Dreams...

So I need to test whether or not I can blog from my phone. This my attempt...let's see if it works!

wake up!

"being angry at someone is like holding a hot coal in your hand with the intent of throwing it at them, in the end you get burned" -ghandi

i am red in a narrow dark tunnel

coated in face values and what needs to be done tomorrow

i sit and dream of where the grass is greener

and wonder why i am getting no where

not being young anymore leaves you with the disadvantage

of not having the time of day to get the bigger picture

read between the lines

analyze the means by which you achieve justice

wake up, wake up i am your new day

your child waits for you to move

wake up, wake up i am your new sunrise

your lover waits for you to immerse from the mignight hour

i am poet again, i am mother for once, i am meant to lead my soul to its destiny

be your own protector, protect that which glides from your heart to your tounge

believe in the ability of your own strenth, power and knowledge

watch over your community, your brothern your sister, your marganalized strangers

watch like a hawk watches over the horizon

remember the beauty of the whole

and never give up on the small

wake up i tell, wake up!

Waiting

Yesterday I laid in bed ready to tear off my poor husband’s head off…the anxiety of becoming a mother is something that has only been theoretical until now. The safety of the womb has not just been a comfort zone for my baby girl, but for my adolescent byproduct as well. No matter where you think you are in life, uncertainty is pail of cold water on a freezing day and it always comes right before you make your way up that stage. I’ve been creating life, pushing through the days, finding strength and patience when every moment seems more exhausting…but it hasn’t been more real until this moment. This moment when my on biology has already started to prepare me physically…my soul seems to be reaching out to prepare my courage as well.

Gloomy Fall…go away and come back another day

I forget the seasons sometimes, like one might forget where you put your keys the night before. I can feel them, like an empty weight of something that once had a place in your pocket. When Fall comes it's always disguised as a morbid rain, like monsters in my closet, something I thought I had grown out of a long time ago. Today is apart from any Fall day before this one, before there were selections of coffee to breathe in, a mountain of an office work to stress in and self-pity to comfort to. Now I have to be a grown up, it hurts to want to grow up when you don't even know what that means. My belly is growing bigger every time I look down at it and I can't wait until I'll know it's safe. That it's safe to think I'm still pregnant.

"About 20-30% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. There is really nothing you can do to prevent it, we didn't know this before because women would just miss their period and that's how they knew they were pregnant. Nowadays women can down to their local drug store and pick a home pregnancy test. The DNA sometimes just doesn't…well it's just…"

"Nature" I hate my shy innocent voice sometimes, it sounds even more pathetic when I'm scared.

"Your hormones indicate that you're about 10 weeks…let's schedule you an ultra sound next week and we'll know more than, until then no intercourse."

I can feel my heart ache at every slight abdominal pain, every time I wipe myself and there is this residue of blood on the cheap white bath tissue. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe it's not my time. Maybe I'm different. Maybe.

Poetry Entry

July 13, 2009

Can we not count, if to count at all
on the black-n-white skies
of a Seattle Summer?

Here I am, but a week banded
to this foolish man that would have me,
even though I am a dimpled and exotic woman.

Temperaments go further than changes in weather
and sit happily in an excuse to be a woman.
Ahhh…to be a woman in this hour
would shame all the informal education
of the radical feminism I used to be fond of.

I am but a sham in the lamb’s clothing
and have nothing to write but this shabby un-rhymed poem.

Bad Daydreams

 

Damn…to go back in time…

 

the sad daydream

lapsed the dull time

between the books

and a lonely morning.

 

I can't count the times

that they told me

going back in time was out

 

of the question.

 

Every time,

back then,

when I went down into my soul

I wished those judging eyes

would close.

I could never enjoy

my heart and skin

without coming across those

scary scars.

 

I want time again,

against the wall,

I want to fight again,

to decide what's null.

 

I want the imagination back again.

 

again, again, again.

 

No more of my mother's anxiety

and my father's anger…

I want her optimism

and his dreams…

I want it all again.

 

When my father looks at me

with them drunkard eyes

I will look back at him

with the guidance he always looked for.

 

When my mother holds me

in her desperation

I will hold her back

with the strength of those before us.

 

And another hour elapsed,

what a sad daydream indeed.