Monday, December 3, 2012

Baila con migo. Ven.

My friend posted this. Listen.


When I was young I clearly remember my mother. She was a strong woman, stoic. Devoid of warms kisses and hugs. Today, quite the opposite. I distinctly remember the first time I saw her smoking. It was late at night, I couldn’t sleep because my family had recently moved into the government housing apartment. Think of a large box. With three rooms in them. Three empty large rooms. My room had a bed and a desk. Think. Pink: my least favorite color, with a bird plastered in the middle. You should have seen her smile when she pulled it out of the trunk. It was brand new, store bought. Her smile beamed, it hurt my face, so carefully with great effort pushed up a half circle on mine.

“ay ama, no deberias”

“no mija, te lo mereses, toma, ponlo en tu cama” 

and with a hug she gave me the bed comforter. She wanted me like it. With great difficulty she had bought it. My mattress had a simple bedsheet, and the blanket I used I can’t quite remember. I do remember the mattress. Horse riding cowboys, dozens of them were plastered on, the mattress. That’s what Texas must be like. I just remember the browns and yellows hues badly mixed in for colors. So I had to cover them so they wouldn’t run all over me. I remember that comforter was the warmest I”ve ever had. Now that’s an entire story for another time. The comforter.

The curtain, it wasn’t there yet. The large window was naked. I was scared to peer out of it at night. The moon would sometimes, conveniently sit there across from me, but some nights, many nights it was cold and dark. The only light that would come through the plastic was the artificial beam from a light post. It was cold and clammy. The only thing that kept me warm was the pink Tweety bird comforter. One day, out of sheer curiosity I decided to peek outside. I saw wafts of smoke come up as I looked. My mom was there outside, in who knows what hour of the night. Smoking. Looking out at the field of leveled grass. I once thought that field was our backyard. It wasn’t, but as child, it was nice to think that whoever owned that field, they let us have it, to freely roam around whenever we wanted.

Yet it was strange, for I never knew the smell of smoke growing up.

Today we got into an argument. Before I left, the smell was undeniable. The smell was dumbed at my feet. I messed up.


There’s an orange sitting right across me. It curves in the right places. It hugs you warmly. 

Sometimes my hands tremble uncontrollably. I’ve probably said this many times. Sometimes it scares me. It’s the caffeine I say. So I had to write something, anything, to stop the shaking, before anyone sees and asks. I hate questions. Don’t query. Leave me alone. My hands seem to shake uncontrollably. Maybe it’s my vision that amplifies that shaking but they need to move -  to do something. So I make them type. Like this. These words that fail to make sense are all the doing of my hands that wont stop tying. They. Won’t. Stop. Even though I tried long ago to silence them. To shush them. it doesn’t work. They refuse to rest; they refuse to leave the keyboard. Although I’ve, somewhat stopped them from grabbing the pen, the pencil, the utensil.  I’m quite cruel sometimes. No one knows, or perhaps everyone knows. Yet they refuse to stop, they want to marathon out of here. They want to melt words. They want me to move in and move out. They want me to pursue that which they’ve been waiting for, what I’ve been wanting. They somehow know more than I let on. They know me more than I admit to myself. These hands that are my grandmas hands: brown and wrinkly. I remember the first time they touched that grass, remember? They never felt more alive, until I again made them pull the weeds and the dive in naked palms first. They never felt more alive. The garden was left prim and a little bit ugly. A crew cut at best, but they never felt more alive.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Just When I Thought ...

I never want to go home. To taste the bitterness of the past that clings, no, claws the walls.  To smell the stench that burrows itself furiously inside the comforters, to a cold that never leaves. I never want to go home again, to the tears that are showered all over the floor, over my mother’s face. Tears that never seem to scrub off no matter how hard you rub your cheeks, or despite the concealer applied.  I don’t want to go home to the silence that passes through the glass-less windows. I wanted to stay calm. I want to stay here: on this corner, in this moment, in this place where laughter abounds and peace oozes, pours.

