Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

I am still ill, but with less intensity. I have been eating much less, but I still sparsely suffer stomach issues.

I’m almost certain I have the stomach flu. Since there is no treatment for it. All I can do is ride it out. I’m drinking lots of  water. I eat chicken soup and crackers. I have consumed nothing greasy, overly sweet or heavy.

The anxiety attacks still plague me. I try to refocus on something else. I use to write a poem everyday on my other blog http://medicatedwordzallowed.wordpress.com.

I can’t seem to write one now. I feel like a mother who isn’t allowed to hold her newborn baby. That’s it. I’m heartbroken. And all I can do is wait.

 

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For the past few days, I’ve been writing a lot of poems and posting them on my other blog http://medicatedwordzallowed.wordpress.com/. I get lots of ‘likes’ off them.

Sometimes, I can’t imagine why people like them. I do rewrites the way most people breathe. That said, it is this blog that causes the most anxiety.

I fear that I am too preachy or simplistic. I’m trying to stay away from politics, because I got into a heated argument with a follower. Although, this is an important issue to me.

Intellectually, I know that these are manifestations of my mental illness. It doesn’t make me feel any better.  Yesterday and the day before, I slept, cried and did little to nothing.

Even as I sit before my drug dealer aka my pc, I am judging myself and all that I write. I have tasks that need to be done today and I’m dreading the prospect of leaving my home.

All words of encouragement are needed and appreciated.

I was looking for profoundness today. I was in desperate need of something great and outside of my world. My world is methodically turning on me.

I am suffering a medical betrayal and I feel lost. Actually, more than one. On August 14, I had a gynecological surgery that was supposed to end my menstruation.

Three days ago, I started bleeding. I was told that in 95% of cases, menstruation ceases. I guess I’m the pesky 5%! Three surgeries later and I’m back to square one.

I’ve been told to call my gynecologist, but what can she do about it? Cut me open again? I’m sure I’ll call her this week. For some reason, I feel like a failure and a bother.

My bipolar status is the second betrayal. I am seriously off. Today, I met my new psychiatrist. He’s taking a different approach in treating me. This is good, because I’m tired of being a guinea pig.

I just have to go in for labs and start a new drug. I’m afraid of any new drug. That said, I will take it. I just want to feel good. Is that too much to ask for?

So, back to finding something profound. I found it. I was watching dancers on TV. As I watched them my heart laughed and wept for them. I was honored to witness such poetry in motion.

I remembered a dream I had recently. I was dancing with so much abandon and feeling. Angst, love, fear and joy all flowing through an extended me.  I was so happy for the real dancers.

All I can hope to be is a dancer in my dreams. Now I want comments, likes and hits on my blogs. They bring me real joy, even the critical comments.

Christ would not arrive in suit and tie

Dressed to the nines, not His way

Seek, He would, the needy social cast-offs

Comfort, He would, the distressed and despaired

Those with open hearts will know

His Love is the garb He wears

Lack of documentation, cry out the dead soul men

Just some homeless, hippie freak making trouble

Too many crowds are stopping traffic and progress

‘It’s unlawful, lock him up’, shout the establishment

Again, heart-felt forgiveness is bestowed

To the unforgivable

Educated, conservative business man

How will you greet Him?

No car, No credit, No home

Worthy to come through your door?

Embrace, Ridicule or Fear Him?

The Holy question is yours

We live in a cookie cutter, sound bite world when it comes to perceptions. Especially political ones. Sometimes these perceptions are self-imposed. At some point or another, we all fall victim to them.

Republican are rich, greedy, war mongers that hate Mexicans! I grew up on this ideology. Is it true? Depends on who you ask. Democrats are uppity, bleeding heart, troop-hating hippies that smoke pot. Again, is this true ? Depends on who you ask.

I consider myself to be a very Liberal Democrat. I am a California girl, Mexican-American, who was raised in poverty by my single mother. My siblings and I were on welfare (i.e. food stamps and Medi-Cal) but my mother worked 3 jobs.

