Sustenance

As a child, shame accompanied stuffing my face, until stuffing my face suffocated the shame

I never ate because I was hungry. always unsure of what it felt like to “feel hungry”

Eating was always the solution

His hits hurt, his words stung, his unsurprising cruelty grew… so I ate

When stuffing the feelings with sweets and treats, he used to expand his cheeks to threaten me with my inevitable expansion if I continued

Eating has always been perfunctory, for no rhyme or reason, but to fill a void

hand to mouth

Chocolate, sugar, and salt-filled foods were always there to drown my sorrows

There was always a “he” to take the place of the first, to replicate the shaddow I would always run from and into, no matter how it morphs

When He didn’t come home or call, nothing said “I’m Sorry” to myself like eating a package of cookies

consuming until I was nauseous, consuming feelings through the shapes of foods until they dissipated

Red wine or Hennessy washed down the regrets and pain of self-indulgance

Food is self-flagellation for not being the person that I am capable of

Piling it in to no longer to feel, never tasting what it is I’m consuming

Hand to mouth

Eating while watching individuals act out the lives that I aspire to, so that I don’t have to

So that I don’t have to think about how I’m failing

How I’m not running, or reading

Consuming my own self-fullfilling profacy so that criticisms no longer sting, so that I have excuses of why I can’t

When people dissapoint, what most call “sustanence” will always be there as filler, but it will never sustain me, the hole is too deep

It’s the best friend I never had, that will always be there

It is always easier to add than it is to remove, but here we are…

I can call this nourishment, and allow it to consume me

Hand to mouth

But, faith is mytrue sustanence, food just the oil for the wheels of the machine

It is always easier to add than it is to remove, but here we are…

HE is the best friend I never had, that will always be there

Knees to Prayer

The Inability to Hear Her Voice

She is the sunset over the ocean: familiar, consistent, dependable, never changing

Her voice is the invisible hand on my shoulder telling me that everything is going to be okay

Her vocals emulate the ebbs and flows of the waves on the beach

With one calm and confident “Babygirl,” there is nothing I cannot do

When she is firm, her voice would crash with an even-tempered, “I guess you need to put your big girl pants on”

she never wavers, never second-guesses her thoughts, always sure of herself

She was the engine who always could, and always did make it up the hill; and she could convince any other engine that they could make it too

she is the angel on the shoulder, always guiding

she is the voice of the moon and the stars, always watching

she is the voice of optimism, even when it is pouring rain over a sinking canoe with one oar

she ends everyday with “I love you, see you when the sun wakes up’s”

she is in every affirmation, every rainbow, every guiding light

With every downturn, she will continue to laugh us better

She’ll always be by our sides, through all of the elements

At every wrong turn, she encourages us to keep moving

With every wrong man, she is rolling her eyes, and demanding we do better

She encourages with sarcasm, knowing that we understand the way in which she loves

She’ll walk you down the isle with reassurance and guidance, never wavering, holding you up high

She will be crying tears of joy when you have your babies, ready to guide them, with “I love you’s: and “I’ll see you when the sun wakes up’s”

She’ll heal your wounds with a song

She will never stop conversing with us, or meeting us in our dreams

The ability to hear her voice will never fade, she will never abandon us

She is the sunset over the ocean: familiar, consistent, dependable, never changing

The Ghost of You

He and I are driving in the car, holding hands, and enjoying each other’s company; yet here you are with your impeccable timing

I’m hapy, this is going somewhere

I deserve this, but, that song comes on, and I’m praying he doesn’t ask why I’ve gotten quiet, why I stopped laughing, why my hand moved from his to the wheel, why I’m no longer present with HIM, but reliving OUR conversations, and OUR wrong turns

I begin analyzing 6 years of our inside jokes, touches, and expressions…

I don’t miss you anymore, “you and I” have been cremated, but when that song comes on, I miss your “good morning beautiful’s,” your surprise visits to my showers, your ego and narissistic opinions, and the ways in which despite everything, you’ve changed me for the better

I’m caught silently conversing with the ghost of you, only to come to the same conclusion: there is no point in reliving the ghost of relationship’s past, onl present, onward ad upward from here on out. I allowed you to suck enough life out of me.