Sometimes I yearn for the normality, for a peace of mind. I want to feel the normal cadence of my heart thumping against this chest.

I don’t want to feel the cold dishes clashing against each other. I don’t want to feel the screams that erupt. I don’t want to feel the specter of winter mutilating my sanity. I don’t want to feel your disappointment, your sorrow every single day of my life.  I’ve stared at that face for the past 23 years. It’s time that time began to deteriorate. I simply can’t keep refilling every single Mason jar with it.  We have caseloads. The truck is overflowing, it’s breaking. I am breaking. Cracking like hands accustomed to water and harsh soap.  

I don’t want to live with your regrets hanging loosely across your shoulders. I don’t want to deal with your remorse draped across your body for display.  Tell me what I can do. But first, you must let go. You must let those hurts heals, with scars momma. You have to let me bandage them, wrap them. they’ll heal. Just let me…

I don’t want to be another tragic brown story.

So today I decided. I am not going home today. I’m going keep myself away. Until I can leave, truly, and come back mended. Only then can we begin yours. Maybe next time I can stare at the mirror and not look away. I need to become the sinew, the meat, and the heart.

I won’t be another brown tragedy. I refuse. 

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

"I Can Feel Your Energy From Two Planets Away"

I don't want to write words for you anymore. I detest the fact you might be reading this, indulging in my sorrow. Can you tell me something? Reach your hand out of the screen and embrace me, for a minute. I want to feel your heart speeding up next to mine. It's difficult. Why did you come last week? For them? Yes, who else? Certainly not I. It's crazy that some silly ass shit that happened (but didn't happen) months/ year (?) ago could still stick like resin on my skin. It's a blob, a mess that covers my entire body. I hate that I can still cry about you when I see you or think about you. When I truly let my memories enter me. It's that pit in my hands again. The critters on my finger tips don't come until I let you come out.  I was afraid you were going to pour out of me. Even without having held your face in my arms, or on my chest, or on my lap, there's an indentation of your exact height and built next to mine. It fits the side of my hip, my torso, and my arms. It's like I refuse to hold anyone else, even though I've touched and kissed someone else.  I finally kissed someone, someones. It was fun. I suppose. A vacuous feeling. Nothing compared to just being with you. Holding your smile, and your smirk. It doesn't even touch the margin. The proximity of their tongue next to mine, and their hand touching my back was a distance incomparable of what you reached. My heart. My soul. It was a sticky sweet feeling. You were so grand. Something that came so easily, yet with you I wanted to take my time and see you first. I was ridiculous thinking of some alturisitc bullshit before I could even hug your lips. Because yes i was thinking of some holy alturisitc thing of not even touching you, your lips. your hands around me. It was all a wiry mess of feelings that refused to give in, until you left then it was all done and those things shattered. 

Thursday, September 13, 2012


I drove past you today. I drove past your remains on the highway. It was you who sat there, silently. You sat loudly next to me, screaming at me. Leave. Please. Leave. Now. I heard you from a mile away. I heard you push me away. It was inevitable suffering. They say I do this to myself. It’s everything I wanted, maybe more. How could it be what I wanted… when all I did was… never mind it’s useless. It’s inevitable that the cut will go deep. It’s almost branded. I have your name branded in my soul. And every day of my life, I still find myself comparing you to everyone one I meet. No one made me as happy as you did. God. I can’t believe it’s come back to this again. Today. On a night that should be a cause for celebration. Yet. I saw you on the highway today and I passed your remains, sitting on that squeaky clean seat of yours.

This time, you can engulf me in your stare. That stare that I was so timid to accept. I was scared. No - undecided. Selfish. Oh god. It’s like I’m that “crazy girl” you’ll tell your friends about one day. That psycho that wrote you some long, weird email.  I can’t bring myself to open it again, to ever read it. I can’t bring myself to delete it. I cannot delete some of the emails. Even if they seem insignificant, they mean so much to me in my insignificant time on this earth. It’s insignificant really this pit in my eyes.

