Leakey, Texas

Leakey, Texas.⁣
Thinking of you in these hills,⁣
Sisters barefoot and isolated,⁣
Only the trees lending an ear to your exceptionally curious minds,
My own heart healing while honoring my unconditional love for you,⁣
And you.⁣

Probity

I see you,
Your probity beaming bright on my lack thereof.
Slapping the lies I’ve ingested and built as my own.
I’ve temporarily pleased off the pain of others,
Only to be left starving and alone.
Don’t be distracted by those that mistake your presence for impairment,
Because we need you and I see you.
And although at my most weak moments I continue to mistreat and misjudge the traces of your decency,
I needn’t feed the same poison to others simply because it was fed to me.

Dethaw

It’s true that the body keeps count,
And in this moment I was reminded.
I was taught that lesson of how deep it efforts to keep us safe from what we can’t bare.
And I suppose in this moment,
Alone in the middle of Thailand, 
While being massaged by a sweet stranger, 
It was time to face the void.
Silent and stiff, I watched the buried scenes of the seizure of me.
And just as the heart pumps blood out and through every vein,
I saw the poison of this event inject itself into my most innocent and hopeful powers.
This is dissociation.
What is time to healing? 
It simply doesn’t conform to our impossible standards.
Because trauma has the ability to bend time, jumping forwards and backwards.
I have to remind myself that there’s no limit to healing.
There’s no magical pill or retreat or shaman that can McFix the complexities of our pain.  
And the delays that seem long and overplayed are merely it’s premeditated punctuality.
I have to remind myself that this feeling,
this dethawing,
although at times uncomfortable,
is a hell of a lot better than the paralysis. 

Depression, The Truth

Thoughts lag coming to an abrupt halt, heavy and hollow,
Eyes paralyzed staring at something,
Seeing nothing.
Air releases entirely from the lungs,
Taking a light head to remind me to breathe.
Body numbing, Stomach falling,
and cheeks flushed to the ghost that has just reappeared.

Snap out of it,
Stay positive.
An idea, a mistaken belief,
That this springs from nurturing negative thoughts,
That we allow ourselves to feel so much that we’re swallowed whole by the dark.

What they don’t know is that this dark,
is not dark at all,
It’s being paralyzed in the in-between,
Kidnapped in broad daylight.

What they don’t know is that it dances in ruthlessly at times when it’s least invited,
A needle slowly deflating even the most optimistic, colorful of the bunch.

The truth is,
depression,
is feeling absolutely nothing.

Can you think of anything more terrifying than feeling nothing?

It’s a suffocation that tricks you into believing you will be stuck feeling nothing forever,
That is until it finally releases its grip.

Like most things,
it comes in waves,
subtle or strong,
and in order to survive,
we have to remember to hold on tight while the worst of it passes.

Whimsy

What a beautiful line you balance.
Taking in the world with grace,
Gaining so much wisdom from being quiet, observant, stoic,
Only to turn around and flip all that is stiff and serious, 
a jungle gym for your pleasure.
Living between both worlds,
Never hardening, only receiving.
Softening at the perfect moments and finding room in the heaviest.

Art by Teresa Moralez

Valor

You told me fear was necessary,
That you loved your fear,
That you respected your fear.

That it brings the most clever out of you,
Heightens every sense,
Reveals your resilience under pressure.

Teaches you how to best navigate a difficult situation.

I sat in admiration,
Thinking about how much stronger the world would be with more of you in it.

Not a Feminist

You say you don’t call yourself a feminist.

A different kind of heartache, coming from our own, as if we don’t bear enough of that.

Tongue a razor very skilled in slashing 
I try not to let it take me,
I try to understand.

You say the word is too strong, too heavy, too masculine, too something, you just can’t put your finger on it.

Is it because it’s too much, you?

I mean the real you, the deepest part of your soul’s suffering, you?

Is it because you know once you acknowledge the word, all this becomes real?

The suffering.  
The long and not fucking easy path to healing.
The patience, the pleading, the re-educating of others.

If that’s the reason then I get it, I actually do understand.

Feminism.  
Your insides splayed out with pins like a frog in science class.
It’s a fight we do with our hands forcibly tied behind our backs.
Difficult and many times feeling impossible.
But if we don’t do something our eyes might be gouged out for the next round.