Mujer, Interrumpida...

Update

2010-09-15T19:43:00.004-05:00

Hello there! I know I haven't updated in a couple of months. Truth be told, I have another blog and updating two webspaces is just not something I can do. So, check me out here:

http://www.mujerinterrumpida.tumblr.com

When The United States Gets A Cold, Puerto Rico Catches Pneumonia: A Microcosm of a Larger Problem

2010-06-07T12:31:00.000-05:00

I recently went to Puerto Rico on hiatus. And have taken the last week to decompress and process not only my own internal revelations but also what I learned from being there as it relates to the world. I have to admit, I was hesitant to write this for a few reasons. One because I don’t want to offend anyone and two, because I wanted to find the right way to say what I want to convey. I can’t keep my mouth shut for much longer so here goes my best attempt at being tactful with my message.

Puerto Rico is beautiful. The beaches were clean and the water was so clear and so blue; my favorite was the beach in Fajardo. I definitely want to go back. San Juan was also a good time, with the old Spanish architecture on some on the buildings, the stone roads and the vibe. El Yunque was great. I got the chance to take in the beauty of the rainforest; it was spellbinding. The energy in there was incredible, and the cold water of La Mina, one of the waterfalls in the rainforest. Even with all the great things about Puerto Rico, I could not ignore the other side of the coin.

One of my favorite expressions to use when someone is getting screwed over royally is, “You got fucked in the ass with no lube.” I know that’s a bit graphic but I would use that expression with what I saw and contemplated in Puerto Rico. The United States is fucking Puerto Rico in the ass with no lube. In many ways. For starters, the fact that Fortuno is the governor of the island is a problem. I didn’t know anything about him when I got there but his first impression on me left a bad taste in my mouth. He’s a rich Republican interested in privatizing a lot of things on the island, such as the UPR in Rio Piedras; I’m not completely sure where the status of this is but there were talks of privatizing the Luis Marin Munoz Airport near San Juan. Another thing that bothered me was the complacency to the conditions that I saw. I stayed in Rio Piedras, visited San Juan several times and spent some time out in Rio Grande, so I’m speaking from what I saw.

Rio Piedras was an interesting place. One of the things that gave me a bit of a shock was seeing junkies everyday on my way to Plaza de Mercado, which was a market for food, clothing and other things. Some of the buildings in the town were less than ideal, with paint chipping, graffiti everywhere and a sense that a lot of it was run down. Also, something else that bothered me. I don’t remember recycling at all when I was there. I asked when I was out once and was told to just throw my empty bottle of water in the regular trash receptacle. Oh and the post office in Rio Piedras, which is supposedly a U.S post office, was not in the best condition. It boggled my mind that they would have one employee taking care of a long ass line of customers when I went in there around lunch time. I also decided while I was there that I would refrain from complaining about New York City drivers again after witnessing the way Puerto Ricans on the island were driving. It was like the traffic lights and stop signs were merely just suggestions. It was a bit reckless for my taste.

Now, all of us here on mainland U.S have felt the effects of the economy’s current downward spiral. And while it sucks for us, I realized that our problems are much more magnified in Puerto Rico. A taxi driver put it in perfect words for me: When the U.S get a cold, Puerto Rico catches pneumonia. If there are tons of people in mainland U.S laid off from their jobs, double that number and you can get a picture of how people are living. To add insult to injury, money that could be used to create new jobs seems to be being used to build more hotels and gentrify places like Rio Piedras. From what I learned staying with a friend’s relatives is that most of the jobs that are available are either hotel jobs or random gigs that don’t pay much but when you have a family and have to support yourself, you take what you can.

If you know me at all, I rarely watch television. While I was in Puerto Rico, I watched a lot more television than I usually do. I kept up with the student strike at the University of Puerto Rico in Rio Piedras, which was walking distance from where I was staying. I was angered by the actions the police took against the student. There are reports of police brutalizing UPR students and even a parent was reported to have been hurt by them. Here are some Youtube videos that show what I’m talking about:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UMqiVkOou8&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNSek6Tof4E&feature=related

Before you go and kill me for “nitpicking” at all of these things, let me finish and make my point. Puerto Rico is an example of what the United States has either done or contributed to in many countries. Witnessing all the aforementioned things made me even angrier with the United States. And made me think of all the actions and things the U.S has done over the years to the world. Let’s talk about how the United States has funded much of the weaponry that so-called “terrorists” in the Middle East currently use. To take that a step further, I still remember that our favorite fugitive Osama bin Laden was apparently trained by the CIA in certain skills. Another interesting little tidbit is that The bin Laden family is a prominent pillar of the Saudi Arabian ruling class, with close personal, financial and political ties to that country’s pro-US royal family. Read more here: http://www.greenleft.org.au/node/24198 and http://socialistworker.org/2001/377A/377A_02_BinLaden.shtml.

Let’s also remember Pearl Harbor and how our wonderful president FDR was aware that there was an attack coming and did nothing, just so that we could have the support of the country to enter World War II. Don’t even get me started on 9/11 and what a tragedy that was…and how that was not only orchestrated by the powers that be but was also used to start the war against the “terrorists”.

Let’s turn to current events. The B.P oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is insanely terrible. Our sisters and brothers of the ocean (fish, turtles, coral reefs, whales, etc.) are dying, and I’m sure this is affecting the lives of people whose livelihood is from the ocean. Why hasn’t serious action been taken against those responsible? Almost everyone I know is upset about it but why haven’t we stopped driving our cars and gone into the streets as a massive protest against not only B.P but oil in general?

Let’s talk about Hurricane Katrina and how poorly the U.S government responded to its own people. And while there was a huge outcry and outrage about it, how long did it take for the tragedy to be put on the back burner by many of us, as we returned to our shampoo-rinse-repeat lifestyles? And what about the gentrification going on in our own neighborhoods? Sure, I’m all for beautifying a neighborhood, but what about people who soon will not be able to afford living there? What do they do? Move out of their newly beautified neighborhood (which they probably were waiting years for that to happen) and find another shitty place in the city to live in? Let’s talk about the education system. Or what about Wall Street and the bail-outs? Where are the bail-outs for the working class?

So, finally, this is my point. My experience in Puerto Rico showed me that the island is but a microcosm of how not only the United States but the people in power, which are the wealthy people of this world, continually exploit countries abundant and rich in resources to gain monetary wealth. As I mentioned too, not only is the complacency of the Puerto Rican people on the island who are not really fighting what is happening to the island troubling me but on a larger scale, all of us as a people of this dysfunctional world are letting such atrocities happen.

It’s disgusting really. And I can’t sit here and pretend like I don’t have a hand in this too. While millions upon millions of people are starving, have no clean water and no shelter, I enjoy countless hours on the Internet, with the luxury of running water, air conditioning and a roof over my head. I truly never have to worry about food and hell, most people I know have a well stocked refrigerator and cupboard. We are rich compared to most people and it doesn’t even phase us. And would any of us give up our lives as they are, with their gadgets and gizmos and latest stiletto or pair of Jordans that we just HAVE to buy? Nope.

So this problem I saw in Puerto Rico is a large one on a huge scale. I just had to get all of that off my chest. We need to wake the fuck up y’all. And actually do something about all of this.

puerto rico.

2010-06-02T06:52:00.000-05:00

i went away on hiatus for 20 days to puerto rico. i left may 11th and landed in jfk on the 30th. i’ve had a couple of people ask me how my trip went. and i find that i’m not sure how to really answer that. i always respond with, “it was interesting.” i really don’t know how else to put it.

i went away to clear my mind and really have a space to think about all the huge life changes coming my way. it was a chance to clear the cobwebs in my head and come to terms with the crossroads i am at and how to navigate on my path.

there are some conclusions that i’ll share about what i saw and learned while there:

1.what i got to see of the island is beautiful. i spent most of the time in rio piedras (about 20 mins on public transportation from old san juan) but also saw the beaches of condado, isla verde, luquillo and fajardo. they were absolutely beautiful. and i got to go to el yunque, the rainforest. it was spellbinding. i liked walking the streets of san juan and made a mental note to come back with a travel buddy so we can get into all sorts of trouble dancing and hanging out at the bars.

2. i had a good amount of conversations with people who lived on the island about the politics, society and situation going on there. the trip opened my eyes to how much the united states fucks countries in the ass with no lube. the best way to sum up what i realized about puerto rico was something a cab driver told me as we spoke on the politics:

“when the united states catches a cold, puerto rico catches pneumonia.”

3. a comemierda is someone who is obnoxiously arrogant, rude, slightly self-righteous and self-important. they tend to look down their noses at you for a variety of different reasons, and kiss ass like it’s their job. after this trip, i can spot a comemierda from a mile away. i’ve been able to before but now i definitely know what they look and sound like on the spot.

4. touristy stuff bores me. it’s really only but so interesting.

5. if i ever complain about nyc drivers, remind me that stop signs and red lights are but a mere suggestion to many drivers i saw in puerto rico.

6. i had no clue who governor fortuno was before i got to p.r. unfortunately for him, his first impression on me was terrible. he’s a bit of a republican asshole. just saying.

7. the upr students that have been on strike for the last month and some change rock. i hope they’re able to work something out with the administrators soon.

8. i need to figure out what i’m doing with my life. and going away has helped that a lot.

9. i would definitely visit again.

29.30 - let me ravish you.

2010-04-29T08:08:00.000-05:00

when i get you alone
let me ravish you.

let me take your curious hands
put them on the elastic of my panties
and guide you in slipping them off

let me undress you
and take over you
unbuckling your pants
demanding you to fall back

let me handle you
straddle you
make you believe in god again.

it’s been too long
let’s take it slow
ravish me.
make me scream your name.

28.30 - wanderlust (la gitana).

2010-04-28T16:39:00.000-05:00

i wonder when they will send for me
they can't seem to keep tabs on this wanderer
i carry less and less every time it's time to move

every time the honeymoon is over
the minute i feel my chest unable to expand
as i hear murmurs for a witch trial
i grab my things, throw everything that's too heavy
into the trash, often guilty that i had no time to give it to someone who needed it
take all the unnecessary shit and seperate it from the ever shrinking pile of things i own
i wonder if this is training for doing away with all of it someday

these are the confessions of a 24 year old gypsy
the only things i steal are sleep and beds, on occasion kisses
becoming increasingly more and more reluctant to pack up every few months
yet becoming wiser every time she is uprooted

catch me if you can
they say they can never find me
they also can't trust me to stay still
i am searching for something constantly

and with this wanderlust, some think i am lost
or simply running away
sometimes, all that's left is to walk away from something you cannot fix
when they ask why i cannot stay
i reply with,
"not all who wander are lost"

27.30 - nervous.

2010-04-27T17:45:00.000-05:00

the winds of change have been blowing in my life
whipping me into shape
transforming my life
like the hands of a ceramist evolving a block of clay into something else

i am anxious
nervous to misstep as the universe takes my hand and guides me
i am scared
worried that i can't hold it together for much longer
and even though tomorrow i will wake up determined and fearless
i must allow myself this moment of weakness
and acknowledgement of being overwhelmed

it's a lot
i know i can do this
i just need a moment before i take all this to the next level
before i hold my breath and leap into this ocean of possibilities
i get nervous sometimes.

Reclaiming Quisqueya: My Experience at the 4th Annual National Dominican Student Conference

2010-04-26T18:50:00.003-05:00

It has been a little over 24 hours since I have return back to my home from Cornell, and I can still feel the effects of having spent the weekend being inspired. I was not expecting to have such a positive experience. In fact, I wasn’t expecting much of anything. I was more excited to see my fellow panelists Vanessa Martir and Alicia Anabel Santos, who I had known before arriving to the conference. Before I continue, I want to share a bit about who I am to better explain why this weekend had such an impact on me.

My parents were both born and raised in the Dominican Republic. They moved to New York shortly after they were married and their three children, myself, my brother and sister, were born in the Bronx. Growing up, the only connection I had to my Dominican culture was through my family. We spoke Spanish the majority of the time. My mother would cook foods native to her upbringing, such as mangu, rice, beans and meat, stews and soups of all kinds and so forth. My extended family got together often to dance the night away to old school bachata, merengue and perico ripiao. From this description, one could assume that I was very rooted in my Dominican identity.

As I grew up, the community I grew up in had a bigger influence on me than my childhood. I was in a predominantly Puerto Rican and African American community, and so as I got into school, I was influenced greatly by the friends I had, the church I was part of and my interactions in my neighborhood. I don’t remember when I began to feel this way, but I never quite felt Dominican at that time. That sentiment stayed with me for a long time. I felt like I didn’t fit the Dominican woman stereotype. I was darker and less stylish than the Dominican females I encountered in my high school years, which was the first time I was exposed to more Dominicans outside of my family. I did not feel accepted by them; I didn’t seem to get what being from Quisqueya meant, I didn’t always understand how to joke around in Spanish, I had issues keeping up with the latest bachata hits because of my immersion into the world of rock, alternative and pop music and wasn’t as familiar with the motherland as the girls who were privileged enough to take trips every summer there.

A resentment of sorts began to develop in me from dealing with some arrogance and condescending energy in my adolescence. Once I got to college, cut off my hair, and hung out with the artists and poets on campus, I further alienated myself from the Latino community in school. The Latino students on my campus were predominantly Dominican. I realize now that part of it was my own resentment and feelings of being rejected that fed this separation. The other part was my willingness to experience the world outside of just a Latino circle and way of perceiving reality. I then resolved to just cultivate my connection to the poetry community and the Puerto Rican culture I was more familiar with.

