Like I can see

Like I can see the water

and hear it gently lapping at the shore.

Like I can see the great mountain peaks,

in sharper focus than the

ancient rolls of the Blue Ridge

that I’m used to.

Like I feel the wooden deck,

peeling away underneath my

fingertips, reminding me that I still stand

even when life picks away at me.

I can see my future

stretching out ahead of me.

as writers.

This is my 200th poem on this blog since I started it 2,453 days ago (~6 years and 9 months) with my first poem, "Mother" 10/08/12 when I was 10-years-old.

as writers, we
often try to figure out
why we are
writers.
to decipher the mechanisms
in our brain that makes us
relive our pain over and over
just to get the poem right

I’ve heard that we’re seekers
mining for some truth;
others say we are looking for
explanations into our reactions to
our own traumas;
others claim downright insanity;

what about none of those
and all of them at once
what about the itch
to explain all of our truths
and explanations and insanity
to whoever will read it

everything all at once

when my eyes meet nothing but
endless water, I see everything
all at once

I am reminded of my mother’s family
because we go to the water
and my grandmother takes me to
the little library with little slips of paper to check out books
and we eat around a long table on the screened in porch
and my baby cousins swim in the lake like it’s
the only place in the world you could possibly want to be

I feel everything
all at once

I think of my dad for no reason other than
that he’s my dad,
and he used to throw me in the air
when we played in the water together

I think of my father’s family
because there’s a different type of rainforest down there,
now I’ve seen two

I imagine I’m six again
it’s something about the humidity and overwhelming view
I’m six again and the world is still new
I’m six again and I don’t know the pain yet
I’m six again and I love that there’s so much I don’t know

as I stand here, I think of everything
all at once

more than in between

i am more than in between

it doesn't matter if you think
there is only male and female
i am still neither
i am in between

i won't explain what heritage means
i am latina, i cherish my connection
i don't live in america
i live in between

there is more than gay and straight,
get over yourself already
i am in between

they've called me crazy
well, i'm not sane
i am in between

in between, i fall through the crack
i have to decide that
i am both
and stronger for that

hold my hand

hold my hand and
don't care that people stare
it's hard, i know
so, hold on tighter

are you afraid to be seen with me?
would it be different if i looked like someone else?

if i had different hair or changed my clothes?
don't be surprised that i wonder

no, i believe you
i like to forget sometimes

no need to get heckled
no need to be target practice for lost boys
no need to get attacked
or see where else that could lead
at this point, it's white noise

we'll stay right here,
but proper distance apart
know that i want to hold your hand in mine
but, now i am the one who is afraid

the Middle

there are stories about the beginning
once upon a time
there are songs about the ending
we'll get our happily ever after, baby

there are stories and songs and dreams
about This moment
forget everything but tonight

where is the middle?
it's somewhere in there

smushed like a
sandwich at the bottom
of a backpack,
stretched like
someone with too many
responsibilities

do we realize when
we are going through it?
do you ever wish
you had a fast forward
button in your pocket?

instead, you reach in
and remember things
but, that's the past

the right now is actually
a series of moments
stacked, sometimes in haste,
sometimes with time to waste,
that are a middle
life between your beginning
and your end-

tell me, what does that end look like?
if you're young, maybe a stable career
marriage, money, time
finishing what you swear
you are meant to do

but, first, the middle
how would that song go?

(trust me, you don't want to) [updated]

Previously titled: "What Mental Illness Isn't" and 
"(dip your toe in and you might not come back)"

Mental illness isn’t
pretty faces, the only blemish
some bags from lack of sleep

        Mental illness is 

        ragged faces from nightmares that

        wake you up in a cold sweat

thin frames, from shyly saying no to some sweets

        organs squeezed between skin and bones,

        eating has become something you can’t do without

        throwing it all up afterward

too big sweatshirts and an allergy to school

        not being able to get out of bed,

        unsure you’ll make it through the day

the quiet kid at school, always reading
they should try harder if they ever want someone to talk to them

       lungs no longer breathing,

       anxiety tears broken ribs to pieces

headphones, dazing off in class
maybe lazy, maybe not

       questioning reality

       all grounding points gone,

       the butterflies carried it away

neat freaks and a dresser with all matching socks
they wash their hands all the time

       Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

       not being able to leave the house before it’s done right

streaked mascara, sadness is the only emotion in sight

       high: driving with the sunroof open

       laughing loud, you can do anything-

       you don’t sleep for three days

going from happy to depressed pretty fast,
whatever that means

        low: bang your head against the wall,

        trying to shake off the demons,

        who looked like angels a second ago

holding grudges too long

       flashbacks

       being shoved in the hallway and beat behind the cafeteria

       your mom’s wail, you’re passed out from the OD

       old scars and deep memories of the pain

       your mind against itself

Mental illness is not something you can try on. 

(trust me, you don’t want to) 

There are people who survive it, 

there are people who don’t. 

It looks different on everyone, 

lies blur the lines, you might get confused. 

One thing is clear: 

our pain is real, 

so, you don’t get to 

try it on like a costume. 

Mental illness is real. Not some 

label to be worn like a trend, 

only to be thrown away when things get serious.

Women are enough. [updated]

The first woman listened to my tears.
The next one showed me how to fold my entire body into a story.
Beside her stood the woman who taught me to be fierce.
Number four showed me just how much I didn't know yet.
Then came the one who never stopped moving; I watched her dance.
The sixth woman made me work hard so that I knew that I could.
Yet another held magic between bristles of her paintbrush.
Number eight told me to scream.
And, I remember the one who made sure that I was heard.
The tenth, oh, they all did this: she told me that I was enough.

We are enough.

magnificence

dedicated to a friend. happy birthday, girl.

how do i
(just a dreamer)
convince you
that you are real

that your eyes light up
storms stitched of torment
that books blush
when you pick them up
that flowers watch you
like we watch stars in the sky
that we are waiting for you to fly
that we know you will

how do i
(with only words)
convince you
that you are a goddess

help you believe in your promise
you are magnificence, personified
crafted in layers of intellect and joy
uncertainty and mistakes
crafted into someone who has
wings, they are biding their time, waiting
to be unfurled

Cosas Que Los Americanos No Entienden (Things Americans Don't Understand) [updated]

Hay cosas que quiero gritar.
Quiero decirlo hasta que los techos
tiemblen arriba de las cabezas de los que no entienden.

There are things I want to scream

I want to say them until the roofs 

shake above the heads of those who do not understand.

No es todo comida y ropa colorada tan linda;
cosas que piensas que entiendas.
Mucho de allá no es bonito. Pero, es maravilloso.
Es todo mi familia y amor.
Es gente dándole todo cuando no tienen nada.

It's not all beautifully colored food and clothes;

things you think you understand.

A lot there isn't pretty. But, it's marvelous.

It is all of my family and love.

It's people giving everything when they have nothing.

Es otro mundo.
No estoy hablando
nada más de un diferente lugar o
idioma. Todo eso son distintos,
no quiero decir que no.

It's another world.

I'm not talking about

that it's just a different place or

language. Everything is different,

I don't want to say it's not.

Si tiempo es una pista en Los Estados,
en Panamá vivimos en un rio.
Solo puedes vivir.

If time is a highway in the United States,

in Panama we live in a river.

All we can do is live.

Hay días donde se mueve rápido,
pero en las mayorías de los casos-
no pasa así.

There are days that move quickly,

but in most cases,

it doesn't go like that.

No sabes cuándo van a regresar
cuando salen diciendo
- ¡voy a pasear! -

You don't know when they are going to come back

when they leave after saying,

"I'm going out*!"