inside

my mind has been my worst enemy for as long as i can remember; darkness lives within, and it always will. there will always be a battle between continuously spiraling downward into a pit of despair, and climbing steep switchbacks. every single day is a fight for clarity.

the only things that have ever saved me have been writing and running. at some point you have to stop trying to slay your demons and instead understand them, stay a step ahead of them. i can't run from them, but instead run towards them.

growing pains

i was twelve.

i'd wait for my mother after school and just stare down at my feet; both chucks with holes in them, soles about to fall off. my father would calculate our commute in the mornings as to use the least amount of gas. he too stared down at my feet and i could sense some fraction of shame, maybe disappointment. i didn't ask for new shoes that year, as i'd done the year before. i never brought up my wet feet or aching heels. i let those shoes deteriorate and fall apart, like the broken mirrors at home.

punctures

i can feel his breath on my neck while i lay there. he's biting his lip and holding a steady gaze as he concentrates on my skin. i turn to his hands as he steadily moves them ever so slightly. my skin is numb and my hands are starting to get cold yet my mind feels like it's floating. i notice a very slight tingling sensation as this goes on for a couple hours. he begins to wipe away some ink and even a little bit of blood, giving the needles some rest. his art, now permanently on my skin.

norte

they were kids when they met. he promised her a better life on the other side and the chance to make all of her dreams come true. he promised her love, children, and a home.

on the other side, they found 16 hour work days and a sun so strong that for the first year, she was always light headed. they ended up on fields that never ended and daily he would tell her that their better lives were just past that horizon; a horizon that was always too far away.

looking back, who knows if it was all better.

la luna

la luna le borró el nombre a tu querido aficionado debajo de sus suspiros. todo mientras el viento te distrajo. otra entrada mas en el diario de marisol. otro libro en la enciclopedia del corazón. la luna se burla de ti mientras se esconde por la noche, mientras te expulsa tus malditas inmundicias y te enseña a ti misma. la luna te entrega un espejo en el que vez a tu propia madre. incluso, te fijaste no en lo que pudo estar frente a ti sino lo que pudo ver sido una ilusión. tu linda luna te mata por dentro.

drifted

she knows, you have to know that. 

you must feel it in your bones and on your skin. 

you must sense it in her posture,

and in her eyes that weren't always as deep as they were today. 

you must feel the coldness of her skin that only gets colder at night, 

till she shakes and wakes you in your sleep. 

there's very little you can do to soothe her. 

now, you can live with the silence between two bodies, 

or you can let it go. 

so far away that it no longer feels like distance, 

but instead... non existence.

unsent

i found the letter i never sent you, neatly folded and sealed in an envelope with no address on it. i ripped it open and read the words as if seeing them for the very first time; six pages filled with thoughts, emotions, and scribbled-out ideas... i’m sorry i never sent it. i think it was more of a closure activity for me, more than anything. i do recognize those thoughts as my own, though i do not particularly feel i need to justify myself anymore. i don’t think you’ll ever see it.

 maybe i'll get an address next time.

in my sleep

i'd seen them multiple times before they were born, long before we knew that she could have children again. they'd be riding a horse down jasmine street, alongside my mother. it was always after dark, their bodies illuminated by the street lights. my mother would guide the horse down to the end of the street and stop in front of the stop sign. i couldn't call out to them loud enough for them to ever see me; even in my dreams my voice was silenced. i had to wait several years, but i always knew, even when my mother didn't.

making scents

and yes, we've had a few drinks, to remember all the things that we have selfishly done, so cautiously done.

and we regress and progress, to that nights we undressed all of our desires and regrets;
on top of all else you can detect, on our skin's drunken scent.
we arrive and we leave, done away with all grief of our newest and worst, actions never rehearsed. 
so yes, we've had plenty to drink, so to remember all the things that we have selfishly done, so lovingly done. to each other and more, and to those we claimed to adore.

they say

be careful, they say.

you don't want to make them uncomfortable. 

don't be vulgar or angry, or even too passionate.

differences scare people, so maybe blend in. 

maybe focus on only one cause. 

joining or blending everything confuses people. 

you can't give all of your attention to everything. 

what does intersectional even mean, anyway? 

you have it great, you should be more grateful. 

we all matter.

you should be angry about genital mutilation. 

protesting never helped anyone. 

stop offending people.

i can't fight for everyone that's down. 

i have a family to worry about and feed. 

yes, i heard you.