I never thought I'd find my reflection
A person to share my struggles
share my dreams, a person to push and influence
like he pushes and influences me
El Artista
never fails to amaze me
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJ3xTjvj9tw
Falling in and out of love with: myself. Constantly.
She's beautiful, voluminous hair, clear olive skin, huge brown eyes, that when she looks at you, you melt. Curvy and with a laughter that moves the entire room.
She walks with her shoulders straight and her head up high, although her stature deems her just a bit over five feet tall.
She doubts herself, for more than five minutes each day, questions every move she makes and is ever too careful of the words she says aloud, and the tone she speaks them in.
I live in my head, sometimes I follow myself around
As if with a camera shooting and documenting this life I am living
Jotting down every detail in my head, my witty jokes
The colors of walls, scents in the air and gestures that cross your face
heartbroken, its a beautiful thing, to deconstruct and reconstruct identify, progress and transform
Dear 25 year old me
Today, you broke down and cried
and then you cried some more when you listed out the reasons why you cried.
here we are, writing to ourselves; remember you are going to be alright
Cry your tears, you'll be just fine.
I know you need a reminder sometimes
Especially on days like this. Self hate will lead no where.
Amiga, please remember to be kind to yourself.
No dejes que la voz en tu cabeza, en tu mundo, te derrote
Life is intended to be a struggle, it's part of what makes it interesting
You are a dreamer, an ambitious one at that
you have a short fuse and little to no patience
Like many others, you want instant results
You've got to work, scratch yourself up, show off your black and blue bruise
Bleed a little.
Tears and writing down your fears are just the beginning of the battle
You live in a world full of doubt
That doubt should not project what you believe you can do
When you are feeling ugly, remember to look at your skin
you are gorgeous
believe it, others see it
and I know how hard it is to look in the mirror
without picking at your flaws
raise your head up
When you are feeling fat, remember, it's progress
You know that magic doesn't exist
It's about burning the calories you consume
and consuming fuel for your body to run like a machine
Not comfort food.
25lbs seem hard now, take it one pound at a time
When you are feeling like a failure, remember what you were doing five years ago
how about two years ago
how about one year ago
tell me you have not learned along the way
remember you are like a backpack, and your brain is pretty much the internet
that your body (the laptop in your backpack) connects to
you are a resource
And I know it feels like you are just one person in this big bad world
and you fear what you do doesn't cause big enough change
it's okay, your time will come
take to everything with open arms
dear 25 year old me
breathe
and then you cried some more when you listed out the reasons why you cried.
here we are, writing to ourselves; remember you are going to be alright
Cry your tears, you'll be just fine.
I know you need a reminder sometimes
Especially on days like this. Self hate will lead no where.
Amiga, please remember to be kind to yourself.
No dejes que la voz en tu cabeza, en tu mundo, te derrote
Life is intended to be a struggle, it's part of what makes it interesting
You are a dreamer, an ambitious one at that
you have a short fuse and little to no patience
Like many others, you want instant results
You've got to work, scratch yourself up, show off your black and blue bruise
Bleed a little.
Tears and writing down your fears are just the beginning of the battle
You live in a world full of doubt
That doubt should not project what you believe you can do
When you are feeling ugly, remember to look at your skin
you are gorgeous
believe it, others see it
and I know how hard it is to look in the mirror
without picking at your flaws
raise your head up
When you are feeling fat, remember, it's progress
You know that magic doesn't exist
It's about burning the calories you consume
and consuming fuel for your body to run like a machine
Not comfort food.
25lbs seem hard now, take it one pound at a time
When you are feeling like a failure, remember what you were doing five years ago
how about two years ago
how about one year ago
tell me you have not learned along the way
remember you are like a backpack, and your brain is pretty much the internet
that your body (the laptop in your backpack) connects to
you are a resource
And I know it feels like you are just one person in this big bad world
and you fear what you do doesn't cause big enough change
it's okay, your time will come
take to everything with open arms
dear 25 year old me
breathe
replacing the W
soapy Water streams over my brown hands
over the last couple of Weeks they've been sun-kissed
With summer's heat
I Wash dishes, bring down, sort and separate dirty clothes
loose change jingles from denim pockets
I set it aside, and await for its owner to claim it
my mother taught me how to be the Womyn no man
Would ever Want to live Without---
the kind you don't let slip between your finger tips
she taught me to cook With love
and how to keep them in awe
so no one knows how I've done it all
she gave a lesson in spoiling those that deserve it
and how to identify those that I should live Without
I taught myself many other life lessons,
including knowing When to put my foot down
I do not replace W
I am not a White girl
not to be mistaken With damaged goods
I am not a stand in nor stunt double
my voice is not to be dubbed over
you either take me as I am,
or find some one to replace your W's
and your Wallet
or replace it yourself.
