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.

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Woman of the 21st Century

She fucks her life up for you and for those stupid traditional “family values” that ultimately only negatively impact her.

She screws up her credit for a man’s mistakes or he steals her credit cards and she deals with the fallout.

She fights a divorce battle in a society that endorses domestic violence and rape culture.

She fights in a legal system that will blame the woman simply for being a woman dressed the way society wants her dressed.

She only buys things for others because she’s been taught her entire life to not be selfish.

She listens to music that’s meant to liberate her and exemplify her beauty as a woman, but the songs on the radio are all about “tits and ass.”

She says she doesn’t want kids because she lives in a world where ambitions don’t fit in with the role of a woman.

She lives in a world in which the work force doesn’t want to take in mothers willing to work because employers think she won’t be effective or focused at their firm.

She lives in a world that also tells her that she should get a job because being a stay-at-home mom isn’t a “real job.”

She goes on social media to keep in touch with her “friends” only to find that ¾ths of them are sharing some stupid meme about how the last generation of women didn’t teach their daughters to do shit.

I guess they all forgot that the women of the past generation fought for civil rights, humanitarian rights, a position in the workforce, and for financial equity.

They forget that women now are fighting for the same things and they’re also sacrificing their lives in the endless wars for this country.

They then say that women don’t belong in the military—the very same men that don’t enlist say this.

They forget that most of their teachers are still women who care deeply about students that forget to respect them or haven’t learned to.

How are the kids going to respect women when all they hear is about women sucking dick and only get images of women twerking on the Internet.

No one knows where to find the women fighting for the world on the Internet, but they’re always there.

They hear Malala’s name, but it’s as if it were just some movie that isn’t real.

They never hear about the women scientists, CEOs, doctors, lawyers.

They also never hear about the intriguing and extremely competent lives of the women custodians, bus drivers, cops, and other women in lesser-valued professions.

They never hear about the immigrant women that were renowned doctors or professionals in their home countries that now carry on these lesser-valued jobs.

They never mention the women crossing the borders risking their lives and intelligently outmaneuvering the dirty politics that would rather they be sex slaves.

Why don’t these things ever get shared?

Butterfly to Fish to Stone

Every moment that I’ve ever been laid low I end up listening to songs that remind me to hold on.

This girl walked into the ocean prepared to never come out. She was ready to become a fish because at least that way she could choose to swim in solitude. On land she was a butterfly with broken wings, frequently caught and held hostage in cages fabricated of fingers and human flesh on bones. Her wing colors used to be green, they represented esperanza. With every cage she became more muted until she lost that faith and the velvet went away from her wings. Now gray, like the color of dark and rainy skies she flew soul-first into the freezing water. Her wings broke away and she confined herself to her newly formed gills. As a fish she was olive green like the bucks she used to give to indulge in the gifts of life. Those very same gifts led to peace on the horizon where she could fly towards the colorful sky in the sunset and where she could rise with the sun.

Always rising and falling. The sun etched its tattoo on her skin.

Now she’s a bottom dweller and she just wants to swim with the current but the fishermen keep trying to catch her. Will she ever live again? They call her home because she provides sustenance when in reality she only wants to swim away but she can’t. Her skeleton is starting to hurt and her spine is becoming frail from the gravity pushing her down.

She wakes up in a pool of metal, iron and steel, that keep her pinned down. The scales have tipped and not in her favor. The bills grow larger as if they had a life of their own. In her throat form stones pushing down into her bleeding heart and encasing it in their harshness. She used to be green, she dreamt of being orange, but now she’s all hues of gray.

The butterfly is a distant memory.

Last Night I Met Your Friends and they Liked Me More than You

Let that burning red tea boil. Let your feelings erupt because they placed microchips in your books and in your brains. There is the manipulative son of a bitch so cerebral and invading your cranial territory like Cortés and his Conquistadores. The man will stick it to you literally and figuratively until you learn that even your red tea won’t heal your bleeding veins from their hell-bent wrath. Your body is an empire, your mind is the Earth, and my dear, your soul is the universe. He screams your name at night and pollutes your existence with his tongue. Yes, the very same one that sent shivers down your spine and the very same one that made you cry. He let his fists bang the walls when he was angry with you for bringing out his true self with your wishes of sincerity and honesty. You gave him mala beads in the shape of rainbow pearls that were deep-colored like the pools of your soul that are hidden under lock and key in your magnanimous body not at its prime yet, but getting there. You scream his dynasty’s last name in vain because no one is there to listen to your throaty exclamations. Your silk bathed lips made him quiver like soft chrysanthemums caressing, tickling, touching his goosebumped skin. He wanted what was between… He wanted what was within… The warmth radiating from your experienced body and soul and mind collected in his lungs and suffocated the hell of his inner oceans, which quenched your fire eventually. The oil will only burn until there is none left in his waters. You were the fire. You ARE the fire hiding underneath the skin and within his bone marrow. You ARE his dream and you are the dreamer.

