mother’s advice for a hot afternoon

we walk to la iglesia to the beat of heat waves
that amá tries to ward off with her black sombria
hovering over her head. she notices me wiping
sweat off my forehead. “take this so you won’t
get prieta like me,” she advises, handing me
the umbrella. i shake my head.
“there’s nothing wrong with that.”

we go to the church sin hablar, and as
the black nube lingers above her head, i think
about much easier it is for me to say that
being prieta is beautiful.

a rambling

whenever i feel inept, it’s those small accomplishments that satisfy the ego:

i brewed my morning coffee to perfection;
i arrived to work on time;
i left work on time;
i read that library book for a little while;
i slept on time;
repeat.

but with this self created paradigm these accomplishments soon become mundane. the ego says i’m not simple, thus my routine shouldn’t be. it says i need complexity, i need variety, i need more. i add the following:

i reach out to an old friend;
i see my significant other;
i explore parts of town;
i exercise;
i purchase a new blouse;
the ego is content with these stimulants.

with time, it still craves more. it feels restrained, undesirable, needy, confused, frustrated, and unique. i want to stop craving but the ego tells me my cravings make me unique. i am unique from those content with simplicity, from those who become complacent with satisfaction. i desire more from life because i desire growth.

i tell myself that stagnancy is not mutually exclusive from growth, because there are things to be learned from stagnancy.

i tell myself to stop wanting so much. the ego says impossible. it’s the unfulfillment of those desires that make me unhappy, not the desires themselves.

i need self care. i need self love. i need self forgiveness.

i need to get out of my head

paper

you’re that detached, controlling lover,
whose eyes follow me everywhere
and remind me that i need you. i wish
that i didn’t have to rely on you so much,
and that i could make decisions without
consulting you. you warn me that to keep our
relationship steady, i need to make sacrifices.
i need to think about us.

late at night, this makes sense to me.
you’re everything, but you’re nothing.
you’re money.

the quiet

your absence echoes confusion and clarity
in my head. our love felt so real that
i didn’t notice its fragility; petty arguments
crumbled compassion and
mistrust clouded understanding.

the echo deepens until i envision the cosmos,
where dead stars whisper riddles that are
the secrets of life. the echo throbs and
i meditate over our past, hoping to decipher
a riddle on love, a riddle on our truth.

the riddle melts into the strings of constellations
and weaves itself into the empty fabric of
our night sky. in its emptiness,
i almost forgot to remember–
i am free.