over the last couple of Weeks they've been sun-kissed
With summer's heat
I Wash dishes, bring down, sort and separate dirty clothes
loose change jingles from denim pockets
I set it aside, and await for its owner to claim it
my mother taught me how to be the Womyn no man
Would ever Want to live Without---
the kind you don't let slip between your finger tips
she taught me to cook With love
and how to keep them in awe
so no one knows how I've done it all
she gave a lesson in spoiling those that deserve it
and how to identify those that I should live Without
I taught myself many other life lessons,
including knowing When to put my foot down
I do not replace W
I am not a White girl
not to be mistaken With damaged goods
I am not a stand in nor stunt double
my voice is not to be dubbed over
you either take me as I am,
or find some one to replace your W's
and your Wallet
or replace it yourself.
taking a writing risk, writing from the present backwards
Alas, you've built yourself, you've built yourself a working station. Surrounded with inspiration, speakers filled with music to jog memory, mirror covered walls to draw reflection from lessons learned through the years and to remind yourself of transformation, photographs of your parents during their 20s, images of yourself now, in this present. You wonder why is it that when you drive long distances do you come up with these great stories, yet as soon as you sit down in front of this screen everything has escaped you. Not to worry, just let your fingertips do the talking; it seems to work better that way.
It was a hot day, at the end of April. Or it seemed hot because she has grown so accustomed to the bay area weather. She drove in her pearly white VW into the valley heat, AC blasting and music flowing from her speakers. Her hair up in a messy ponytail, bare faced, and sunglasses covered her bag ridden eyes, sleep seems limited these days. The next 24 hours would go quickly, they always did. Ninety degrees, congested traffic, she should have left earlier. No choice but sit and suck it up, sit still, sit like a duck. It is dark now, finally off the highway driving down and onto empty rural roads. A canal and rows of orchards on the right and identical homes on the left. She turns into a street, parallel parks in front of her parents drive way, her mother stubbornly took up both of the parking spaces, slightly irritated she decides to bite her tongue; she is only here for one night, no fighting. She pops the trunk, grabs her five loads of laundry, locks her car and heads into the jungle like front yard.
As she approaches the front door, she can see through the screen, and simultaneously hear the Mexican radio station playing in the kitchen and Sabado Gigante on the flat screen in the livingroom. Mom, you can hear is just hanging up with grandma, updating her, "Si, creo que ya llego." The phone clacks as she hangs up. Her father sits in his wobbly orange recliner, feet up on a step stool, across from him sits her mother, needle and cloth in hand. She is sowing again. You force the screen door open, sticking your hand through where the door knob use to be years ago. It makes so much noise, dad turns around and makes one of his many crazy faces, not because he is startled or upset but because he is a goofball. Mother, barely looks up from her needle work and says in her sarcastic tone, "¿podrias ver llegado mas tarde no?"
to be cont'd...
It was a hot day, at the end of April. Or it seemed hot because she has grown so accustomed to the bay area weather. She drove in her pearly white VW into the valley heat, AC blasting and music flowing from her speakers. Her hair up in a messy ponytail, bare faced, and sunglasses covered her bag ridden eyes, sleep seems limited these days. The next 24 hours would go quickly, they always did. Ninety degrees, congested traffic, she should have left earlier. No choice but sit and suck it up, sit still, sit like a duck. It is dark now, finally off the highway driving down and onto empty rural roads. A canal and rows of orchards on the right and identical homes on the left. She turns into a street, parallel parks in front of her parents drive way, her mother stubbornly took up both of the parking spaces, slightly irritated she decides to bite her tongue; she is only here for one night, no fighting. She pops the trunk, grabs her five loads of laundry, locks her car and heads into the jungle like front yard.
As she approaches the front door, she can see through the screen, and simultaneously hear the Mexican radio station playing in the kitchen and Sabado Gigante on the flat screen in the livingroom. Mom, you can hear is just hanging up with grandma, updating her, "Si, creo que ya llego." The phone clacks as she hangs up. Her father sits in his wobbly orange recliner, feet up on a step stool, across from him sits her mother, needle and cloth in hand. She is sowing again. You force the screen door open, sticking your hand through where the door knob use to be years ago. It makes so much noise, dad turns around and makes one of his many crazy faces, not because he is startled or upset but because he is a goofball. Mother, barely looks up from her needle work and says in her sarcastic tone, "¿podrias ver llegado mas tarde no?"
to be cont'd...
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