The Ocean Takes It All

The song is about the rivers being followed, sounds so serene yet full of strife. The woman inside of me followed rivers too and she followed them until she walked mid-stream and lost her footing in the surprising depths. The falling was like that of a jumper removing themselves from the ledge, only this was slow in motion downwards with the force of gravity playing games on the body. Feeling like a foolish child for following a river that has nothing left except to fall into the ocean. The food chain of love, in which a goddess chases moving water that only wants to flow away to reach the endless depths of the ocean. Now there is a depth inside the heart of that down goddess who left her spot in the night sky to follow a broken dream, a broken stream.

Keep footing with the riverbanks and swim against the current little fish. Lay your eggs on the rocks and remember to not move backwards or water will fill your gills and your very own habitat will make you drown. Why do so many things wish to fall into the ocean? The sun sets over the bay with its slowly rippling water because even waves crash into the ocean—the ocean’s soldiers trying to regain the land by pounding on it until eventually it succumbs into its cool molecules. The clouds fall into the ocean, the ocean flows into the clouds eventually overtaking the atmosphere too.

Tell me my sweet goddess, why do you follow the rivers that follow the oceans that take everything from you? You have the salty ocean in your wounds now because you are a star that has fallen. Tell me my beautiful goddess, why drop down from the heavens for this watery hell? I ask myself these questions each and every day…

Cycles Infinity

She woke up and thanked the light of the sun for letting her breathe deeply before the day even begun. Woken to laughter and joy emanating from restricted bodies in their respective cages showed her that it wasn’t where you were, but who you became from it. Every gift has not been tied with a bow and some brought her so low she wished she were six feet underneath the rock blanketed by the night’s stars. The moments when she was deep down, wooden caskets deteriorated to free a changing body. The debris paved the way to aid in the growth of rainbow eucalyptus trees breathing fresh life into the birds and their tiny, fast-beating hearts. That way, when the flood came, her soul would fly to the atmosphere of this spherical planet that took you places and brought you back.

Extreme Measures

“I know there are parts of us missing, but we can go slow.” He said to her as if he were drawing a caged animal out. [Hesitance]

———–

Back at the institution students congregated in the evenings to drink and smoke and dance until their sweat left them feeling light. Audible laughter always ensued and some high pitched shrieks of girls flirting with other girls or boys. At that moment they donned their young adult outfits and removed their scholarly masks. One young lady in particular was headed towards the science building where she prepared to undergo a surgical procedure that would make her jumbled up puzzle pieces fit with those of a young man currently undergoing the same process.

They had agreed upon this surgery that would remove all the gory pieces of them that brought struggle and hatred into the hearts of the other. It was some recommendation from a friend that informed the young man that it would solve both of their problems—those of his and his lady—never mind that it was highly experimental. The cogs in their systems just didn’t fit like they initially did. Or maybe they never were oiled enough, so they screeched upon colliding while simultaneously wearing their bones down. Even in surgery they would inflict pain upon one another, yet it felt as if they were inseparable.

Outside the cold, crystal building where machines whirred and white gauze filled their insides, danced their peers. They moved so freely like heated wax upon its combustion through the wick as a medium. The sky was so black and no clouds were seen; yet stars illuminated the wreaths that the girls wore on their heads as they inhaled smoke into their lungs. Her friends danced in circles around each other as they moved through the campus. The sterile waiting rooms were empty in the science building.

His procedure let up first and he waiting in his hall of residence for her to finish hers. The white gauze was stained with red all over the sides of his abdomen and on his arms. His hair was thick and black as he moved his hand around his forehead feeling light-headed and impatient for her. He wanted her.

“He’s in the common bathroom and he told me to let you know you could just go in” his friend told her as she slowly made her way across the gray floors. She was feeling nervous, but she couldn’t feel the butterflies inside her stomach. She was on too many pills that medicated the pain leftover from the procedure. Her head was hazy as she opened the door to the bathroom with her right hand—the non-dominant one.

He saw her and smiled, his body felt hot and he felt at peace that they both made it through the procedure. His loins were on fire as he walked towards her and placed his arms on her waist. A kiss brings forth frothy waves of ecstasy through both their bodies. Now that they both had their guts removed through said surgical procedure, they were able to keep their temper in check and the heat that coursed through their body was different. Their nerves were cinnamon candles burning as lava flowed through their veins. Their hearts thumped as if animals in the wild were stampeding across them. She wanted him too, and badly. He turned the water for the shower on and slowly took off the laces of her shirt. She carefully pulled his over his chest and head, exposing his healing body. Their procedures extended to the most secretive of body pieces.

“I know there are parts of us missing, but we can go slow.” He said to her as if he were drawing a caged animal out. [Hesitance] Their naked bodies firmly touched, the hormones swimming through their bodies hid the pain. She was afraid the stitches would all come out and that they’d bathe each other in blood. A silky feeling went through their united souls as they penetrated each other’s fears and desires with the reality of what they had just done. Euphoria was a tingling sensation they experienced together upon release.

They separated with the reality that taking out parts of themselves to fill each other up with those of the other was their satisfaction. Outside underneath the evening sky the young men and young ladies moved in tandem, individually whole.