A couple of months prior to the conference, Vanessa and I were having a conversation late at night. She paused in mid-conversation and told me that I had to visit the Dominican Republic; I had told her earlier that I hadn’t visited the island in 13 years. I got defensive and told her I had no desire to visit, and then expressed how I didn’t really feel connected to the island. I got to the point of anger with her as she told me how important it was for me to visit and to come to terms with this dissonance in my life.

My anger turned into inward reflection as the weeks went by. I had never, until that point, examined why I felt the way I did about my heritage. I wrote a bit about it after that conversation but left the writing to the wayside. The opportunity came to be a panelist for the conference after Vanessa recommended Alicia and I for the “Pelo Bueno, Pelo Malo” workshop. Since the topic was one that was personal to me, I took the chance and agreed to be a panelist. At this point, I was still not very excited about the conference, still holding onto my resentment.

My resentment began to melt after I left the first event Friday night of the conference. Carolina was driving me to my accommodations and I began to talk about my feelings of alienation with being Dominican. She just listened to what I was saying, and it was one of the first times I had expressed it out loud. Then, on Saturday, the “Moving Mountains” workshop set the tone for my change of heart. That workshop was utterly inspiring, as I heard the accomplishments and efforts of Dominican professionals who were giving back to their communities both in the United States and back in the Dominican Republic. I felt myself feel proud and happy for their stories and experiences, and suddenly felt for the first time in a very long time the urge to go visit D.R.

The workshop I was a panelist on was great. I was so excited to share my story with the audience and also hear the experiences of the other panelists and students in the crowd. I believe it was at this workshop that the idea of claiming one’s own Dominican-ness, as I heard some other students who felt the same type of struggle. When we had some time to network and have down time before the banquet, I spent the time speaking to Jennifer, a student from my alma mater, SUNY New Paltz. I elaborated more about how I had felt about being alienated and the overwhelming positivity that I had felt all weekend from everyone present. The banquet sealed the entire experience for me. I danced the night away and had a great time.

I came home inspired and finally ready to claim my Dominican-ness. I am working on this newfound positivity I feel towards my motherland. Vanessa was right. It was important for me to reconnect with the Dominican Republic. I feel a certain emptiness that I’ve felt in my life beginning to fill after this weekend. I thanked the organizers of the conference at Cornell and gave many, many hugs on Sunday out of the gratitude that I felt and still feel for the life-changing experience I had this past weekend. I must have thanked Vanessa as well about a dozen times for opening my eyes to the resentment I was not dealing with. I am finally able to claim my Dominican-ness, in my own way. In a way that is all my own. It feels good to not resent my heritage anymore. I can’t wait until I am able to book a flight to Dominican Republic!

26.30 - haiku for my mother's "therapist".

2010-04-26T17:29:00.000-05:00

you are an asshole.
how dare you tell me i'm wrong
for what i believe.

*fuck you. fuck very much.

25.30 - to the young black woman i met on the bus this past weekend.

2010-04-25T17:25:00.000-05:00

if there is any way i can help you realize you are beautiful
or convince you that you are worth it and more
that i know your pain well
and how hard it is to be a black woman in this society
i hope i can
you are amazing
please know that.

24.30 - reclaiming quisqueya

2010-04-24T18:57:00.000-05:00

for all the years i’ve resisted calling you my motherland
and all the times i felt shunned by my sisters for my afro
i am here, quisqueya

for every time i denied you
and the moments where i wish something other than dominican blood was flowing through my veins
i will see you with these new lenses i’ve been given

something about listening to a cornucopia of your children ignited my flame again
i learned that no one can strip me of my roots just because i love bomba y plena
and that i am no less your child because i decided to cut the colonization off my head

now, i don’t feel like i have to prove my dominican-ness
i can claim it my own way

for my dreams
for my health & future
for my children to know why you are beautiful
i will no longer resist you

now i know it’s okay
that i am a dark dominicanita from the bronx
that i dream in all colors of cultures, the ones i breathe in from my people worldwide

i know now
my love for puerto rico does not have to rival yours
my heart is big enough for both of you
i love you, quisqueya
let’s start our new relationship today.
take me by the hand and show me your mountains
cook me your foods
and tell me of the children that ran in your forests
i am finally ready to accept and claim my heritage.

finally.

*this is dedicated to all my dominican sisters and brothers who i met at the conference this past weekend. and for vanessa. thank you so, so much. you have no idea how you’ve touched me.

23.30 - self afflicted.

2010-04-23T18:57:00.000-05:00

Don’t be a victim
To your own goddamn life, love.
Your tears don’t phase me.

22.30 - For the Shucked Husk Woman

2010-04-22T18:56:00.000-05:00

Sometimes she feels parts of her die
Laying themselves beside him when he leaves her for the night, in his head
Another piece finds its way out of her soul
To crawl into his clumsy hands
They break everything they touch
To trust him is a foolish game of Russian roulette

Once I met a woman
Graying with worry along her hair line
Shucked and emptied by holding far too much
His knife-like fingers left incisions that made awfully beautiful patterns every time his seed would fall from her
She crumples and lives in corners, to be forgotten

I cannot be shucked and cleaned to be husk woman
I cannot let these one pair of careless hands define my wholeness
Hollow woman in corners to be forgotten like dust and waste
Find the pieces he made of you strewn across your house
And in your memories
Gather yourself yet again
Allowing yourself to never be harvested, smoked and dried out again

21.30 - to forget or wait.

2010-04-21T18:55:00.000-05:00

i am still right here
waiting to hear from you
in this patience i must swallow
by the cupful as i wait
i wonder if this is even worth the time
or the emotion
times like this make me question my heart
and her pursuit for closure

i’ve always been obsessed with endings
ones that are not jagged; ones that close neatly
i should know that there are no such endings
i ripped myself from your side
and here i expect needle and thread to
stitch our story closed

when does one decide forgetfulness is a better pill
than this anxiety of waiting?
i’ve never known when to quite let go
yet this meeting of minds is inevitable
even if i wanted to forget its pending status
i couldn’t.

20.30 - it’s coming.

2010-04-20T18:55:00.000-05:00

the chest of spring swells in the buds of the flowers
that blossom from the tips of branches as the blooming commences
i hear the whisper of something that sounds like a secret
“summer is coming. get ready.”

19.30 - far away (lejos).

2010-04-19T18:54:00.000-05:00

quiero irme lejos de aqui
i want to run away and never look back
leave all this confusion and frustration for someone else to deal with
leave this perpetual human condition for something else to pick at
ya estoy cansada
i am so tired
and maybe it’s just today
(it probably is)
but i’m exhausted
que me lleven al campo
que me quiten esta melancolia

18.30 - speaking to the dead.

2010-04-18T18:52:00.000-05:00

glass of water on my table
she asks for an explanation immediately upon noticing
i tell her it is because i get thirsty
and not that it is a channel for speaking to her father

i ponder the amount of conceding possible
until they send for me once again
have my sister calling to tell me they want me to listen
but this house has walls with ears that hear

i have to whisper to the voices trying to speak through me
in hopes that they will still guide me
despite the darkness i cannot illuminate for them

i have so many questions
but my tongue is held quiet
in an attempt to maintain some type of peace
with two brujas under one roof
one in training
one in denial

no incense permitted to cleanse this room
no flowers for the dead
no candles
nothing
how will they find me?

17.30 -

2010-04-17T19:05:00.000-05:00

fuiste como la luna llena
luminosa y brillante
con una luz serena y clara
fresca como una noche de primavera

te recuerdo como el primer capullo de la temporada
lleno de tantas posibilidades y aun, todo a su tiempo
siempre fuiste paciente con crecimiento
y yo, traquila esperado tu florecer

16.30 -

2010-04-16T19:05:00.000-05:00

wallow in your misery
until your skin melts off.

some cesspools are just too toxic
for even the most altruistic of folks.

because when having a bad day
becomes having a horrible week
then an awful month
a nauseating year
and then a pitiful lifetime...

it's not us, it's you.
reaching into a hole to pull someone out
that is not reaching up
is impossible.

we can't save everyone.
all we can do is be bright
and hope we can inspire fire in others.

15.30 - Pasillos De Mi Mente

2010-04-15T19:02:00.000-05:00

Las paginas de mi diario son una colección de tus recuerdos
En los días que tu voz me persigue en los pasillos de mi mente
Hay cuartos que nunca toco durante el tiempo que el sol ilumina estas manos, empuñadas con ansiedad
Tu memoria es real
Cerrando mis ojos, te veo caminando hacia me
En el pasillo de mi apartamento
Tu pupilas reflejan mi desnudes
Porque cuando vienes a verme, es solamente para estudiar las curvas de mi cuerpo
Solamente para seguir la lina que correr de mi pecho hasta mi ombligo

Me han dicho que te he dado demasiado espacio entre mis piernas
Respondo diciendo que vives ahí
Que solo quiero oír como respondes cuando toco tu piel con mis labios
Encima de ti, contigo tan hondamente adentro
Tus manos curiosas tomando mis senos entre tu boca que nunca dice mucho
Tu lengua recorriendo mis areolas y yo lloviendo
Mojada
Húmeda
Derritiéndome si poder ni quiere poner paro

Estos son mis recuerdos
Ojala que estas palabras nostálgicas puedan un día resucitarte
Y podamos reclamar esta cama
Entre estas sabanas que todavía llevan tu perfume
Es posible que nunca regreses
Que te he perdido al viento
Colecto tus memorias cuando necesito tu sexo
Cuando no te encuentro en los pasillos de este mundo

14.30 - esa mujer esta bomba.

2010-04-14T10:00:00.000-05:00

her hands are the first thing i notice as she adjusts the hem of her white flowy skirt
i study her physique, her top clinging to her every curve
every moment is measured, precise and artful
as though her very being were paint and this world, her canvas
dark brown eyes gaze at mine from beneath a wild mess of hair
that shakes when she moves her head along with the rest of her body
the way she holds her height is full of power
you can feel the spirits that guide her with her always

she was born to dance
born to open channels of movement at every jam she goes to
at her full height, she is full of presence
a flame dancing on a votive that cannot contain her
and when the guitarist strums his cuatro
the percussionists start beating congas
she is on fire

her body moves to each beat, each rhythm
skillfully weaving in and out of each syncopated pulse in the ground
she has erupted, open and fluid; becoming bigger than herself as she is in communion with the sounds
as the bangles on her wrists speak with her clapping to the music
she is the only one dancing in the middle of the room
the clave speaks to her, tells her it’s time

she propositions the drummer, her skirt bunched up in her hands
and she looks at the percussionist, challenging their skill
her hips begin to move slowly, teasing, whispering
can you keep up?

all at once, she becomes a fury
her footsteps become a map of where she’s been as the dust lifts around her
the drummer goes wild in an attempt to contest with the dancer
the crowd is clapping, shouting and cheering her on
habla! habla! habla!
the tempo gets faster
and she is unquenchable

this is how she lives
and the drummer smile at her as she stops and stares
bowing down to them for being a worthy opponent

*for makeda, julia and all the dancers i’ve ever met and danced with.

12.30 - just so you know.

2010-04-12T10:06:00.000-05:00

call me demonic
but i must tell you, sweet angel
you too, are fallen.

11.30 - sunday morning fuckery

2010-04-11T10:02:00.000-05:00

let my stony face speak on how much i despise you these days
because this time, i refuse to hide my disdain
your crucifix dangling from your neck is your noose; they’ve given you enough to hang yourself
i shake my head, not understanding how someone so beautiful can say such ugly things
your irrational marriage to religion is forcing me to divorce you
if only you knew that i still ask jesus what he would do about you
can i practice what he preached? can i turn the other cheek?

you have driven your oldest daughter to the edge of bitter detachment
and until this anger simmers, you have lost the priviledge of my conversation
you only give a fuck if i’m on bended knee praising your male gods, your indoctrination and eventual personal hell

too many times i’ve been threaten to have crucifixes driven like stakes through my heart for not being a square
i was the model of a perfect little catholic once, never once questioned god and his tyrannical rule

faithfully, obsessively i diligently learned all my spanish prayers to appease the screaming in my head, i knew the litany like I knew the patterns on my hands yet recognized them just as little

i had heard thrice over every cycle of the bible in pews made smooth with arrogance, with pretentious practioners who used rosaries as their lifelines, always too scared to be ourselves so we led double lives as angels with bibles tattooed into our praying hands and alleged demons filthy with life

i’ve bitten my tongue for too many years, afraid the sky would open and swallow me into hell, that god would leave me forsaken and had me mistaken as one of the 144,000 that would be saved

but i was one of the ones who would live.

i became a wrinkle in the lines of my mother’s frowns, her eldest daughter a possible bad apple with an appetite for adventure and disregard for what the faithfuls had to say

i’ve burned away my retinas looking up to the sky for salvation, i’ve gotten bad knees from too many hours wasted reciting prayers and not denouncing them.
my relationship with the catholic god had begun its road to love and hate when i realized the statues in the sanctuaries had not been listening at all

slowly i began to alleviate all the desires i had buried beneath fear of dying and wrote my way around and in and out of my obsessions with repressed sexuality
i should bite my tongue lest i get burned at the stake but chastity was falsely embodied in virginity; not for nothing but only an idiot would think a man would marry a woman and never fuck her, trust me; mary and joseph had sex….often

forgive me father for who i’m about to offend, forgive me for not caring that this might offend
this is not just simply a bad little catholic schoolgirl getting revenge on the vatican, this is a confession, a proclamation of a new kind of honesty

i’ve discovered what the creation story is really about and as i make my peace with god naked in the shower washing all those years of altar service and vigils away slowly but effortlessly, i genuflect only to myself and love as freely as i want, giving closed-minded bible beaters the finger and eating out a nun until she orgasms, giving her a reason to believe, because this time she’ll mean it when she says “oh my god!”

go to your godforsaken church and pray someone will have mercy on your judgmental mind
ask jesus what the fuck he would do about your bullshit.
you still need to apologize to be forgiven.