 All those ignored messages. Why? Why did you just ignore me? Was that the answer ? I cannot accept it, I never will. Yet. I’ve come to accept the silence. A resounding, I’m sorry it’s too late, please leave me alone, would have sufficed. I didn’t know that’s how nice it was to be with a person that made you stronger, and accepted your many flaws. See, you didn’t dissect me. I know you didn’t. I did. And it was my mistake, of many. After you left,
you made me stronger, and maybe more secure in myself. It was like a marathon, it felt like it would never end. I had many aches and pains, but I finished the run without you by my side. I was waiting for you, to hold the poster at the end saying  (screaming) “I love you too! I always did! And I miss you too!” Yet the only thing that met at the end was empty satisfaction that I finished alone. No. But listen. I know that I don’t want to be a damsel in distress. To many times, in the past, I dreamed of that possibility. Of having my dreams just out of my reach when the knight will swing down from some invisible precipice, and sweep me in his arms. Too many times, my mind scratches on that scene now. I try to rewind it, but I can’t visualize it anymore. It’s more like a kaleidoscope where all the imagery merges and becomes an indistinguishable part from the other. I want to rewrite my dreams. Dreams where I can save myself. My mind won’t remember all those memories, yet they refuse to leave. And where there was tenderness once, there will always remain.

Except if I see you I can’t promise to be okay. Don’t worry. No hysterics. Just a nod and half a smile. A bit to sentimental perhaps. I’ll return to my usual self.  Now, I can finally leave you alone. Thanks scotch tape for the many sweet little memories. It’s time I finally let you live in peace.  Foremost, it’s time I give my heart a break, it’s been too long.



Saturday, September 8, 2012

Revisiting horrible green ice teas

I came to Starbucks to write, and all I've been doing is bullshitting. I mean. I've been here. Lingering. Flirting. With words of course. I'm toying with some verbs and meaningless thoughts. Plus, I'm getting tired of buying their $1.50 shitty, green iced teas (which I only buy so I don't feel I'm smooching off their internet, because that's the only reason I come to Starbucks). Also, because this place is for rich people, and I refuse (who am I kidding, i mean afford) to buy anything above $1.50. Yet, on occasion, I splurge on their coffee machiato's, even though they are becoming increasingly gross and too sugary. Allergies. It's the sugar, I think. I used sugary for too long, as a substitute sweetener to my life.  It's high time I replace that sugar with real stuff. Whatever the hell that means, right? I've refused to rummage through my cardiac muscles to find the answer, which I've felt it before, lightly. The answer is there, I know so.


Awkward transitions, seem to be the theme around these parts (meaning just myself) lately . So with no great transition, here it goes: I'm ok-ish. Finally! Yet, Not sure if that means I'm going on a downward slope again. I've come to embrace several things about myself. Which, I can't believe has taken 23 years to finally reach this point. Yet, I'm going to wait until next time. Because drinking tea, makes you pee a lot, but for some reason drinking horrible artificial tea makes you hit a record number of visits. I'm embarrassed now, of going again. In a public place. So I think I'll high-tail it home. Plus, it's been a grand night of discoveries, and I want to sit in my room to deposit them in my memory box at home. Have a good night internet!

Monday, August 20, 2012

In other news. Music.

Frank Ocean Foreva ~

I failed again.

I've been in a kind of haze. It almost seems this way ever since - wait, never mind that. But quite simply, I've let things consume me. My problems have handed me over all beaten with soft bruises still enveloping my whole body. I've lost my way, what ever little I had, with words. I think the little downturn of my eyes seem to want to stay there permanently. To top it off, anxiety has gotten the best of me, and I can't be with people for long without feeling like my heart is gonna explode. It's a scary feeling. One minute I'm fine, and the next I feel like running out on everyone, I gasp to breathe and I start to jitter.

"I can see the sadness in your eyes." I was stunned. Really? When I've tried my best too seem upbeat and cheerful, whenever I posted in social mediums, besides those others that anyone hardly knows about, I've always been pretty upbeat and never really posted anything sad or meaningful to my personal life. You should see all my pictures, they scream of happiness. I mean. Really.