From now on, you are no longer welcomed in my present, not even the ghost of you/

The Way in Which She Loves Me

She loves me because I’m her only

She loves me because I survived her endured beatings, his drinking and raging, his neglected promisses and “I love you’s”

Because I survived

Because I survived his beatings and inifite name calling, because I smiled when he punched me

Because I never admit defeat

Her heart has broken so many times from her ground being ripped out from under her, from burying a child, from burying parts of herself for others, to only receive further abandonment

She loves me because he doesn’t know how to

She loves me because he will always love someone else first, and more

She loves me through suffocation and lack of oxygen, no more than an hour drive away

She is happiest when she is the puppetier, I, the puppet

She changes my words to suit her intentions

She loves me through dependence

She needs to be needed

She needs me

she never listens only speaks because she’s never been heard, because no one wants to listen

She can never lose control

She must always hold the strings

She must always be heard

She loves through her own fear of further loss, she can never lose control

Because she knows she’s not enough; she loves me so that I will outgrow her, so that I’m enough, but she can never allow me to outgrow her

She loves through surviving, through loving others to meet her needs

She must always pull the strings

She uses her words as shrapnel, only to revisit with gifts of “i’m sorry’s” and “I love you’s”

She loves me with daily calls, and worries when I don’t answer

She loves me by planning my funeral when the phone is silent

She loves me to survive

She loves me because I survived

I must survive and I must outgrow her

She’ll love me no matter what, because that is what she does

The Color of my Skin

The color of my skin is what I am often told is the color of sin

I am white, I am American; not cuban because I can front an authentic Spanish accent

Not Portuguesse because of my last name

not “caucasion,” because I may be “ofended”

The color of my skin often provides me a pass: a pass to say ignorant commentary, act younger than I am, rage, protest, control outcomes

The color of my skin provides me a pass that I dare not take

The color of my skin has challenged relationships, because it has been considered the wrong color

MY Whiteness often makes me standout, not in

My whiteness is what has made me different, not good enough, not poor enough, not smart enough, given my priviledges and “the way in which I speak”

The color of my skin sends the messages that I never sent, to people whom I’ve never met

There is a history of pain that whiteness has caused, that is unintentionally easy to emulate in my skin

The color of my skin sets tones for conversations that I have not yet had, and for opinions that I have not yet formed

The color of my skin has labeled and inundated me with titles and names that I dance around, avoiding acting out sterotypes

My skin color has made me the punchline of jokes regarding individuals deprived of culture, curves, rythm; bland and empty individuals

My skin color prevents me from being a cliche, and enables me to be the change- I don’t have to fulfil sterotypes based on my skin color, and my skin color does not have to determine the type of person that feels rrI am or will be

I am just me….and I happen to be white.

I Like You

I like you.

I enjoy spending time with you

Your smile brings me joy

Your laugh brings me laughter

And yet, I’m scared, terrified even

I rather spend time with you, than get much needed sleep

I can already feel your pull, my desire to put you before myself

I want to run away from this, from the possiblity of repeating past mistakes and so many wrong turns

I want to block your number and forget your name because if you bring me as much pain as he did, this will be a suicide mission

My heart cannot again survive broken promises, lies, misconceptions, and unrequited feelings

I don’t fall in love often, only once actually, but when I fall, I fall hard

And I can already feel the familiarity of the magnetic force of gravity

Every hair on my body is standing, I’m covered in pins and needles hoping you don’t hurt me

There are no guarantees, but I need guarantees

I’m about to run, but you text me something loving and personal

I’m about to block you but then you ask me to come over, and I can’t help myself

I’m about to say something, anything that will ruin everything, so you leave faster than expected, but then you smile, and when you smile, it brings me joy; then you laugh, and I laugh; then you pull me in, into the crook of your shoulder where I fit perfectly, and I’m stuck in your centripetal force

I can’t move, I can’t stop being happy

I’m terrified

I’m scared that your smile will soon stop bringing me joy; your laughter no longer contagious, but malicious

It will only be a matter of time until you no longer send texts, or you cancel all invites, and you start verbally attacking me, and I’m stuck all over again in the eye of the storm, except this time there is no rescue mission, no second life, that’s it. game over.

This is what I’m praying with all of my being is never bound to happen. But then again, I like you.