10.30 - she bends.

2010-04-10T10:02:00.000-05:00

trunk-tough type of woman
count her aging cycles as she stands silently in the quiet of afternoon
she can still bend
trees sway in the breeze, to show off strength in its most durable form
and even in the worst of storms, winds howling and whipping everything apart
she bends

she remains flexible
because to be rigid and have no give, you crack
splintering down the middle of your back as the blows beat you
but to be durable, to have some curve in her,
she can be pushed but never down
swaying still standing.

9.30 - to keep from crying (eintou)

2010-04-09T07:50:00.001-05:00

laughter
to numb the pain
of a similar show
crying means they won; it’s too much
they sound the same masking
sorrows in smiles
hiding

8.30 - shakti

2010-04-08T07:49:00.000-05:00

if a woman can birth to a child, she can do anything.
that power still lives in her, creating and manifesting her dreams
laboring over her writing, her visions
and giving it her heart.

*Shakti from Sanskrit shak - “to be able,” meaning sacred force or empowerment, is the primordial cosmic energy and represents the dynamic forces that move through the entire universe. Shakti is the concept, or personification, of divine feminine creative power, sometimes referred to as ‘The Great Divine Mother’ in Hinduism. On the earthly plane, Shakti most actively manifests through female embodiment and fertility, though it is also present in males in its potential, unmanifested form.

Swamini Maytitananda notes that at the beginning of Creation, as it is written in the Shakta Advaita, the Divine Mother took form and set in motion the wheel of manifestation. She bestowed her healing spirit into the womb and regenerative energy of every female of every species of the earth. According to the Vedic seers, or rishis, a woman’s femininity cannot exist apart from her Shakti, and Shakti is a metaphor for womanhood.

7.30 - when your words are gold.

2010-04-07T07:48:00.000-05:00

heavy is the head that wears the crown
open are the eyes that see the illusions
careful is the mouth that speaks the truth

crafting words into delicate glass figurines
they can shatter worlds so easily
caution where i place my syllables

i don’t know who’s listening
and to speak irresponsibly
is worthy of death

6.30 - oda a neruda con todo el dolor en mi corazon:

2010-04-06T07:47:00.000-05:00

en tus versos, siento una tristeza honda como el mar;
y leo el amor que tuviste, siempre brillante como una mañana de verano
morirbundo como la ultima noche de otoño antes que el frío congelo el corazón de tu querida

comento con amigas que si estuvieras viva en tu época,
seriamos amantes através de la escritura
pero nunca te quedas por mucho tiempo, y tampoco yo
juntos sabemos que nada es para siempre;
entendemos que el olvido es inevitable

y bueno. a caso hay mujer en cual pudiste encontrar alegría eterna?
o será que tus poemas cuenta la verdad de la melancolía que lleva el anillo de compromiso al amor?
te entiendo bien

oigo como las palomas vuelan en el cielo y creo que veo los días de tu vida en sus alas
tu resignación es el aliento del viento silencioso de una noche constelada
llevo conmigo la pasión en cual sintieses cada ves que ella te dejo

somos, tu y yo, nombre y apellido de la misma enfermedad
de amar con nuestras almas
y como amabas, así amo yo
te siento tan cerca en mis días de nostalgia
escribiendo las mismas penas que tu sientes años antes

5.30 - querido campesino

2010-04-05T23:58:00.000-05:00

querido,
imagino tu cuerpo acostado en mi cama
envuelto entre mis sabanas negras; tu cabeza acunada en almohadas rojas
agotado del trabajo de ser un hombre tan dedicado a la obra de la tierra;
un hombre aficionado con la obra de una pasión que la noche enciende cuando me miras,
esperándote para que te relajes y la pasemos bien

imagino mis dedos tocando el sudor que refleja la jama de una vela solitaria en mi habitación;
todavía mojado en mi
estudio tu espalda; tus hombros fuertes y en forma, contando las horas que estuviste en el campo,
jalando machete hasta que el sol se acostó y te mando que haceria lo mismo
mi jardín esperando tus manos
llena de frutas para que coseches lo que quieras

tu eres un sueño de campo alegre
de pocas palabras y tantos suspiros

solo diciéndome, susurrando cerca de mi oído, donde en tu cuerpo hay tensión
ahí, campesino, te tocare
aquí, hombre caprichoso, acuestate en mi
hasta que la noche deje que el día brille
hasta que el sol te llame de nuevo a tus campos y a tu trabajo
te mando con tu café, con mi aroma en tu barbilla
recordandote de lo que dejas para encontrarme de nuevo

4.30 - el artista

2010-04-04T23:57:00.000-05:00

sus manos son palomas que buscan nido en mi cintura
acarician la curva de mi torso;
manos de un alfarero, tocándome con la esperanza
de cambiarme
sus dedos estudian lo que pueden sentir de mis costillas
lentamente contando los huesos de mi vertebral

de repente me encuentro en su regazo
y soy su guitarra
él me admira antes de tocarme sensualmente
y la música de esa noche fue tan distinta
que ahorita él me dirá si podemos colaborar juntos de nuevo
come alfarero y arcilla
como músico y canción

3.30 - advice to those who have eyes to see.

2010-04-03T23:56:00.000-05:00

run
to the forest

live beneath the moon and by the ocean
inhale the peace of the stillness

when it breaks
they will implode on themselves
never thinking to find you in their chaos

leave it all
leave them to their idols
and escape to a constellated night sky
in the grass, smiling. then exhaling.

2.30 - the first cut is the deepest.

2010-04-02T00:39:00.001-05:00

when you're six, the world should be simple
the hardest dilemma should be trying to decide whether santa claus is real or not
or who your new best friend will be for the day
or even, what game will you choose to imagine for recess
a game of house is far too complicated to be considered child's play
when the hardest dilemma for this first grade girl is trying to swallow the sickness of disgust sweeping over her when she is forced to be a wife

she wanted to say no. the words were stuck to her like an insect in amber
desperately wanting to escape but succumbing eventually to silence
laying next to a boy that was now her husband, her stomach convulsed and spasmed while she forced herself to stay
her arms becoming leaden when he would pull her on top of him
her body a dead weight, lifeless
as she learned how to be a woman, dueling with a tongue that didn't belong in her mouth

she must have aged 10 years every time they played
until the actions became routine
the young reluctant wife
a lost appetite, her bile digesting her innocence
she has felt tainted ever since.
and just as quickly as her pseudo-marriage began
it ended when her instinct kicked; she couldn't tell you if she wanted to
where she learned to trail down a neck
the boy had not foreseen this happening, flinging her on the bed when her lips reached his neck
it was over. the earth took her and swallowed her in that empty bed he left her on
left to sift through her mind for reasons she was wrong

she's 14 now and the last of her friends to get their period
she tells no one that she secretly has believed god was punishing her for what she did long ago
and she knows they will look at her with raised eyebrows if she says that she feels she has been pregnant for the last 8 years
the show of blood is a sigh of relief; maybe she still has a chance at redemption

she's 16 now and her period is sporadic
god must still be mad at her

she's 18 now and in bed with the second man to ever touch her
the first man who showed her what sex felt like physically but leaving so much more to be desired
she knew she should have never slept with him; but when you spend so much of your life feeling like a leper, any bit of attention is devoured
she lays beside him after they are done and suddenly she is 6 again
she whimpers, he holds her as she tells him what happened
until it gets to be to much
and he tells her to stop crying
the silence falls over her soul
and she is 6 again, forced to swallow her words

she is 20, and a man is looking into her vagina with a speculum holding her open
she feels this is all wrong but quiets these thoughts
sitting in his office, she tells him she has an irregular cycle
he tells her she has polycystic ovaries and that she will have a very hard time having children
handing her a prescription for birth control, he tells her that's all she needs to be normal
all she remembers is the feeling of her chest imploding
they took my innocence and now my babies
god, you really do hate me. i really am broken.

she is 24, and is still scared she is broken
i am 24, and i am still scared i don't function the right way
i still think i did something to mess up my ovaries
i wonder when this absolution will ever come
when life will regain the simplicity i could never enjoy
this is the sadness i carry
this is my deepest wound.

1.30 - the truth pt. 1

2010-04-01T10:22:00.001-05:00

your mouth was less angry when i kissed you.
kinder; forgetful of your ways of seeing the world
i loved you; i did.
but never the way you wanted it
i feared your fury too much to say so.

i was asked if i was running away from loneliness
if i turned to your seemingly enrapturing fire for relief from
a icy congealment of self
your warmth kept me alive;
later you would tell me i stole it.
later, i would only stand to see you after
dipping sunrises in tequila, praying for dusk.

you confessed i was a band-aid
a temporary dulling of pain
it became clear to me why we were a moment in time,
but i won't carry the burden for my decision to leave; reasons:
the stifling influence of your refusal to face yourself,
the asphyxiating need of my need to find stability outside myself.

you asked once what was the insult to injury
and i can say this now:
your misdirected fire is uninspiring;
to continue to measure you up to someone that is
is but a disservice to myself.
in knowing how much i hate to be told to control my emotions
i forgot that lack of them is dangerous too.
you were never the person i thought you were;
and will never be.

2010-03-29T00:50:00.001-05:00

we have pulled the gag from our mouths; not so quiet like you wished we’d be
no more climbing on top of us, the friendly assault on our bodies trying to refuse the act our words consented to; now you hear us tell you all the ways you are unsatisfying

distasteful
disgraceful

we toss our dresses in the bonfire with the bras; baby, we’re letting it all hang out
every countable rib for the women who have always been called “skinny bitch” for metabolisms they can’t do anything about
every fat roll for the women who can’t look at a salad without hearing their mothers tell them it’s the best choice for slimming down

take us the way we are

hopeful
wholeful

maybe this time we will make you watch us masturbate to orgasm instead
so you can learn a thing or two from our hands; we can then successfully show you what you keep missing

the way you plunge into things, like us, like war, like the earth
digging weapons into things without a thought about the reverberation of your actions, like your phallus, like knives into abdomens, like shovels & drills
it’s no wonder you never knew, like the pain that sears through us, like the cries of families mourning loved ones, like the weeping willows lamenting the loss of more forests

maybe

if we are screaming at the top of our lungs, naked and bare
you will have to hear all of us
let yourself go soft, unload your gun and touch the dirt with the palms of your hands

lovingly

2010-03-28T18:56:00.000-05:00

Seduce Me

2010-03-25T09:58:00.001-05:00

Seduce me
Write me a poem
Tell me about the scent of musk at the nape of my neck
That you dream of spending sultry summer days between
my breasts
That if you could taste me
it would be mangoes and tropical breezes on your tongue
Keeping you up at 2am
for weeks
Staring at black ceilings
Legs entwined in sheets
Wiping your brow
wondering when the next will be

Seduce me
Write me a poem
Drop those weak pick up lines
and overwhelm me with quotes from Nerudas 100 love sonnets
Tell me I walk in beauty like the night
Trace the lines in the palm of my left hand
Decipher
Then read and whisper their meaning to me
Tell me my life line crosses your destiny
Imprint your words on me like overnight scratch marks
Leave butterflies in my stomach
with honeysuckle syllables
that remind me of first kisses
and holding hands at recess

Seduce me
Write me a poem
that prays my name
and preaches our passion
Chant a litany of our lovemaking to come
under your breath
with the faith of withered hands holding rosaries in cathedrals
until images of us entwined in each other
burn themselves inside our minds
like incense at mass

Seduce me
Write me a poem
with your eyes
Lock glances for a moment
across a crowded room
Soft smirk on full lips
and a slow deliberate blink followed by a flutter of
eyelashes
that says
damn I wish

Seduce me
Write me a poem
with your body
Approach me with the certainty of the tide
Move to me without doubt or question
Make me your origin
and your destination
Let music be the catalyst that lets our bodies meet
Spin me in and out of conga rhythms
Lead me into a Coltrane wail
Grind me into the bass-line
of between the sheets
Then pull me close enough
to feel our hearts beat together
when we dance

Seduce me
Write me a poem
that speaks of our timelessness
Remind me it was you I loved in a past life
on some faraway continent
Tell me I carry you in my genes
That I can't forget you if I tried
That our memories are engraved into eternity
That time is just a theory to us

Seduce me
Write me a poem
that needs no words
Compose a silent sonnet on soft bare skin
where your caress on exposed back
speaks that syllable I need to hear you

A poem
where melding bodies become
the book
Where shallow breathing becomes prose
Where
you
seduce me
and
inspire me to write you the poem
that shows you how to love me

- Mayda Del Valle

2010-03-25T02:47:00.001-05:00

what?

