Pain

Words cannot describe
that look you've trapped in your eyes
sorrowful tears
from your heart-blood flows
but to none it shows
Until it streams onto your face
leaving a blood-stained trace
for you to wipe and clean
and hope it went unseen

Missing Pictures

I just discovered that some of my pictures are missing from my blog. I recently joined Google+ and edited an album. Guess it was more than an album I was editing. Now the pictures are gone and I'm too lazy to go back through each blog and either try to find the same picture or a new one. So, although it doesn't look pretty, my blog is still here.

Who Am I?

Who am I? The answer depends on who you ask and when you ask them. I am the daughter of Carmen and Patrick. I am the granddaughter of Luis & Lorenza, and Paz & Eva. I am the great granddaughter of David & Damiana, Jesus & Rosalia, Gilberto & Rosario, and Paz & Estolia. I am the baby that was so hairy I looked like a wet rat. I am the chubby toddler with curly dark hair just learning to walk. I am the preschooler who tells the bully he will not be cutting in front of me in line to slip down the slide and he needs to go to the end of the line. I'm the little girl riding in her grandfather's Volkswagon bug, laughing every time the light turns green and her grandfather says, "Go-go Yogi!" I'm the big sister who chases her little sister around the house just so she can pull her ponytails and laughs when her little sister falls down or trips or does anything slightly embarrassing. I am the big sister who cries and howls like a wounded animal when her grandmother separates her from her little sister for a "time out." I am the second grader who waits for the boy she likes to be dismissed so she can chase him around the playground until she catches up enough to playfully kick him in the butt. I am the young girl laying on a blanket in Highway City on a hot summer night next to her little sister, listening to her grandmother and mother speak in Spanish. I'm the little girl that likes to feed Pop Rocks to her dogs. I am the fourth grader who tracks down a classmate who is a boy twice her size to make sure he never teases her little sister again. I am the sixth grader at a fancy private school running after my mom's car while waving my arms in the air after tripping over my new Famolare shoes causing ripped stockings and knees covered in dirt and blood. I am the seventh grader at a new school approached by a boy she has a crush on only to be told in front of the boy's friends that she looks just like Baby Milo from the Planet of the Apes. I am the 8th grader who walks off campus after standing up to a teacher harassing another student. I'm the high school student who can't wait to graduate. I'm the young flirty woman laughing the loudest. I'm the Mexican American woman who defies statistics and earns a Masters Degree. I'm the teacher who walks away from her career because she just can't stomach the system anymore. I'm the poet who has been writing since Kindergarten and self-publishes a book of poetry because she only wants it done her way. What do you think? Who am I to you?

Time Has Wings

I can't believe six months have flown by since I last wrote! Almost two months ago I celebrated my wedding to the love of my life. It still makes me smile when I refer to him as "my husband." I like to look at him when he doesn't know I'm watching and savor the thrilling thought that this amazing person is the man I've chosen to spend my life with - and that he chose me too.

A couple of days ago my niece turned 12 years old. I've seen cousins grow up before my eyes - which is baffling. But it's different to watch my little sister's baby grow up. Just when I've finally accepted the fact that my little sister is all grown up...this happens. The baby face has disappeared and now I look into the eyes of an emerging woman. Absolutely terrifying and exciting!

I've reconnected with one of my favorite friends on, yes, Facebook. The last time I saw her and her baby, the baby was a cooing adorable little bundle. Now he is a beautiful little boy.

It's funny to think about life before Facebook. Time still had the tendency to fly for me. It makes sense that someone would think that since they hadn't heard from me, I must not care anymore. I ended up losing touch with some of the people I loved the most. Now, a quick comment on Facebook or a thumbs-up/like is my way of saying, "I'm still here for you. I think about you and wonder how you are doing. I miss you. I love you."

Time has wings but my memory has the ability to manipulate time. I can travel to the past and relive whatever I want. I can remember my first date with my husband, the first time I held my newborn neice and experienced an indescribable love, and the first moment I realized when I had made a new friend.

A Poetic Life

Has it really been months since the last time I posted anything? Acutally, I post plenty of blogs for work, but I can't believe I haven't posted anything here since January. The good news is that work is great. The company is doing awesome and I am SO busy. The bad news is that it's been a few months since I've written any poetry. My heart and soul are screaming for a good release. Today I cleaned my house and cranked up an old Sheryl Crow CD. I was so close to queing up an old Patti Griffin CD but ran out of time before dinner. These are two artists who are poetic, honest, and are second only to my absolute favorite artist - Melissa Etheridge.

No matter what I do for a living, I will always be a poet. I don't know how to define what being a poet is, I just know that ever since I was 5 years old and wrote my first poem, I knew there was something different about me. Something different about the way I perceive things. Something different about the way I react to things. Something different about the way I cope, celebrate, and live.

The other day I pointed out to someone that it looked like one cloud was trying to catch up with another. That person said they'd never looked at the clouds long enough to realize anything like that.

Today I watched a father and son pull into a gas station. The boy looked around 8 years old. The father went into the gas station to pay while the boy eagerly hopped out of the car and started cleaning the front windshield with the squeegie. The father returned and helped the boy with a couple of hard-to-reach spots. It's the simple moments that pass by unnoticed or are taken for granted that I just happen to witness from the corner of my eye. A moment that reveals intention and emotion. A moment that inspires me to write a poem...

To Breed or not to Breed ...

Exactly a year ago today, a white and black stray cat became a part of our family. We named her Sugar. She is the smartest, funniest, best cat I have ever owned. I could bore you with a list of all her unique, talented ways like a parent talking about their child. At 40, I often think Sugar is as close as I will get to having a child.

So, how did I get here? Well, I've never been married and I've never had a pregnancy "oops." Having children was never on my list of "Must Do's." I've been waiting for that moment of yearning to have a child to happen like everyone told me it would. I got close to feeling it last year. I really let it sink into my bones for at least a few weeks. It was all I thought about along with stressing out over how to plan a wedding as soon as possible so we could get started on creating a pregnancy. I only accomplished making both of us crazy.

I talked to close friends and family about what I was thinking and their insight and support was what I needed.

If we decide to have a child, I know we'll make wonderful parents. If we decide not to have a child, I'm going to get a puppy.

Looking Closely

Have you ever looked closely at a flower petal? I have. And this is what I wrote about it.

The petal of a flower

easy to devour

Nourishment for the parasites.

Shaped like my heart
smoothly sliced apart

by careless or cruel hands.

Gentle on your lips

Passionate like your kiss

deep dark

and red.

Complicated beauty

understood simply

Exposed but unafraid

on your bed.

Veins

red and thick

with secrets

flowing in blood

too precious

to spill.

Until

You

My blood friend

I'll prick my finger's

end.

Image from FreeDigitalPhotos.net