It's a constant struggle with improving myself, fighting against myself, and attempting to save my mom from completely destroying herself. It can really do a number on your state of mind when your mom's words sear through your heart and  make you fear for her safety. You no longer feel responsible for yourself, but you again go back to being the mom. I have three people to take care of, again. Graduate school seems like a far away dream that I can't go to.

 I'm my mother's keeper, if I leave, my brother will too, and then whose going to take care of her? She certainly cannot. She keeps her mind back to past where therein lies hurt, ugliness, deception, and lies. She can't see past that, and it's with that that I'm attempting to lose whatever past grudges and hurts of held on to all these years. Here is where the hardest part comes up, I have to forgive my mom for everything that she had done both intentionally and not. I need to see past all of those things.

It's so difficult. It's time I let people in my life. Every time i've said this I've never actually acted upon this proposal. Let me try this again.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Bloody Kneecaps.

If I'm unemployed for now, that's fine. I shouldn't whine about it. For now, as I continue to apply, I can catch up on reading. Running too! Plus, my kneecaps hate me. I haven't run for a week, and they hurt like no bloody hill ever made them hurt .It's almost a punishment in disguise. If I don't run, my knees give out when I'm walking to and fro around my house, or anywhere basically.  My breathing attacks me once in a while, but still that means I get in shape. More negatives not to run. Running in a bit. WOoo!!

Friday, June 15, 2012

Let's Remember the Good Times, yes?

But this song.

I Don't Feel It Anymore

It's a William Fitzsimmons kind of day.

Thursday, June 7, 2012


The earth's position around the sun once again have confirmed that it's summer. School is out, and no longer do I have this undeniable tie to school, and in turn, to people at school. They no longer have to see me again if they wish, nor do I have to feel that awkward moment where I wave hi and they deliberately turn away. Why? My fault? Perhaps. Maybe. Yes in some, not at all, in other cases. Yet, I'm a bit sentimental about it all, who knew this would happen.

I wonder what will happen to all those memories. Should I leave them in Parking lot K? Open for anyone to stumble upon? Or should I leave them on Temple where so many precious memories have been kept since my college career began? Should I do that instead? Maybe I'll tuck those memories in between the rolling curves and hills of school, maybe with time, earth's tectonic plates will move fast enough to change the topography of the school. This way the memories could go deep in side the earth, and they will not resurface whenever I come visit this school, to my school.

I still have one day left, maybe I'll decide between now and then where I should tuck them in for the rest of times. Maybe, I'll come back in the middle of the night, bury them, only to desperately search for them at dawn or dusk, when light artfully comes to say its last goodbyes and newest hellos.

I have work to do this summer, and not languish as much as I did the last summer months. I want to indeed sharpen my skills. Talent in writing I hardly have any, yet, weirdly enough, it made me a better person. More sound, skillful, thoughtful, which I've desperately needed this past year. I feel like a child. I open my eyes anew with the coming of a new season. It's time again to be reborn and not dabble in heartless things, it's time to grow into an identity that I want. I struggle incessantly with myself. It's horrible especially since I felt I've regressed into a being that I can't quite identify with or am comfortable being around with during waking hours.

What I want is a little corner of a book shop where no one bothers me, or questions the reasons for me being there and I want to read, read for hours undisturbed. This would actually be made exponentially more awesome if I were able to seek refuge in some dense park with trees that become alarmingly more alive as the sun says its goodbyes for the day.

I want a little niche in some naturely lonely place where I can be overwhelemed with the beauty that needs no explanations, that needs not words. I want to corner myself there for a couple of hours and nap, and feel embraced by something that cannot lie, that can't betray or intentionally hurt me.

I want this the most, because sometimes, the only beauty in the world cannot be seen in someone's eyes. Sometimes, they deny you that, and you have to seek it elsewhere within the pockets of the earths, where it's soft and elusive, yet it's palpable.