2010-03-24T17:46:00.001-05:00

i look at my hands
study the way they hold
and the way they let go
my feet carry me weightless, some days
and drag when it's been too many hours since they've slept
i still marvel at being human
i'm not sure that it ever really made sense to me
yet i am in complete awe of all this

what, really, is life?
what of these realities on top of each other
ebbing and flowing, creating and destroying
what is this skin? this layer of sensations i couldn't begin to articulate
a body. an entire system of organs intricately woven to be a breathing complex organism
and this voice
where does this consciousness come from?
these emotions, these thoughts

what is this?

Spicy & Hot: The Saucy Latina

2010-03-24T16:09:00.001-05:00

*original post on http://beinglatino.wordpress.com/2010/03/11/spicy-hot-the-saucy-latina/

What perception does the culture at large have of Latina women? In my observation of the roles that my Latina sisters take on, there are traits that seem to be continually ascribed to our depiction. Stereotypes are not new to us, as we are surrounded by them constantly. For the Latina, I feel the stereotypes most associated with us in the media are similar to the ones our African American sisters have. The common ones are the jezebel, a sexually loose, hot, erotic woman; the mammy, a loyal servant and nurturing mother figure, usually considered asexual; the sapphire, an overbearing, demanding women, likened to what we would call a bitch; and finally, the tragic mulatto, who reflects a mixed-race child attempting to pass for white and are usually unhappy.

So what do these stereotypes of African American women have to do with Latinas? From researching the different characters that have appeared on television shows and movies staring women such as Jennifer Lopez, Judy Reyes (Carla from “Scrubs”), Michelle Rodriguez, I was able to apply most of the aforementioned stereotypes to many roles. For example, Jennifer Lopez starred in “Maid in Manhattan” as a servant, a common role that can be seen for Latina women. Often, the maids on television shows are not nearly as attractive as Lopez but are older, maternal figures that ascribe to the mammy stereotype. One such example of the typical Latina mammy is Lupe Ontiveros, who has been cast as a maid countless times. There is one that is pervasive for us Latina women and that is the saucy Latina stereotype. The saucy Latina is gossipy, bitchy, curvy, manipulative and eroticized, combining the jezebel and sapphire stereotypes. Judy Reyes’ character is a perfect reflection of this, as well as the aggressive women that Michelle Rodriguez depicts in practically every role she plays, as seen in “Lost” and “The Fast and The Furious”.

What do these stereotypes do to our younger generation? How are we as Latinas treated because of the ideas that our other counterparts get from television? There is nothing wrong with the growing representation of our Latina sisters in the media. I applaud and support the fact that we are becoming more visible in our society. I am proud of the success that all our Latina sisters are having in Hollywood, yet I can’t help but to be a bit concerned that we are getting pigeon-holed as just saucy Latinas who run their mouths a mile a minute, rolling our eyes and being seen as spicy and hot in bed. This may be part of who we are, but is it all we are? Is all we are as Latina women overly sexual and abrasive? What are your thoughts?

When your labor interferes with his vacation time

2010-03-23T16:05:00.000-05:00

So, on Friday, a pregnant woman was 1 day past her due date. Her obstetrician wanted to induce labor….because he was going on vacation on Sunday.

(Insert insane amount of disbelief and anger, along with various curse words concerning asshole decisions…like going on vacation as a legit reason to fuck with a woman and her womb)

The patient has the right to refuse this, but given the factor that most women would like the doctor who’s been seeing them the whole pregnancy to be there when they deliver, some women agree to a premature breaking of the waters (breaking the amniotic sac and therefore starting labor). The problem with this is that if the woman “takes too long”, the medical staff often opts for a cesearean section, because the rule of thumb unbeknowst to some is that the minute there is one unnecessary intervention, the cascade of interventions continues until you have an overdrugged mommy and baby with the likely chance of cutting her open. Interventions sometimes do not improve the labor but rather make it more difficult, due to the drugs working against the natural flow of labor and also agitating the mother’s fragile emotions, often adding tension because the pressure is on to have the baby within a set amount of hours. If a woman is not relaxed, the labor is usually longer and complicated. This in turn then opens up a slew of issues that mothers are not aware of.

We are taught from early on that childbirth is dangerous, risky and life-threatening, as though there is nothing safe about one of the most natural events on earth. It should be noted that hospital births in the span of human gestation and birth is only 90 years old, with it first coming into existence in the beginning of the 20th century.

I don’t disagree that sometimes, medical intervention is absolutely necessary but when someone is having a cesearean section so that their birth fits into their schedule, not only do I see this as a problem but a symptom of an impatient and time-obsessed society preoccupied with playing God.

The baby will come when it’s ready. And the woman I mentioned in the beginning thankfully never had an intervention. She gave birth Friday night, naturally with no interventions whatsoever.

Dear Mami

2010-03-18T18:42:00.001-05:00

Mami,
You are an empty cave where there were once diamonds
Your husband has mined you clean of every last jewel you had left
And left you with coals
You worry that you put too much pressure on us
But that’s the only way you make gems out of something so primordial

Mami,
When did you become scaffolding for his life?
Why can’t you let his house of cards existence collapse without your arms holding every shake or threat of falling?
Let it all fall where it may
Stop bottling your sanity in orange containers with labels telling you the next way you’ll escape your pain tonight
You told me once that the reason you buy so many useless broken things is because there is something broken inside you.
Did you listen to what you said?

Mami,
You still have it in you to transform into butterfly
Stop giving them to me as a gift of silver necklace and hair pins
Instead, break the cocoon he keeps you in and become what I inspire in you

Vaginal Dexterity

2010-03-05T12:05:00.001-06:00

The Jade Egg is a medium sized egg shaped piece of jade that is used vaginally not only for strengthening the pelvic floor and vaginal canal, but also for increasing dexterity, rejuvenating the sexual glands (for lubrication and sexual function), assisting in the transformation of cellular memory and negative emotions related to sexuality, awakening the vaginal tissues, increasing the length of the cervical neck (longer cervical necks are associated with being more orgasmic) and much more

The use of a stone or Jade Egg to strengthen the vagina is a practice that evolved in ancient China. As time went on, the secret of this practice remained in the Royal Palace and was taught only to the queen and concubines. Many who mastered the technique experienced very good health, remaining young and bountiful, with sexual organs in old age as tight and resilient as those of a young, unmarried lady. Some believe that the queen and concubines practiced the technique in order to please the king while making love. Using the Jade Egg is exactly what you think it is. It’s Kegel exercises but with a jade egg inside you.

…I own one of these. And am working out at any given moment. Let me tell you, it’s quite the interesting journey. I mean, if I’m going to be talented in every way I can possibly be, I may as well be vaginally talented too. Just saying.

Where I end and she begins...

2010-02-26T12:20:00.000-06:00

In writing this novel..I feel like I’m two different people. The writer and the protagonist.

What can be scary is that sometimes I can’t tell where I end and she begins. Not scary enough to stop me from writing it, but I like what she does to me…and I like what I do to her. She’s the parts of me that I’ve always wanted to be and I’m the version of her that she’s still becoming.

In writing her story, I set both of us free. It’s because of her that I have started taking dance classes like I’ve always wanted to. I am starting to wear my sensuality like a second skin that I used to cringe when I felt it on me. Because of her, I am finally booking the flight to the island of my dreams in a few months.

This novel is taking me on an adventure. And by the end of it all, I can’t imagine who she and I will be. But I think I’m going to love them both very much.

Menses is Women’s Vulnerability & Women’s Power. Deny Neither.

2010-02-18T12:57:00.001-06:00

As beings in menstruating women’s bodies, we must come to terms with our cyclical natures. While some women are more affected by it than others, it does operate in all of us. This is not an esoteric concept. It is real-- physically, energetically, and emotionally.

This makes us vulnerable in this culture where Success = being Solar, burning brightly every day. Women are Lunar, having outward times and inward times. The varying effects of hormones in the cycles do have an emotional effect which varies in intensity between women. Ayurvedically, thin & sensitive Vata women tend to express more changeability and are more effected than Pitta women, who tend to be more solar & focused way in general and Kapha women, who are more stable and unchangeable & absorb change. But all have the shifting within going on. When each gets out of balance, the expressions will get more extreme. So we are vulnerable if we stay aware of and express our cyclical nature, vulnerable to being called incapable of success due to being women.

Besides this cultural vulnerability, we are also vulnerable due to the changes of the cycle itself. The changes at the time of menses allow toxins, as well as menses to be released. We also literally open up, both physically (our cervix opens to let the blood flow out) and energy wise (our auras are more open and our energy will go downward to the earth more easily). To accommodate these vulnerabilities women often traditionally separated themselves from their usual tasks and from others who were not bleeding.

If we overeat or eat inappropriately, our digestion can suffer more easily during menses because the energy of fire is going out in the menses. The natural detoxification of this time begs for moderate eating to allow energy to go into that process.

If we over exercise or over work we can over stimulate the fire of the menses. If not remedied, this can lead to pitta aggravated symptoms or diseases of reproduction such as excess flow, fibroids or endometriosis. Over exercising can also push the toxins released in the natural detoxification of menses into body tissues instead of releasing them. Talking too much or doing spiritual practices that raise the energy upward during this phase will go counter to the flow of downward energy and can cause menstrual or reproductive problems if continued long term.

If we put ourselves in situations where we are connecting with the energy field of another person (giving body or energy work, psychotherapy or other healing work sessions, or having sexual relations) we are open enough to much more easily take on their energy/karma, as well as give them ours. This is why in many native traditions bleeding women would isolate themselves at this time & not participate in the spiritual ceremonies of the tribe.

The womanly cycle is also most obviously the power of potential creation at work within our female body. Giving birth to physical babies is not the only creativity we carry in our wombs. For millennia, this power was worshipped by humans in the form of the Goddess, each woman honored as embodiment of that power in her individual form.

Another great power of our cyclical nature is that the openness & inwardness creates a time when women can tune in to inner wisdom and messages from the subtle worlds. Another reason women would separate themselves was to have space to dream & vision, alone & with their sisters who were also bleeding. This guidance was a great resource for themselves and for the tribe.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, in Women Who Run With the Wolves shares a modern view. She suggests that we use menses as a time to notice what it is time to let go of. We are in a physiological state of letting go of the possibility of pregnancy for that cycle. To let go psychospiritually & emotionally at this time is natural. As Won She’, another wisewoman midwife says,” Women give birth & women give death.” This giving death aspect of womanhood is greatly denied in this culture, just as the embodiment of it is: the Crone. During our bleeding time we get to practice being wisewomen crones, if we afford ourselves some time to do so.

From *http://www.wisewomanhood.com/index.htm

she is like water.

2010-02-13T13:06:00.000-06:00

she is the rapid quickening of water puddling around your feet
rising quickly without warning
she is the submersion until the point of barely being suffocated by the mouthful
unpredictable yet dangerous with just the threat of turbulence

she can become a storm rather unannounced if you haven't the slightest idea how to feel her waves before she becomes a tidal one
breaking into river rapids that eventually become a still lake
she can cradle you as you relax like death touched you, floating carelessly and calmly

2.12.10

2010-02-12T20:36:00.001-06:00

I don't know if I am strong enough to be this vulnerable
With my tendency to run with the wind when I consider you
You forgive the way plants push through once harden soil to be in plenty again
I am quiet like a land blanketed by snow

When I think of what I lost
I question why I left it
So openly
In the lines of your hands
They tell me I am still whole
I know it is because I could not carry everything of the pieces I made
Like oak tree mourning her leaves crushed and crumbled beneath the weight of being ephemeral
You were the end of autumn, a harvest of the things we planted in each other
Just to see what would come of it

Is my memory laminated and plastic, to never know the ways time ages us into wisdom?
Or am I a grainy, faded photograph full of every night you stared at it
Holding it with your fingers, letting your prints embed themselves in me
All the age was instigated by you; you couldn't help yourself

Were we a premature birth that should have never made it past the incubator
Or that fighting child who doesn't care that it came too soon because it could wait no longer for permission?

I push myself wide open to find the answer again
Wrestling with regret that threatens to fasten all the exit wounds on my body shut so that your voice could never leave me
Because I cannot be a thousand lifetimes of winter, scared to give spring a chance
When summer beats in my chest, wanting to know the abandon of heat again

Eros

2010-02-11T08:41:00.002-06:00

*excerpt from my novel

Eros in Greek mythology was the primordial god of sexual love and beauty. Eros is passionate love, with sensual desire and longing. Plato refined his own definition: Although eros is initially felt for a person, with contemplation it becomes an appreciation of the beauty within that person, or even becomes appreciation of beauty itself. Eros refers to the romantic love that has tremendous passion, physical longing, deep intensity, and intimacy.

How do I love you? Through the pores of your skin, the feeling of having you deep within…that’s how I love you. My hips sync with yours, moving in and out of each other as our passion collapsed all boundaries of time, order and limitations. Asi te amo. That sexual wanting; the longing to touch your body, to caress each part of your torso as my fingers graze every inch of you. My hands aching to traverse your hip bones, to have my lips on your bare naked flesh as I kiss my favorite parts along the way. Aroused by just the thought of your eyes piercing me, that deliberate stare that follows the curves of my body, your bedroom eyes seducing me even as I stand fully clothed, still. Still waiting to be unwrapped by your nimble fingers as they unlatch, unhook, unfasten, unbutton, unravel the fabrics that keep your skin from mine.

You are burning slow on the end of a blunt on a Friday night; creeping like a chill up my spine, smoldering right before I clip you and enjoy every influence of your high.

