She remembers the times he rubbed it all in her face. Car payment, shopping sprees, fancy meals, his fancy place. Every argument led to one direction, “I’ve done so much for you; I’m the answer to your equation.” Repetitive words he said so often times, made her question decisions she made in her prime times….
My feet up on a table, hands writing my life. Papers, sticky notes, cheap street art. All overlapping each other, hanging from a wall so plain and white. Receipts everywhere; months old, years old — what’s the point of holding on? Organizing them is futile, I long gave up. Paper towel wasted, not my doing….
Her nights are blue, but not just any blue; it is the darkest of all hues. By her bedside she keeps her booze, drowning her sorrows, awaking the muse. Don’t judge so soon ’cause you would, too, if you walked a mile in her shoes.
You’re like a catchy, old tune; I think I need another hook.
First come the problems then it’s the fights then the denial then, boom – goodbye. One remote day, though healed over time you’re friends again hang out ’til sunrise You’ll be alright
I want a house full of nothing; just a clean wooden bare floor, scented candles and a tall door. I want a house full of nothing; a mirror and music to dance to, red lipstick and perfume when days are blue. I want a house full of nothing; counter lights, clean toilet seat, hot water…
As you walk down the street, flick your hair, move your feet or throw your hands in the air, a work of ART is being based on you. As you work your way up and pave your way through, someone is ROOTING for you. As you do something as simple as being yourself, you’re inspiring…
I saw a clock turn time today, it was quick and sharp. From seven to eight the dots blinked once. A rarity it is to catch the clock doing time Because though it’s its job it is too fast for the eye. Perhaps that’s my fascination we never see eye to eye Me being the…
The clues were always there, I just never knew how to read. Now trying to solve the mystery I get confused in the mix. Was it the heat of the summer? Perhaps your inquisitive ear? Was it your puppy eyes begging for me to come near? Was it your persistence, the wordless words you spoke?…
This is yet another identity post. I often wonder, you see… “American” is broad, so I won’t go there Dominican by birth, but people don’t care. They think I’m Cubana, sometimes Colombiana Puerto Rican, Brazilian, even Peruana. In my grandpa’s blood, Asian; in my grandma’s, French African for sure; Spain brought in the slaves. “What…
For finding the courage to let go of weaknesses however benign; thoughts of cake? Cigarettes? Drugs? Or maybe wine? High five! For getting your degree against all odds rubbing it in the face of those who said you wouldn’t get jobs. High five! For working out every day until seeing the results you wanted feeling…