el comienzo

Fue un día en que
el sol tenia mi atención.

Sente en un sofa,
más especial que nueva,
mosquitos y moscas al lado de mi,
con un cuaderno y lapizes coloradas
en mis manos.
Pero, no quiera dibujar.

Sente en ese sofa
suando, cansado...

Sente en ese sofa ese dia
y oteé a todo el porche.

Quiera hacer algo.

Ese día en Panamá era
como cada otro;
me sentia solita.
Entonces,
decidí que iba ser poeta.
Muy famosa desde el principio, claro.

Para empenzar, escribi
una poema elegante,
pues, elegante para una niña de nueve años.
Escribi que,
que mi tía* tenia que ser una bruja.
Porque no me dejaba hacer nada,
la verdad es,
cuando estaba escribiendo ese poema
hasta ahora y para simpre
lo quiero mucho.

I remember

I hate that I
still think about
those green walls,
their scolding tones,
"Remember where you are."

I sat next to a boy, that first day
it was four to one.
"You can't sit there!"
he said, the man in charge
of protecting me, and then,
"Remember where you are."

The punishment for not sitting still or
moving too much or taking up space
was the revocation of gym privileges,
our only chance to move and take up space.
The youngest of us was a
skinny kid with ADHD and a big smile,
he never stopped moving.
I watched that smile drop as he suffered
his punishment while the rest of us
walked downstairs.
I wanted to help him, but,
"Remember where you are."

We had to listen to two women
from alcoholics anonymous
even though none of us drank.
I couldn't speak up to say that I never would.
They were sure of who we would become.
I couldn’t explain that I’m paving my own destiny,
I've seen where one glass of whiskey can lead
when your mind looks like mine.
I didn't get to decide,
I was never asked what kind of help I needed.
"Remember where you are."

He touched me that first morning.
His cold hands were the first thing I knew. 
Who would believe me?
They kept reminding me that
I was nobody.
I was my diagnosis.
Nothing more.
"Remember where you are."

All
day
long
in hard, plastic seats,
we didn't speak, and were not
allowed to look outside
the window.
"Remember where you are."

Staff would shuffle in and read off
of pieces of paper,
telling us to get better
but never how.
I soon learned
not to ask questions.
"Remember where you are."

I hate that I
still think about
those green walls.

I hate that I
can't make myself forget.

gen·der

/ˈjendər/

noun

1. something decided by an internal compass you'll never be able to describe. to some people, it feels like the most important part of them and to others, just a piece of their identity they lost in the back of their closet as a kid and forgot about.

2. something decided by your parents and society. labeled by either pink or blue and supposedly evident by whether you cry or not.

3. something that does not control anyone nor something that anyone can much control. often differentiated by visual appearance and expression.