Maybe you heard it through my body. As our bodies intertwined and interlocked, was there not conversation made between two on the edge of leaping out of their skin?

What of the passion I took you with?

I love you clavicle, elegant neck, mounds of torso deep. Wanting you inside me deep. That kind of love. And after your body ceases motion, after your breathing has become even and steady, you lay beside me in peace. I am drawn to smile softly at you and gently caress you. There is repose and resignation to sweet surrender in this bed we’ve made ours. We take pause in the twilight of dawn in between sheets; we are weary wanderers of the wind, often never in the same place where the sun rose on us.

We could spend days like this but could never stay. It was a fortunate collision of realities we instigate sometimes when the moon is full, bodies in union for just that moment.

Butterfly on my shoulder docking, I understand.

2010-02-08T12:13:00.000-06:00

you are all the spaces between syllables that i cherish
it is strange how much i want to fill them
anxiously
as though silence, my haven, is foreign

each exhale you release from slightly parted lips speaks volumes of libraries that
i’ve memorized in the darkness of our time together
i am an impetuous bundle of wringing hands, shaking slightly as i study the text embedded in your pectorals
the binding of your story in the hollows of your ribcage remind me of books i’ve bent back in anticipation for the next chapter

Gather The Women

2010-02-05T14:02:00.000-06:00

Gather the women
We are one
Mothers, daughters, sisters, lovers, friends
Because we bleed to bring this world into existence
De una sangre
De un vientre
We come in every possibility of the rainbow
Expressing our power uniquely but remaining one song together
Somos las creadoras
Somos las trabajadoras
Our work is never done
From bringing light to new beings who never knew illumination before we allowed it
To cultivating flowers to bear their fruits as men and women
We are unique in our essence
Loving like mothers do: completely, wholly and patiently
Fighting like warriors to the death in every way we can
Intensitifying the beauty of the world with our feminine mystique
Quien como una mujer?
Que belleza hay como la de una mujer hecha y derecha?

Gather the women
Put down our daggers directed at each other
And let us carry the world together in our arms
Cradle our children and remind them what it means to be held
Tomemonos de las manos; creamos un circulo de oración para nuestro futuro
Vamos a enseñarle a él como ser mas tierno
Donde haiga guerra, que nuestra canción traiga la paz
The hymn of the women
The lyrics of motherhood
The verses of sisterhood
Una hermandad de fuerza simpática
We are one

Dirty Whore

2010-01-28T13:39:00.001-06:00

I was called a dirty whore a few weeks ago.

Before my feminist sisters flip the fuck out about this one, I laughed when I heard him tell me that. The conversation went something like this:

Him: You’re such a dirty whore!
Me: Hell yeah I’m a whore…and I love it!
{Both of us start laughing}

The term “whore” is seen by many women as a heinous thing to be called by anyone. After looking up the definition of “whore”, I came to find out that it’s a sexually promiscuous woman, usually for money. And while my promiscuous days have tapered off in the last couple of years, the conversation made me think of something I talked to my manita about the other day.

I snicker a bit when I hear other women say the things they will and will not do in the bedroom. They set these specific rules and limits on what they’ll do for their man and often sound rather prissy about it. I used to be the same way. And not for nothing, but I was probably a boring, frigid lay. How can you have toe-curling sex if you’ve eliminated all the possibilities of positions and actions?

I know my biggest worry was feeling degraded by agreeing to perform anything the guy would ask from me. First it was giving blowjobs that made me feel like a whore. Then it was doggy style. Then it was hair-pulling. Then it was getting spanked. It was a laundry list of things I simply didn’t want to do. I wanted to be a lady in bed.

I’m not going to elaborate on what things have changed but I will safely say that nowadays I’ll agree to almost anything within reason. Something changed. It was a shift into a “whore-ish” mentality. A womanly power conjured within based on feeling empowered by my sexuality, my sensuality and innate ability to be seductive. An acceptance of the primordial, carnal, sexual urge within me that leaves no room for hesitation or questions, just straight get-inside-me-now! fucking. It reminds me of that lyric,

“I want a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed.”

Who doesn’t? I contemplate why I was able to take the term “dirty whore” as a compliment. Maybe because I love talking dirty to get a guy all riled up before. Maybe because I have no qualms about pleasuring him. Or perhaps I’m finally making some headway with old emotions of feeling ashamed of being so sexual.

Sexuality seeps through my pores. It’s in everything and everyone around me. In a society where many of us deal with repression issues, I think some of us should embrace the little whore inside and let her out to play for a bit.

Perhaps then we can start shifting what we call women. Maybe even change from whore, harlot, slut and prostitute to “sexually liberated woman”.

Just a thought…

1.18.10

2010-01-19T13:21:00.000-06:00

My body is different after you’ve been in it:
Hips wider from accommodating yours grinding into them
Everything, more fluid.
(You warmed my blood; it circulates with more purpose)
Pelvis moving to muscle memory of -
Gyrating, sliding rhythmically with the rest of my serpentine body
Beneath you, facing you
A live wire thrashing some nights
A water hose flagellating

My body is a conduit for electric lightning storms brewing between us;
I study myself naked in the mirror as though you left a map on it.
There are places you left relics buried in
Your echo reverberating in the concaves of my crevices
It is a new land I find myself exploring each dawning day
It is ephemeral, this thing you’ve known.

Student Doula.

2010-01-18T17:22:00.001-06:00

Doulas begin as student doulas. During their training they are required to attended three births as a student, in order to become familiar with the birthing environment. Students have basic theoretical understanding of doula services (as they are currently studying the theory of the doula profession) and can offer their services to laboring women, who may be looking for a doula but do not wish or need the services of a fully qualified doula (also students charge a small fee to cover their costs, and some may charge no fee at all)

^Officially one of these as of 1.11.10.

Bullshittin' With Manita at 3am

2010-01-14T21:05:00.004-06:00

I write this poem to my manita who sat on my bed as I told her about the ways love comes
As she nodded her head
And we agreed that neither of us would ever love the way we loved them before

'Cause I didn't know how to keep my eyes and legs open at the same time
It has always been one or the other
Because I knew that it was dangerous to do both at the same time
They can read your heart through your eyes
The same way you can tell someone is lying if they won't look at you directly
So I would always turn my head to the side whenever I'd slip between the sheets
So that they wouldn't know the truth of how completely uninterested I was

My manita and I had fallen for the typical recipe for Eros
How once upon a time he could undress her with just his eyes
So by the time they got to the bedroom, she couldn't wait to give it up
'Cause damn! That sex was off the hook!
And we both agreed
That we can't bring ourselves to have sex with just anyone ever again
You'd be mad as hell if that shit is wack
Because any woman will tell you that wack sex will make her more cranky
Than if she wouldn't have bothered at all
So fellas, if she rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth when you're done
You done did it wrong

That good dick will get you gotten
My manita threw her head back and laughed because she knew it was true
The fucking kept us coming back
Staying the night was what made us fall in love
I confessed to her that there was one kind of love that maybe shouldn't be called love
That skin to skin type of emotion where no conversation is needed
And even when you try to walk away
You get more excited, a little wet even
Thinking about the things he will do to your body
When he gets you alone
On some make your legs go rubbery type of shit
Can't even stand up for a few minutes after type of shit
And if you still don't know the answer to the question
Of whether women love with their hearts or their vaginas
Let me tell you a story about the one time she stopped closing her eyes
He opened his chest and asked her if she loved him
She opened her legs and told him she did

It's funny, she said after we stopped dying of laughter
You feel understood for some reason, like you might know them
Even if you don't really know them aside from memorizing every part of their body
You forget, I interjected, that you can know someone in the biblical sense
What?
Yea, yo. In the Bible when they would say that a man knew a woman, it meant sex
Ohhhh shit? For real?
"And Adam knew his wife and she bore him a son..."
So THAT'S what they meant!
Yup.

There is no real conclusion to be reached
'Cause my manita and I, we'll just have to keep navigating the waters of interactions
To find the different ways you can love someone
And I told her that if anyone tells her that there was no love in that bed she shared with him
Even though it ended terribly
She should cross her legs, narrow her eyes and pierce them with her stare
And tell them that they don't know shit about love spasms that rock your body
That not everyone loves the same way
Especially...
If that shit was good.

Slightly Altruistic

2010-01-11T23:47:00.001-06:00

Let me be frank for a moment. The pursuit of my life work and my art is not completely altruistic. To add to that statement, most every artist I know, consciously or not, operates on this truth. I write to heal myself. I share because sometimes others can't put what we feel into words the way I can. And in sharing, I know I help facilitate a way to a path for even just one person to understand something about themselves.

Rainer Maria Rilke wrote once that good art comes out of necessity. He wrote a young poet about art and creation, telling the young man that if he was writing to seek the approval of others, that he was doing it for the wrong reason. Instead, one must create out of need. I subscribe to this belief, as it is very real in my own expression of art as a writer, poet, nude model and healer. I write to dismantle my psyche and find the big ugly monsters that aren't so scary when I examine them in the light. I write because I need to scream loudly constantly and the world I live in can't handle what I have to say some of the time. My poetry are memoirs of everything I've ever loved, for in my pages of rhyme and scheme, I can love them eternally between words and syllables. In my poetry I can confess the things that make my heart heavy and light all at the same time.

I can't pinpoint exactly the moment I decided to be a nude model (art model, fine arts model, whatever.) It was definitely before college that I was fasinated with nudity. I gained a great deal of confidence through my modeling, being able to study my body and its evolution, as well as my own evolution, as every photo shoot is loaded with emotions. Each one has a story behind it and a phase of life I'm going through. Looking at my pictures I see how I've progressed, remembering not only the day the pictures were taken but also what was happening in my life.

I had my first photo shoot in about a year or so the last week of last year with a photographer I met in '08 but never got to work with. I got the pictures while I was at work the other day. I had an unexpected reaction to them, as they are different from any pictures I've taken before. At first, I almost didn't look at them, scared to see my naked body in such an honest, non-posing way (meaning I didn't pose for 90% of the time; he just wanted to capture me in my natural essence). Then I looked at them more closely and found that they were absolutely gorgeous photographs.

I felt parts of me heal as I looked at these pictures. I felt myself forgive the scars that made me leave modeling for a year. The pictures have a vulnerability that I used to be scared of but am embracing now.

I saw myself. And I have the overwhelming urge to share all my pictures with everyone, all the naked ones I have. To show them how I've healed and where it used to hurt for a year. I'm not ready to do that just yet, mostly because of my parents, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there (again).

There is vanity in modeling, for sure. But make no mistake about it; my art is very self-centered. Because I need to create. Because I need to express myself. Because I need to evolve. I always hope, however, that somehow my own healing process helps others understand their wounds too.

Confessions of a 24-Year Old Gypsy

2010-01-04T23:02:00.006-06:00

And then it dawns on me. I've become what I once frowned on when young, and became increasingly intrigued by as I got older. In looking for a job I don't really want to get money I wish I didn't need to pay bills I already forgot how I accumulated the debt for, I recognize some traits in my personality that have slowly been becoming part of how I operate.

For starters, I am pickier about where I work than I was only 3-4 years ago. Gone are the days when I used to take a retail job and be miserable for the sake of having money. In its place, you have this artist who has decided to sweep and mop the floors of an elementary school with her mother since it's the first thing that fell into her lap when she moved back home. To think that I spent a year doing what I love to have to come home and start over again. That's the thing about life. There seems to be a hidden "restart" button on this machine of a life that some invisible, benevolent (I like to think it's a good thing) finger jams into it and sends my whole life into the burst-into-flames-become-ash-rise-again mechanism of continuous transformations.

I'm like a million different people from one day to the next, never waking up as the same person who laid her head to rest.

Another interesting personality trait I've picked up recently has been a sort of "laziness". The one associated with people who would rather sit and write, smoke, fuck, sing, drink, watch the weather change, love, dance, paint, help others and/or live than have a desk job. I can't say I'm working too hard to combat this laziness as I sit here, writing this blog, contemplating a bowl downstairs in the basement with air freshener on hand to hide the smell from the parents, and search for a job that won't bore me too bad.

There are days it hits me. Carmen, you're fucking almost 25 years old, you graduated from college almost 3 years ago, you refuse to have a boring job, you've moved 7 times since you've graduated and you're back in your parents' house working as a janitor while trying to figure out the best way to live whilst being broke. Get it the fuck together.

Then the thought comes. What I perceive as having it together is vastly different than what my mom thinks it is.

Man, I used to be such a good little drone. I used to get a job and stick to it until I had to leave it for reasons other than, "I want to do my art," or "This is not what I want to do with my life," two phrases that amalgamate some days when I switch to yet another job. No wonder people can't take my resume seriously. I had 4 job changes in one year. Talk about inconsistent. I had a job interview last month ask me about my work experience, mainly concerning the parts I included about poetry. I'm pretty sure I didn't get the job because artists are thought to be flaky. They asked me if I was that type of artist. I lied on the interview, telling them I'm not flaky nor will I leave to pursue a better opportunity. I don't think they believed me.

I haven't committed to anything for longer than a couple of months outside of working at the New York Studio School (best job ever!) and being an undergrad for 4 1/2 years. In fact, the only consistent works I have in life are my writing, the collective, my dreams, my empathy and in recent years, art modeling. My mother is pushing for me to get professional help because I lack the desire to get a job that requires a 9 to 5 day and some nice clothes.

She said I looked like a curandera the other night when I had the bangles on my wrist. I think she meant it as insult; I smiled and took it as a compliment.

