Half-Baked Innocence

Today I smiled at the thought of deserts consuming entire cities.

It’s not up to you to fix what you did not break. It’s not up to you to chase what does not want to be followed nor to lose your peace for those with no peace in their hearts.

What you’re meant to do is to live well and freely without shackles imposed on you by others. You are meant to cut the threads connecting their words to your head so that you may think truly without their hidden agendas influencing your actions.

You don’t deserve a half-baked innocence.



From where enters your strength, your will to live? It reminded of how battered and bruised I have been. A memory of black clouds coming down onto me haunts my head and I had hoped that I had healed that trauma, but they asked me: where does that strength come from? There were no good answers to that question. Perhaps it was this ancestral DNA or my mother’s mitochondrial DNA that let me live though the struggle. How ungrateful I must seem, to have that survivor’s will and to hate the act of having to survive. She must look at me with disdain or maybe with pity at knowing that her scars are inscribed into my genetic makeup too.

Why have you stayed? I am asked this question, not in so many words. Sadly, no responses escape because I hold the gates tightly shut for fear of being seen as the fool. Who could have thought that this would be the woman striving to bear the fruits of my labor—so hindered by a simple soul?

Wishing for Rain

I don’t take drastic measures, they must seem that way. I only take measures to reach what I hope to achieve. Last year I learned when I should cut back the ill growth of this fragrant rose bush that I am trying to cultivate. I have already learned this year when to let go of leaves that are meant to fall. For the greater good, I make choices because there is no point in holding on to thinly dangling foliage. I have also been in the process of learning how to fertilize and in learning when it is necessary to cut back excessive growth–My roots dig in deeper into this rich soil. It is all love in this horizon; it’s just that love sometimes might hurt a little in some places. I hope I have the willpower to heed the words of the wise and the courage to stand alone as I cultivate this Golden Celebration.

What the Pressure Creates

Baby, you are a whirlwind. You are a shiny pinwheel representing youth and innocence. Did you ever imagine that you would recreate yourself again and again? Are there traces left of her and if so, in which deepest parts of you do you house her?

Now songs are no longer meant for lovers, they’re your words which hold you within their syllables. You are now a naturally molded piece of obsidian—from heat and fury you shine pitch black. Nothing has ever been more gorgeous.

You Knew It Was A Snake When You Picked It Up.

I too was naïve in the way that girls are, feeding into romance novels thinking that things called love could be unconditional. There are always conditions and those that say otherwise are lying. It is based on your genetics, your fundamental beliefs, or your culture. If “love” were truly unconditional then you wouldn’t have endings to beginnings. Terminating great love is never easy, yet compromises cannot be reached always. Some things will “break the camel’s back” as some say, yet I believe that orgullo is behind that saying and many more. It was naïve of me to think that the things I loved someone else would love the same. My little moon, staring out the window. I don’t know if animals are capable of unconditional love, but I know that I will not give reason to doubt. Perhaps my error is in my honesty, it is so blatant that if you don’t peel back the layers you’ll never get to understanding.


Bitterness is in my garden for blood and sweat were not enough to make roses grow out of this dirt. I cut myself wide open and let my waters flow through the rivers of within me, yet dams blocked seeds from saturating and the sun just beat down too damn hard. The leaves in the trees rustled lies, lies, lies and I heard from miles away without ever having to have been in the room. My energy took me to the ocean once again, where I could dip my toes into the salt so that I could build up my reservoir of tears for later on when Cubans cross the ocean in bathtubs in the downpour of the deep dark sky. To me came Mother Mary and she spoke to me to let it be, but my ship has never capsized without a fight and I fought, first myself and then you.


Like Warsan Shire, I dimmed my light and crawled into myself so that I would take up less space, but my mouth couldn’t stay shut and what little space I tried to not occupy, my body rebelled and grew big and full. I hoped that I was enough when I was picked up like the serpent that I am, sharp, poisonous, and headstrong. I was never welcoming to meek mice, for I needed to feed and lick my fangs every time someone uttered hate in my direction. My paralyzing toxins are those that you cannot see and now I am angry because I protected the pack during my time as a wolf, but the vipers still snuck into my snake nest as I transformed.


Have you lost track of time? In moments I will only be a figment of your imagination and you will ask, was she real? The dust particles in the air will hint that I was, as the volcano within my soul erupts one last time to clear the path. I will forget one day: you, me, him, her. See how I put myself second there? That will be the only time.

Rest In Peace

There are times when the sun is setting and the dust is settling that we start to walk down the stairs to make-believe underground tunnels. We hope they connect to people in our lives that we have lost in the literal and figurative sense. Every evening we descend into a darkness replete with thoughts dying to light up our minds. We ask why, why, why? How could they? What brought this forth? As we allude to a different kind of darkness emanated from someone we may have once known.

I sip my tea infused with flower petals and the aroma is enough to bring me to weep as my groans can’t be contained within my raw throat anymore. I pondered loss, grief, and pain and I delved more deeply into these emotions so that I could resurface stronger. I tried to delude myself a million times into thinking they were evil or so fucked up they cared for no one but themselves. We all know whom I speak of. I know that’s not the case, it can’t be it. People are not inherently evil; people feel pain in different ways and they can’t always contain their grief. Maybe one day when they stop grieving me we can talk again. I will always love the memory even if it’s no longer reality. When that sun rises once again I will smile at the powers that be and I’ll welcome them with open arms. People grieve in different ways.

So just let the pain flow out in whichever way your body and soul see it best and with it create what you’d like to see. Know that pain happens to us all and that you are never alone. About 7.1 billion people take these sorrows and garden them so that the soil may purify these thorny seeds to grow into the smoothest and most aromatic hues ever known to humankind. Let the pools of your dreams become puddles of stars that illuminate dark skies for the next lost traveler. Let these pools take your scars off of your skin to paint a history of all the positive things that happened before these spiritual-emotional films became sour. And don’t forget that lemons have healing properties. Just know that I’m no longer angry, just very, very sad.


I’m that woman bloodstained from toppled over buses,
When I get back on my feet my first errand,
Buy the same white clothes
That I was wearing.

Laughing in the face of death,
Driving too fast over bridges,
Guess I used to be afraid,
Now I laugh
Guess I got brave.

Obsessed with ambition from my depression-
Riddled days,
Making up for lost time
Woken from my haze.