed me,
her slowed pace whispers as I cluck my tongue
when she treads too far. I needed you, too.
She goes back home to an owner who yanks her
by her collar. I pull at my ponytail, feeling sick.
I take note of the street, and stare at the house,
forcing myself to remember. Please remember this.
My anxiety tells me to leave. My
anxiety tells me to mind my own business.
I close my eyes. I promise to return often.
She is not a flower wilting. I am not a flower wilting.
We are flowers who have grown a little sideways in our
respective pots. We stretch towards the sunlight,
eyes wide open, away from the dark sneaking closer.
My anxiety smiles and hums.
I walk away, quickening each step.
I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like me as exactly
as I’m supposed to be. I feel weary of being a catalyst,
but my own metamorphosis is pending, I know.
My anxiety halts its persistent humming.
It laughs. And I laugh.
(Because what else is there ever to do?)
A slight burn when I blink.
(blink. blink. blink. BLINK.)
Eyes a little dark,
thoughts a little darker.
A hand on either temple.
Hands grabbing fists of hair.
Dreams That Heal,
I’ve left you for a night.
I’ve left you in the past.
I leave you when reality pulls me close.
You must think I love you least of all.
Sometimes, I think I do.
Where would I be if I didn’t love you?
Unhealed.
But I rather heal.
Unkind.
But I want to be
Lovely.
I’m so tired.
(whereareyou?)