A curandero (or curandera for a female) is a traditional folk healer or shaman in Latino America, who is dedicated to curing physical or spiritual illnesses.

I think she knows I am not staying. Deep down inside she knows everything she needs to know about her daughter. That it's possible that her daughter is not normal and is in fact weirder than her wildest dreams. That her daughter hates wearing jeans and will probably live in leggings for the rest of her life. That her daughter is going to take off on another adventure and no one will know when she'll be back again. Like a gypsy.

The Way I Age (Work in Progress)

2010-01-04T14:04:00.002-06:00

It is always in summer that age finds me
In my dance facing sunbeams pouring into my room early July morning
There is heat now
There is GoD in the dust dancing around me
Rooftop watching the sun couple with the city skyline, I exhale in surrender
To steamy hot nights in darken rooms and rows of sweaty cold drinks, the music carrying sounds of el clave, congos and cuartos
I became experienced in moments of walking through the crowd, slightly drunk with wide eyes taking it all in
All of the smells, the perfume, the sangria, the bodies
I became known in the art of human interaction, learning that I learn through others, be it over a Friday night dinner date with the goddess or waking up later in between sheets after a text message trail with the painter

In the cold of winter, just the embers were enough as we stayed indoors waiting
Spring nudged the sleep from our eyes, the trees budding and full of the promise for bloom in May
I remember
The way apple blossoms lay on Park Slope sidewalks as I stroll down the street hopeful for fresh strawberries
Soon the fruit will arrive
After the pollen is disbursed and has taken root
It will all come to a fever pitch
In a midsummer night dream at a party with your hands up and your hips moving
On a red hot night in August as the plenty of the earth is fertile, the life force at its peak

Time rubbing away the shades of past hurts, as I come to find the wisdom gained from the madness of youth
I see myself in the reflection of the lake illuminated by full moon
As I feel the slow wrinkling of the skin around my eyes, I am fine wine getting better with age...

...and now I'll be taking a vacation.

2009-11-30T11:12:00.002-06:00

Move Your Body Like a Snake, Ma

2009-11-28T11:16:00.001-06:00

Move your body like a snake ma
Rock to the rhythm of the drums
Gliding pelvis into figure 8, gyrating hips to contest with the ground I dance on

I move my body like a snake
Undulating misunderstood traumas of my foremothers who used to dispel horrors by vibrating with drums
I am open, hips wide communicating with percussion, challenging the drummer to see if I can influence a change in pattern

Yo bailo, sensualmente con mis manos en la cabeza
Como diosa belly dancing to the drums in the Mediterranean
To invoking Oshun in my body and letting the deity out

This serpent moves up my spine awakening the sleeping goddess within
Work my body like a 9 to 5
The only true investment worth watching my seat beat the ground for

Soliloquy for the Space Between

2009-11-20T09:04:00.000-06:00

Poetry
Not just a way to show mastery of verbally manipulative Jedi mind tricks
But my way of expressing the metaphors that breath around me

A blade of grass is human
Similes raining on me like a weeping sky

Sometimes sensual sensations on seamless skin sedate or stir the titillating tremors of tempting territories not known previously
I contemplate my awareness of solitude as I spend hours in my own confines of creature comforts
Learning to co-exist with the watcher within, who beckons me to perch myself on the other end and gaze into her eyes

I knock back memories without a chaser, recognizing that I must ingest that fungus among us even if I am momentarily ill
Clawing at this flesh is a wild thing of sorts
Seeking to travel multidimensional to every place I've ever loved:
- That little warm bar on a corner in Spanish Harlem
- The middle of a dusty sculpting studio floor, wooden box draped with fabric as I inspire creations of earthen mediums
- Black-top cracking rooftop in Sunset Park
- A stone step on the stairs of Union Square as the allure of the horizon pulls the sun closer

Moments captured in the fluttering in my chest, that cause the quickening of my time here
I can say I am glad to have known the struggle to beget a world of conglomerated twinklings, specks of mere light called possibilities

There isn't so much as a drop of regret nor resignation to the influences of learning how to traverse the basins of your clavicles
Wandering carefully along the landscape of your torso, discovering mounds, valleys in your abdomen
(They remind me of my own)
As I rest my lips in the canyon of your hipbone
(I will kiss you there softly; to tell you that you are divine)
I trust that the apex of the arch my body creates over the threshold of this place we cross over from duality to simplicity is held stable by your hand

Sometimes we don't even touch
Breathing this way

2009-11-13T13:37:00.002-06:00

if we did nothing
with these dreams we have conjured
none of this would be.

never tell a child
woman, or man to stifle
a belief in peace

you clipped my wings once
words slicing through my wingspan
angry you can't fly.

earth-bound

2009-11-12T14:23:00.004-06:00

wounded dove
like broken sails on battered storm-weary boat
nothing knocks the wind out of you
like being told you've flown too high

and even though these clipped wings are strong enough
to contest with the jet streams
i don't know if i trust myself or the course chosen
'cause nothing is more discouraging than being told
that you're too starry-eyed

perhaps you meant well
i used to find solace in the clouds
grabbed at my feet, i sunk to earth
and i've forgotten how to fly
forgotten how to construct a nest
with the dreams i used to be so sure of
forgotten my wingspan
for the sake of being realistic
mundane and more simple

where does a earth-bound bird dwell
if all they've known was the sky?

Mic Check

2009-11-12T13:22:00.000-06:00

Ever wonder what a microphone might be thinking? Let's listen...

On an empty dark stage I wait, still and silent in my contemplation of my reservation
My voice is just an echo, reverberating my brief affairs with your lips
The lights go up and the stage comes alive, the show depending on me to make the performer known in complete amplification
I ache to be touched
To be pressed up against your body as you grip mine
Your lips spill their passion onto mine and I echo…
I echo
I feel every quaking muscle of your hands twitch and spasm as your voice booms to the rhythm of your heart
No one notices me but you
Yet if anyone looked more closely, they’d notice how you hold me right up against your chest
They’d be jealous to feel what I feel
To hear what I hear
I laugh silently ‘cause you’re so absent minded about my presence in your life yet your hands know where to clutch me
Your lips tease the location we meet
Your voice sends frequencies I imitate for those who wish they knew you as intimately
So the next time we meet
Remember what’s the first thing your hand goes for before your voice proclaims freedom from your chest
And I always got you on the flipside of the science of sound waves playing to an audience on their feet for you

Grievance to Cupid, #143...

2009-11-03T15:33:00.003-06:00

Clearly, the path to love for me is devoid of simplicity or reason
A thicket of emotions that I have yet to find definitions for
I am always asking the question of how to reconcile body and heart
Finding that the former is more reactive than the latter
Knowing that latter is easily swayed by the former

Is this a worthy way to love you? Through each pore that opens for you?
I translate what I could say into what I can do
I am a wanderer searching for the oasis of your body
Forgetting the hangover that too much of you causes me
Binding myself to keep still as pain sears through my heart

What the fuck is love and where can I behead the motherfucker who made it a goddamn riddle?
I want nothing of calm, peaceful or amicable hand-holding (the way I'm feeling)
I felt love in places no one wants me to speak about
Choking on the things I'd like to say to you, fearing what would happen if I did
With my history of operating on impulse, I feel it much safer to asphyxiate myself with words I can't bring myself to say
I'm liable to choke out Cupid these days...

...Bastard.

Te Lo Digo...

2009-11-03T00:17:00.001-06:00

1.
Que es la muerte sin vida?
O el viento sin aire?
Una existencia sin error
Es como la perfección sin esfuerzo

Solo el artista verdadero reconoce
Que hasta la belleza más asombrosa fue una vez mediocre

Y que esta pintura extraordinaria no esta completa, solamente abandonada.

2.
Momentos existen sin reglas del tiempo

De repente no respiro, completamente fascinada con la eternidad profunda de mi alma; mis ojos mojados con agradecimiento que soy digna

A veces se me olvida que soy infinita, cegándome con esta tentación de la piel; veo tantas visiones que mi mente frágil no puede soportar

De repente no oigo nada, apagando la música de mi mundo, callando la canción de mi corazón

A veces se me olvida que soy diosa, con esta muerte falsa de mi duda; bailo en mi luz, moviendo mis caderas con el ritmo de mi vida

Aunque me mate mis demonios, existo en este momento tan feliz de respiración.

2009-10-29T14:25:00.002-05:00

in the silence that enveloped the air we tried not to choke on
i realized that sitting down doesn't make bad news sound better
if anything, it makes so that i watch the way your mouth forms the words
how you pause between syllables, deciding where to stress
and where to strike softly
if anything, being halfway vertical makes it easier to be completely horizontal
as the news took effect on me, convincing me to hide out in the privacy of blankets
these things are never easy to say
all that sitting down does is prevent my legs from giving out under me
as the ground threatens to collide with me

and so it is...

2009-10-25T18:27:00.002-05:00

if i could just lay here and dig my feet into this ground
make the earth stop spinning so every life i've lived
can collide with the present moments that seem to be
blending into each other like eyeshadow i never wear

i am a young thing
so fickle, strong-headed and full of mistakes that i can't take back
submerged in this human condition that lacks foresight
but draws wisdom from hindsight

2009-10-24T21:45:00.000-05:00

the hardest times to write poems
is when you have too much to say
and not enough words to properly convey the feeling.

Hija De Mi Madre - Abstract

2009-10-12T21:40:00.000-05:00

This literary work is the end of a chapter in my life. It is the culmination of experiences and undergraduate research that describe and explain the effects of my identity as an African Latina on my life. It is a combination of memoirs, poems and research material that not only explain the effects of race on identity from an academic standpoint but also shares my own life as a living example. Self-hatred is a disease that runs rampant throughout much of the African Diaspora due to colonization and the dehumanization that occurred at that time. In the Latino culture, the African component of the Latino identity is often ignored, denied and is not usually a subject that is up for discussion. As one can imagine, being an Afro-Latino is not easy because of these factors but being a woman adds an entirely different dimension to this. Not only do Afro-Latinas have to deal with the constant racism in their own culture, but they have also had to endure sexism as well. In this work, part of what the research entails is the history of how Afro-Latinos came to be in this world, as well as phenotype in relation to how Latinos define themselves. Included is also research pertaining to Black Feminism, the destruction of African hair in America and women and religion on the Caribbean islands. This additional research is meant to properly describe not only the Latina aspect of an Afro-Latina's identity but also the African and female aspects as well. The research is embedded in my life story explaining how my self-hate affected different parts of my life and how I started my journey to self-love.

Available for sale at: http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/hija-de-mi-madre/768221

nyc love affair

2009-10-12T00:40:00.003-05:00

we broke up some time ago
you and i
for reasons we both could not control
i said i'd write you every chance i could
and i still find the notes i wrote on the metrocards we shared

these days, it's like i can't lift my eyes to meet yours anymore
from loving your glow to some days feeling like you're blinding me
and somehow, you can still find it in you to love a fickle lover
one who adores you when the skies are clear
and hates you when it all comes out in the wash

i am trying to stay in love with you
catching remnants of past moments in our affair as i ride the trains
slithering 'round your underground, letting me see all of you
as i kissed your neck in the bronx
whispered in your ear on the east side of harlem
while skimming my fingertips 'round the curves of your midtown
we spent nights overlooking the skyline from brooklyn
and thought we had something

maybe i was too quick to judge your adventures with the rest of your callers
leaving me disheveled and confused
new york city, it takes a strong person to stay with you
and an honest person to tell you how hard it is to leave you.

some things that just are

2009-10-11T21:23:00.004-05:00

the battle will always be
my sense of adventure vs. the responsibilities imposed on me by society.

the conflict will always be
detesting the existence of money and yet needing it to navigate the waters of industrialized survival.

one dilemma that will continually plague me
why is love both the sickness and its cure?
(at least these days i'm not making proclamations that in a few years i'll look back on and shake my head for being so idealistic)

a headache that will constantly suffocate me
the reality that i have no control over
('cause some days, i feel almost too aware of being alive)

the most important question of my life
why am i here?

del viento

2009-10-10T20:21:00.004-05:00

mujer del viento
con el sol en sus alas
consultando con la luna llena en cielo estrellando
una viajera de ola, estrellándose con la tierra
devorada por el mar en las horas del amanecer

un corazón profundo
fuente de amores y dolores sin palabras
cuerpo de hierro
alma de luz
y un siglo de aventuras buscado coro en otras tierras
buscado soledad en los rincones de su fogosidad

between the void

2009-10-08T12:32:00.002-05:00

between love and hate
is us
trying to construct peace across two
who used to be amalgamated
before we were stood here with arms stretched out
as if we were strong enough to survive crucifixion
before this all once formless idea was terminated
and became autonomous pieces of cosmic things

men of a certain age

2009-10-08T10:34:00.003-05:00

the skin beneath his eyes is deflated
once taunt and sleek, now just support for tears
there is looseness under glossy eyes
adorned along the edges with wrinkles
giving away each worry that found a home in that silence of flesh
an older man, with a seemingly simple, quieter life
it is a heavy resignation that sits in the smoke from his cigarettes
living the shampoo-rinse-repeat life without much aspiration
a car drive seems just that much straining on levels of comfort
when the basins under his visions wait
to gather the pieces of himself
that he can't pierce though the lump in his throat

how to understand a man past a certain age who are victims of old man-club rules:

accept that their lives are on autopilot, and they will most likely live the rest of their existence as a provider.

