Is that you? In the wind?

Mommy, 
I like to think that sometimes you are the wind

Or there’s a machine to control the wind 

and you get a turn.

When my toes are in the sand & a rush hits my shoulders, I think of you.

When I feel the wind on my cheek, I think of you.

When a gust wraps its arms around me in the street, I think of you.

You’re always there: watching & guiding & whispering.

I quiet the world,I can hear you. 

I hear you in breath, I feel you in a breeze.

You’re love is a guiding wind.

It grew so great that you had to leave

so you could be everywhere.

Everlasting, Eternal air.

Finding myself

Looking in the mirror

trying to see a change in my face.
These dark thoughts are a trap

and I’m sitting here wrapped,

enveloped in them.
Thoughts of isolation 

I cannot entertain.

I wonder if you can see 

any of the pain.
if I had a journalistic mind

then I could see a why

or dig deep till 

the hard to swallow pill of reality 

falls from the sky.
it’s in these thought traps 

that I could spiral

till the dark craves a spark,

a light to rival.
Positivity is a means of survival.
It sneaks in when the sun is low

and thoughts are too

till everything glows

and I’m made new.
I crave the light 

like I’m drowning under water.

my next breath a hug,

an embrace I didn’t know I needed.

Though this face didn’t betray the cry,

my heart must have pleaded.
Looking in the mirror

and I catch a light 

that’d be useful in navigating

these thoughts in the night. 

Gratefulness

Beholden to my Mother.

I’d say that’s true.

For loving me so much she’d rinse my crying eyes of shampoo.

Beholden to my Father.

For there’s no doubt 

that he opened the door for all the laughter the world would allow.

Beholden to my sisters.

There’s no room to question

that they’d cross the universe with me at the slightest suggestion.

Beholden to my brother.

For that is certain.

His smile fills the room like the sun when you draw back the curtains.

Beholden to my Grandmother,

I’ll always believe

her spirits larger than anything I could conceive.

Beholden to my heart 

with no hesitation 

Their love fills it with a joy beyond explanation.

I spoke on stage for the first time & I didn’t dieĀ 


I spoke at an open mic for the first time in a long time at Busboys. It was a poem that I’d written for my Dad’s birthday in March but been too nervous to share. 

I was given a voice & I can’t let fear be the thing to halt me & keep me from moving forward. 

Fear has been a driving force in my life and has informed too many of my behavioral choices to the point that it’s ingrained in me. Fearful thoughts are the first thing I hear. With that fact echoing in my head, I still have to step forward. I won’t grow if I don’t. 

And my biggest fear is being stuck. Never growing. I have to hush these voices if I want to step into the light, out of my comfort zone towards true authenticity. 
There is no other option. My parents cannot speak, so I speak for them. I won’t let fear blind the path of potential any longer. Sure, I’ll always be afraid, but I won’t let that be a reason for me not to speak. I will feel that fear & go. Feel the fear & go. Go.

|Chasing Recollection|

Chasing Recollection
I had a mother. Sometimes I can’t remember her looks

To spark my brain, I look thru her bins of Polaroids and unfinished photo-books

Her smile presents flashes of times, distorted, but shared

Slender hands, big laugh and coiled dark hair

Time passes, my eyes close, and her face leaves again

In darkness, I see her nose, more distinct now than it was then.

Large, to the point of cartoonish, I know it’s only in my mind’s eye.

It’s shiny, sharp, and Latin and death-defyingly high.

My brain forgets a face, but remembers a nose that stands tall.

 I’d rather have this piece of her than nothing at all.

Now, hope clings tight for memories to come.

What’s next to find? An eyebrow? A thumb?

Any reminder of her presence will satisfy me now.

Until the ache of loss is overcome by all the joy the universe will allow.

I have a mother and she has me too.

Time steals memories, but Angels can make them new.