know that your joy is their joy too; they've given up years ago to see you take leaps they couldn't (or didn't let themselves take).

expect limited displays of emotions. it's not that they're not capable, it's just that there wasn't enough space for them to break down in the midst of those who wanted him to be a man.

writer's apology

2009-10-06T08:01:00.004-05:00

to begin, first let me apologize
for not being sorry that i am a writer
i can be difficult when i am involved with my words
schizophrenic in my element of storyteller
at times forgetting where i end and she begins

it is no easy feat to be wracked by the madness
of needing to escape to the corners of memories
and live again, for the second time
emotions
scenarios
thoughts
forcing them to intravenously leave my hand
let the ink dry

emotionally conflicted by the breath of my existence
i wonder if every soul is so turbulent
or if i just happen to be more aware
of the quiet tempest that stirs my essence

forgive me for my permanent state of instability
for trying so hard not to be taken by the current
and slipping under the force of my unconscious complexes
how does one stay with something so ephemeral?

i've always had trouble apologizing
the words etched permanently in my journals are not so forgiving
and sometimes, their lack of ability to hide the truth
makes each moment i spill on parchment purposeful

speak, woman

2009-09-25T08:18:00.002-05:00

i want to speak like the wind
into each pore open on your flesh
and be the reason for your goosebumps

my voice is imprisoned in my throat
and i don't know how to yell
i was never loud
but there is someone shouting in my chest

she wants to be heard
a message that needs to circumnavigate the globe
and nudge nations into full bloom
she is taunt like a warrior
and braver than i am right now

i speak so softly
scared of my own sound
i have mastered how to speak under my breath
and have become offensive, cowardly and shy
while she keeps screaming in my chest
the presence that intimidates when i am silent

28/28 - for the woman i never wrote about

2009-09-24T20:56:00.004-05:00

i couldn't explain it to you if i tried
why i found you so sensual
because sexy is too cheap for your elegance
and the richness of your skin
brushed with freckles as though
they dusted you with paint before they let you go

i didn't plan to touch you
you made me feel shy
like a girl trying to impress a woman
i remember your breasts
and how full they were
naked in the shower
you were a playful slippery thing
asked me to rinse your hair
asked me to cup your breast in my virgin hands

dinner was a nervous twitch in my eye
and a sly little smile on your face
we laid in the dark in separate beds first
you made love to me with neruda
his voice filling the air between us

you were so wet
and so patient
even though i was too inexperienced to make you cum
you held me like i was beautiful
and we fell asleep, like naked angels
like bare skinned goddesses at dawn
like two women enjoying each other's bodies

27/28 - for the woman who was molested

2009-09-21T19:19:00.003-05:00

pushed to the far edges of a mind that will simply
refill your queue of things to think about
it will come to the front when you least expect to deal with it

ashamed that you were in a reality you were not old enough for
not numb enough for
not shatter-proof enough for
you repress the scenes that make you feel dirty
that make you feel tainted and ugly

at best, you will feel a little free when you finally say it out loud
at worst, you will feel a little crazy
afraid to tell your mother
scared to start a family scandal

a person is not a vacuum
they are built from fragments of memories
and scars of emotion
and when monsters climb into fairy tales
you will never want to play pretty pretty princess anymore
and will hate playing house

at best, you will feel nothing but your pain
at worst, you will feel dirty
at times you will feel like you made it up
and one day, you might feel pure and whole again.

26/28 - for the woman afraid of her body

2009-09-21T11:10:00.008-05:00

you've been trusted with a portal
that's far more trouble than you can handle
you are unclean when you bleed
and you're a bitch for being uncomfortable

that's what they've told you

hands between thighs is an immoral act
don't you know you are the original sin?
you are to be chaste and completely unsexual

that's what they've told you

stop.

1. purchase a small mirror and place it between your legs
draw a map of your valleys, your mountains and your rivers
memorize them

2. close your eyes and feel each contour on your body
squeeze your breasts, know every lump in them
measure the distance from your ribcage to your hips
and make it a requirement of any man you allow in your bed
to accept all measurements as they are

3. learn what makes your clitoris throb full with blood
massage it, fantasize, touch yourself
orgasm loudly
let every goosebump appear
and curl your toes
arch your back
be beautiful in your moments of ecstasy

4. your mother's mother's mother gave birth in her house
childbirth is not dangerous, it is your special talent
they put the fear in you so that you can hand your power over
it is not punishment to have a womb
it is your gift

5. tell them where it hurts
cry, bitch, moan
scream your head off
and name your pain

6. add to this list as you see fit.
remove all fear of being born a woman.

Walk with Warriors

2009-09-20T21:57:00.003-05:00

I love women. Deeply. From a young age, I have been fascinated with my femininity and the femininity of women around me. Yet my relationship with them has been a unfolding one, so to speak. For a long time, the way I interacted with women reflected how I felt about my mother. Unconsciously, I made friends with girls who I didn't really want to be friends with and was in a way ashamed to have them around me. I felt a similar way about my mother. She wanted to be my friend, and I didn't really want to but felt bad if I would have said no, at the age of 7. I spent some of my life ashamed that my mother didn't have a white-collar job. Then, when she got diagnosed with being bipolar and had to depend on others after being so used to seeing her be uber-super self-sufficient, her weakness made me sad and angry. That was reflected in a friend I used to have, who was ill in many ways.

I share these thoughts because in the last 2 years, I've attracted women who are the opposite of all those things...and have helped me see my mother for who she really is. The most influential women who have been on this path to reconstructing a positive, empowering image of myself as a woman and other women around me are close poets and writers. These women have creating a ripple effect in appreciating the women I perceived as weak in my everyday life. I can write about all these women for pages on end, but there is one woman I feel very drawn to write about right now: Vanessa Martir.

I met her last summer as I was undergoing some intense shifts in personality and spirituality. This woman is fierce. Straight up. At first I was intimidated by her, but I learned to get past that and see her for who she is - an incredibly strong woman with a big heart and even bigger dreams. I had the fortune of living with her for a couple of months and she is hands down the best roommate I've had. I watched her grind every single day, getting her beautiful daughter to school, going to work, editing her novel, writing another one, performing here, going there...unstoppable almost. It was the first time I got to see a woman in action without being . The experience floored me. I learned so much from her. The biggest lesson though was understanding how she and many women are warriors. Like kicking ass in the morning, taking names in the evening type warriors. Down to go toe to toe with anyone for the people they love type warriors. Not afraid to admit they are scared type warriors. And most importantly, knowing your voice. Vanessa is spellbounding when she speaks. She speaks from her heart, soothingly, forcefully and with certainty. This friendship helped me look at myself and my life, and where I needed to strength and become firm in.

I won't say I never knew that I could be strong or am already, but it was made more clear living with her. And it made me look at my mother and have compassion. And be proud. My mother is a warrior. She raised three kids while holding down herself and her husband and a job. And she has her weaknesses, and fully lets herself be one with her tears when she needs to be. It's funny to say this but I had to forgive her and all women for being so multidimensional because I didn't accept how multidimensional I was as well.

So, if I haven't said it before, thank you Vanessa. Thank you Alicia, Caroline, Tracy, Megan, Naomi, Miles, Sierra, Kristen, Monica, Stephanie, Madrina.....Mami for showing me to walk with warriors...who will soothe you, dazzle you, enchant you and put a foot in your ass if they have to.

25/28 - for the woman who refuses to be broken in -

2009-09-18T20:36:00.004-05:00

ask me why i cannot be still
why this is just the calm before the storm
there is vinegar in me waiting for baking soda
to cause everything to spill over

you asked me once if there was ever a time in my life
that i didn't want to just be tame
if i was ever anything other than a wild thing
who wore a bridle without tossing and kicking up
and kept a bit in her mouth long enough to be ridden safely

i was told that all i need was to be broken in
tried on and walked around in, a pair of leather shoes
something to be molded around another body
i was told
i had duties, a cloud whose only purpose was to rain
instead of holding heaviness too uncomfortable to be discussed
that i needed to know my place as the one with the wound that bleeds
just so you know i can still be filled with your inheritance
you want to count each coin, each nickle pouring from me

manners must be perfect
and i must always be gracious, forgiving and kind
like your mother

boy
i am not your mother
i am still that quiet tempest you met
needing to clench the muscles in my eyes to prevent from flooding all over you
i am not your towel that you can wipe your hands all over
and just left to lay there

it is not easy to be a wild thing
i am in constant revolt with myself
and you are not helping by wanting to saddle me and own me
i am
fickle
lithesome, limber
supple body
legs of oak
elegant in my element of huntress

domesticate another animal
another one more submissive than i am ever willing to be
and ask yourself
did you want a woman
or did you want to be a master?

24/28

2009-09-16T18:40:00.002-05:00

stepping on your judgment calls by accident while searching for my glasses among the leaves
your infectious words bury themselves into my skin
i am allergic to your critics
but i won't die like thomas jay

what do you have to show for your dreams?
you string the esteem of others on a wire for your sick hateful pleasure
it takes more courage to do
than it does to shoot down

23/28 - cupid

2009-09-15T08:24:00.003-05:00

the other patients are incurable; some caress their own lips, shadowing the ghosts of all those who once robbed a kiss
a woman has been given a vibrator to fuck herself into the perpetual orgasm she desperately chased
somedays, she weeps because she knows it's just a toy
other days, her eyes are rolled back because she thinks someone will finally touch her
maybe the god she moans for
maybe the demon within

a room full of men, chaffing from rigorously stroking themselves into pleasure
hoping the hollowness that screams for only an understanding soul will quiet itself with the bodily spasms
it's been a while now and all i can touch is my own body
as though it needed to feel the apology of a former banshee, tired of heralding the tiny deaths

the doctor shows me to the door, releasing me of this clinic i admitted myself to long ago
"i think you finally understand that the wound was just a warning, not an aphrodisiac."
at last the arrow dislodges itself from my side, i can see clearly in my farewell
"it's been fun, cupid. go tend to your other patients."

22/28

2009-09-15T08:02:00.000-05:00

Pídeme la luna y te daré las estrellas
Aunque quieras mover las aguas, no puedo darte el poder
Pídeme el sol y te daré las nubles
Tú no eres lo suficiente fuerte para trabajar tanto; y tú siempre hacido mejor con lluvias
Pídeme el mar y te daré las olas
Aunque te pares orgullosamente, te tumbare, hijo de la arena
Pídeme una palabra y te daré silencio
No quiero ni si quiera un poema contigo

Mercury Retro...

2009-09-14T12:51:00.001-05:00

For anyone interested.....

Mercury is retrograde in Libra from September 7th until September 29.

"The purpose of Mercury retrograde is to review and revise our life and our connection with reality. The timing of this universe is geared toward the Sun as it moves through the zodiac. Mercury has an orbit that at times gets ahead of the Sun allowing... us to look into the future toward new and innovative ideas. However, we cannot continue in that vein until we come back to the present designated by the Sun and put our new ideas into manifestation. During the time that Mercury jumps ahead, we ultimately have to bring the ideas back into the present to test and evaluate to see how they fit into our life. As Mercury retrogrades back into the present, the connection with the Sun happens as we test drive our ideas and re-align with reality and the natural timing of the universe.":

http://www.alphalifetrends.com/mercuryretrograde.html

21/28

2009-09-12T12:28:00.002-05:00

i love her laughter
as she scoots across the floor
babies are pure joy

20/28

2009-09-12T12:25:00.002-05:00

fat camp lied to you.
you are voluptuous, girl
i live in your curves

19/28

2009-09-09T14:56:00.002-05:00

En el silencio de la noche mi pensamientos se resucitan para mandarme a ese lugar desconocido pero tan familiar
Si es demasiado amarte en las lágrimas de mi ser, entonces…que hago con mi vida?
En el silencio oigo los gritos dolorosos mas dentro de mi mente y es lo suficiente para volver a mi locura antigua
Las estrellas ya no brillan como antes; a veces me doy cuenta que estoy respirando con dificultad
Mis oídos son sordos a las vozes que generan maldiciones
Escribiendo con la luz de la luna, se me pasa que no es una lámpara artificial; una simple poetisa con un miserable poema, desenvolviendo su corazón con un bolígrafo

Borrame; hazme de nuevo, quiero volar con las águilas a donde ya no llore mas
Me duelen los ojos de todas las visiones que se me ocurren
Al punto de retirarme, miro a los cielos, mi cielito lindo, y vi que todo es bello

18/28

2009-09-07T11:17:00.003-05:00

i think sometimes we live with the intent on being immortalized
none of us want to be forgotten for the lives we lived
reading biographies feverishly, planning how to be as interesting

if someone would just write the story of
how once upon a time, a dancer fell in love with a drummer
and the time of day when a bunch of them fought injustice
in the streets of their barrio
while trying to figure out how to wage war in love's battlefield
he could convince the masses that they needed to be free
but never understood her need to fly

as she watched the clock
praying for that 17th hour to strike so she can
dance embers into the wooden floors by the band
she could forget the paperwork waiting for her in the morning
he stood quietly by the door, smoking his cigar
observing ties be created
knowing they may not last until sunrise
his past life lingered in the air around him
as he searched for some change at the bottom of his drink

are there enough memories to remember
when we lost ourselves in the abandon of laughter
pushing beds together so we could all lay together
inhaling our youth, exhaling yesterday
inhaling tomorrow, exhaling today
she sits there with the poems she wrote for him last year
and can barely recognize the muse that inspired the words

pushed and pulled by the schism between dreams and waking life
we walk, some nights we stumble as the liquor courses in our veins
who will remember the way she squeezed her hand
when she realized she might be dead sooner than she wanted
he asked her once, as the age crept into his room
a cat staring at him purposefully
if she would remember him like moonlight
she promised she'd write an obituary, as the first page of their story
and if he was lucky, she would call it fiction and let him live on

17/28

2009-09-06T22:06:00.003-05:00

con todas las aventuras que se me ocurren
ando en viaje con el viento que me lleva a pedazos
siento aveces si me quedo aqui
esperando el amanecer a tu lado
un silencio, sin movimiento

siento una inquietud profunda
cuando quieres que me quede un ratito
me distraes con tus palabras
que llenan los huecos en mi cuerpo de madera

parece que se me agota la vida
ahogandome en lo que considero aburrido
pero antes que el crepúsculo nos llego de repente
hay momentos que dejo de correr, y me quedo quieta
cuando oigo tu voz en la noche

16/28

2009-09-06T07:44:00.002-05:00

(“what would a former best friend think about who you are now?” -sean)

i wonder when you found your voice
and lost the nerve to love passionately
i remember when you swore you'd wait until you got married
you were the closest thing to a nun i ever knew
you made me believe there was still something pure about the world

i wonder when you realized the mistake that started with me
and how you lived for 7 years craving the wrong kind of attention
i would have thought the guilt from hurting me would have been enough to heal you
i thought you would have been less self-righteous

i wonder when you finally recognized your own unique beauty
and became comfortable with being a goddess
you know, sometimes i was jealous of you
and to be honest, your reluctance to accept yourself
kept me braver and much more daring than you

and maybe we are all meant to make mistakes at different times
because if you would have lost your head, i may have been lost

13/28

2009-09-02T17:04:00.002-05:00

what happens when these parrallel universes melt into each other?
i slip in between worlds within worlds within worlds of thought

to whom does it matter if i exist?
it this is just a fortunate accident
if a coincidence is just a coincidence,
that nothing was meant to happen and a missed oppurtunity
means nothing but another step not taken

yet this idea of occuring in a vaccum ignores
the delicate thread of this web we can find ourselves tangled in
i am galaxies away from meeting the next world sustained by water
yet moments away from meeting the next alternate reality

in which i cross over from human being to mutated ovum
other days i'm a fallopian tube fugitive
wanted for a missing x chromosome i stole two decades ago

i'm not half the egg i used to be
hurdling head-first hastily along this haphazard horizon

12/28

2009-09-01T14:26:00.003-05:00

it's late summer
the last bit of lazy lounging beckons me to indulge
cloudier, chillier days make me miss sun-filled mornings
missing hot afternoons seeking shade beneath full green foliage

the grass is slowly resigning to the creeping cold that will
extinguish one of its many lives
the big sleep approaches
as the trees reach their third act

red, orange, yellows, browns, colors of maturation
reaping what had been hoped for in a past spring

Why Detox?

2009-08-31T19:44:00.000-05:00

http://www.foodmatters.tv/_webapp/Why%20Detox

Our bodies naturally detoxify everyday as part of a normal body process. Detoxification is one of the body’s most basic automatic functions of eliminating and neutralizing toxins through the colon, liver, kidneys, lungs, lymph and skin. Unfortunately in this day and age, with the pollution found in the air, water and food we eat, our bodies have a hard time keeping up. Our chemicalized diet with too much animal protein, too much saturated and trans fats, too much caffeine and alcohol radically changes our internal ecosystem.

Body systems and organs that were once capable of cleaning out unwanted substances are now completely over-loaded to the point where toxic material remains inside our tissues. Our bodies try to protect us from dangerous substances by setting it aside, surrounding it with mucous and fat so that it will not cause an imbalance or trigger an immune response (some people carry up to 15 extra pounds of mucous that harbors this waste)

Detoxification through special cleansing diets and colonics is the best way to assist your body’s natural self-cleaning system. It is especially important for immune-compromised diseases like cancer, arthritis, diabetes and chronic fatigue. However, even if your diet is good, a spring cleanse can revitalize your system and rid your body of harmful bacteria, viruses and parasites.

******************************************************
http://life.gaiam.com/gaiam/p/10WaystoDetoxifyYourBody.html

Feeling sluggish or out of sync? Having skin problems, aches and pains, or digestive problems? Straying from your healthier habits lately? It might be time for a detox.

Practiced for centuries by many cultures around the world — including ayurvedic and Chinese medicine systems — detoxification is about resting, cleaning and nourishing the body from the inside out. By removing and eliminating toxins, then feeding your body with healthy nutrients, detoxifying can help protect you from disease and renew your ability to maintain optimum health.

"The body has its own natural healing system," says Peter Bennett, N.D., medical director of Helios Clinic in Victoria, B.C., and co-author with Stephen Barrie, N.D. and Sara Faye, of 7-Day Detox Miracle (Prima Health). "Detoxification enhances this system," he explains.

How Does Detoxification Work?
Basically, detoxification means cleaning the blood. It does this mainly by removing impurities from the blood in the liver, where toxins are processed for elimination. The body also eliminates toxins through the kidneys, intestines, lungs, lymph and skin. However, when this system is compromised, impurities aren't properly filtered and every cell in the body is adversely affected.

A detox program can help the body's natural cleaning process by:
1) Resting the organs through fasting;
2) Stimulating the liver to drive toxins from the body;
3) Promoting elimination through the intestines, kidneys and skin;
4) Improving circulation of the blood; and
5) Refueling the body with healthy nutrients.

"Detoxification works because it addresses the needs of individual cells, the smallest units of human life," says Bennett.

How Do You Know if You Need to Detoxify?
Bennett suggests that everyone should detox at least once a year. A short detoxifying program is generally safe; in fact, scientific studies show that a detox is beneficial for health. However, Bennett cautions against detoxifying for nursing mothers, children, and patients with chronic degenerative diseases, cancer or tuberculosis. Consult your health care practitioner if you have questions about whether detoxing is right for you.

Today, with more toxins in the environment than ever, "it's critical to detox," says Linda Page, N.D., Ph.D., the author of Detoxification (Healthy Healing Publications). Page recommends detoxing for symptoms such as unexplained fatigue, sluggish elimination, irritated skin, allergies or low-grade infections; bags under the eyes; a distended stomach even if the rest of your body is thin; menstrual difficulties; or mental confusion.

Fall Equinox Detox

2009-08-31T10:44:00.000-05:00

Cleansing is a rich tradition among humans, throughout all ages and cultures. For thousands of years, body purification has been a part of our rituals for health and well-being. It was used in ancient times as a way to reconnect with the divine. Detoxification is necessary today just to stay healthy!

Detoxing is a way to clean out all the collected waste matter, environmental pollutants, and residue from all the drugs, that are trapped in our bodies. Think about all environmental poisoning from just the pesticides, insecticides and other contaminants that are on most of our foods grown outdoors. These environmental toxins and stresses assault us on a daily basis. Also, we all make unhealthy life choices now and again. Eventually, this situation catches up to us.

According to medical reports, common symptoms of a body overburdened with toxins includes skin and hair problems, along with a deterioration of health, and an increase in disease. Other doctors and researchers believe that toxicity can result in immune suppression and chronic diseases such as cancer and Alzheimer's. Among the benefits of internal cleansing are disease prevention and treatment, weight loss, clean skin, improved flexibility and slowed aging.
(http://www.bodyandfitness.com/Information/Health/detox.htm)

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Last year around this time, I started planning to detox in celebration for the 2nd balancing act of the cosmos, Fall Equinox. With the daylight and nighttime hours in perfect balance, it is the middle point of the pendulum swinging from the longest day of the year (June 21st) to the shortest (December 21st). I pick this time to detox to becoming in sync with what's going on with the earth; as it is a general time in our hemisphere to get ready to harvest what we have sown this year. Not only a harvest of the bounty of the earth and her fruits, but also harvesting plans and goals that have been worked on since we planted those seeds earlier in the year. In a way, to detox and go within is a way to prepare ourselves for the change from warmth to winter's cold, and also, to help get back on track with those diets we resolved to keep at New Year's.

There are different ways to detox. I chose to do a master cleanse, while others choose a fruit/veggie juice fast, or just a raw food diet for 7-10 days. It was good to do it with other people last year, as a group of women and myself kept in touch over the detox period to keep each other on track. I invite anyone who is interested to join me in whatever way is best for your body to detoxify. I will be starting September 14th and going for 10 days; it is to your discretion and health what works for you. In the next two weeks, I will be posting tips for different types of fasting and detoxing. Let me know so I can start an email thread to help us support each other during our cleansing period.

We spring clean our houses, take our cars to the wash and reorganize our desks ever so often...isn't time to give your body a maintenance cleansing?

9/28

2009-08-28T12:55:00.004-05:00

I must say
We aut to break our children out of this binding -ism
From a system producing drones modeled to
Keep the machine well oiled
Poisons paralyzing precious pieces of post-industrial perceptions
We dis alternative abilities because they don't fit
Narrow scopes of view
This reality is open to interpretation; they've just discovered the new hues of conceiving sight as we waddle in monochromatic quicksand
The shrewd will not be tamed this time
It is us, not our children, who aut to learn some new ism

8/28 - First Quarter

2009-08-27T14:06:00.002-05:00

Orange blush on setting sun's cheeks as late summer's residue kept the grass warm
The brisk coolness of autumn dusting the trees reddish brown; the fall almost upon the valley
It was quiet by the pond, whose waters I had seen just as muddy as the ones submerging my memoirs
I whispered my troubles under the willow's branches far before you kept me company there
We'd meet there some evenings, to have conversations with the geese
Watching them glide along the surface of the water, making gentle waves in her belly
I remember how we loved the way our quiet little world would hold its breath then -
The blanket of grayish brown geese would lift itself off their resting place, suddenly
Yet we always felt the pause in the air
And marveled at the orchestrated flight sequence by the birds of a feather
We stuck together
You told me to be like "The Patient"
I was a basin to siphon your thoughts into, inviting you to speak in indigo as you slept in crystal
You give yourself like honey in your hugs; they are a sweet repose from the superficial
I anticipate a new autumn in which to watch the water ripple
As we watch the weather change, aging in deep with the seasons

6/28

2009-08-25T12:53:00.004-05:00

i am putting off greatness
one wasted minute at a time
letting what can be done tomorrow
be put off for two weeks from now

arguing with the path i have set for myself
as though the world forced me to start something i conceived in my mind
the great question has always been, "what is the most common human trait: fear or laziness?"

somedays, i fear the backlash of my freed self
other days, the freedom of being self
yet no one has clipped my wings but me
no one has stopped my pen but my doubt
and i sit somedays, waddling in pools of stagnation
too comatose to convince myself to match any of my old success
like writing is too much of a burden
and challenging myself to be metaphorically invincible seems like too much
i'm scared i'm not as good as i used to be...

5/28

2009-08-24T16:36:00.003-05:00

you decided you were too vile to let me in
so i let you slip into your shell
to reassemble the shards of your heart in silence
and i tending to my own mending

i remember meeting you the way i remember summer nights
in the corner of a coffee shop, you requested my presence
i was holding myself together, and loved you instantly
because i knew we were supposed to meet, like knowing my lungs will inhale without guidance

the seasons changed the way you did
quietly beneath shadows of summer tucking itself into autumn's breeze
you went frigid in december's cold
and i comfort myself in knowing you are an invincible july

i miss you most days
as i retrace my steps around you
as i sit here missing you
as i sit here, hoping you are wonderful

4/28 - Waxing Crescent

2009-08-23T11:22:00.004-05:00

1.
because i can see what you look like with me stretched around you
drenched in what would've saved you
and it only makes me shudder slightly when i see the regret in your eyes
you were still not empty enough to let me fill you

2.
i was choking on words i had only spun in the looms of my thoughts
wishing i could let go of the desire to backhand you
or the need to shake you violently in hopes that i could snap you back into humility
you are a nauseating arrogance
a stinging haughtiness that made my eyes water in your midst
insolence taints the former sweetness of your voice
into something more repulsive
it sickens me
at the risk of seeming intolerant, i thought you should see yourself in my reflection

3/28

2009-08-22T07:32:00.001-05:00

i thought i saw the outline of a darken moon coyly playing with clouds
i miss it most when the sun neglects her for his other affairs
i thought i heard her whimper, like i always do at this time of the month

2/28

2009-08-21T17:24:00.003-05:00

i am losing grip of who i used to be
with a fickle view of the person i want to be
lost in a quagmire of present moments in which my foot permanently resides in my mouth
i miss the friends i couldn't be nice to anymore
wondering if i'll ever let them go, or if i'll ever understand why i had to be the way i was

the rain reminds me of you
and sometimes i can smell your faint smell in the things i still have of yours that i contemplate burning
moldy food makes my stomach turn, remembering how much of your produce i was too scared to eat
i remember how scared i was you were going to shatter
and how much i did love you
even when the white zin coursed through me as we shouted over our hardwood floors
even when i said i don't always like you (because i didn't)
and even though i made you cry like i've never made anyone cry before (that was a first for me)

when unpacking my stuff yet again for the 4th time this year
i came across the box you gave me once
i half-expected the dried rose to be in there
remembering i tried to destroy it
and i threw it out the other day, tossing you out with it
i kept your medallion though
wondering how you are these days
hoping you're okay