There goes the theory that welfare mothers are lazy. I was in charge of cooking meals and washing my mother’s uniforms. At night, I massaged her feet and back.  I curled and styled her hair for church on Sundays. No money for beauty salons.

Yes, the Democrat is a Christian! I am also a survivor of molestation. I believe in the death penalty for child killers, serial murderers and police killers. I am for stricter gun control. I am Pro Choice, of course.

I also love, love, love our military.  They and their families are the true heroes of America. Nothing should be denied them. That said, I don’t want them sent out to war on a whim.

My life has forged out my politics. I know people from all walks of life. I have had friendships with Christians, Jews, Muslims and Atheists. And I want my country to accept all of them.

I think it’s easy to forget our history and this is where we, as Americans, falter. Europeans were being persecuted because of their religious beliefs. So they came here to live by their rules. Yet today, we have churches, mosques and temple burnings and vandalism.

For nearly 300 years, slaves were worked to death, beaten, raped and separated from their families. Millions were made by such means. Still, the Confederate flag flies. How Christian is that policy?

Who is protecting our children? Why are parents hesitant to talk about sex to their kids? Why are fathers unwilling to actually raise them? Why do girls have sex? Easy, they want to be loved. Daddy didn’t love or see them.

I don’t believe in free anything. It’s a myth in my opinion. There is a consequence for all that we do and don’t do. Accountability needs to be the new religion. How I wish that a political, civic or community leader would just admit that he was wrong and apologize.

It never happens. A show of weakness or insecurity is the ultimate sin, for some reason. It shouldn’t be. We are all weak and wrong at some point in our lives. We must admit and learn from our mistakes.

We are individuals with unique ideas, bad theories, silly dreams and brilliant hopes. It’s time for us to embrace it.

Evolution

Posted: August 15, 2012 in Mexico, poetry
Tags: , ,

A prominent theme in my blog is racism, bigotry and ignorance.  I was talking to my mother yesterday and this subject came up. She stated that I always related to people on a global scale.

Firstly, let me point out that my mother was a former bigot herself. She grew up in a world of only Hispanics. Continuity was the key. Stepping out of the racial circle wasn’t even an option.  My grandmother was the key factor in this mindset.

My grandmother’s first encounter with a black man was in Tijuana in the 60’s.  According to my abuelita, he had an afro, smelled awful and was as black as tar.  I tend to wonder what her opinion of black people would be if she had met someone like Barack Obama, Will Smith or Bill Cosby.

That said, my abuelita got over her prejudices when I told her I was living with a black man years later.  She was visiting the family in the L.A. area and I had a spare bedroom.  I recall calling her in tears, explaining my living situation.

Her response, “Do I get my own room”.  I said yes and she said “I’ll see you soon”.  When she arrived, she was kind and friendly to my former boyfriend.  I had no idea she was capable of this transformation.

My mother’s evolution of racial views was because of me.  When we moved from the 98% Chicano world of East L.A. to the racial potpourri of Pasadena, the daily analysis of my multiracial world was the agenda.

If a black girl abused me (and they did) in any form my heart had KKK all over it.  Still, some were friendly to me and it was enough to turn my heart around.  Soon, I saw biracial children as the most beautiful and exotic looking creatures on earth.

So, as a teenage I dated black guys more than any other race.  This didn’t bode well with my mother. Then I hit her with the ultimate argument. If she wanted me to date only Hispanics, why didn’t she raise me in Mexico ?

No answer. She was beaten. From that point on, she was going to open her heart.  She befriended black women at work. When I brought my black girlfriend home after school, Pam threw her arms around my mother and called her Mom.

My mother, happily, hugged back. Pam was good at getting people to love her. Through heartaches, break-ups, laughter and my wedding, Pam was there. She was my girl for 15 years, until I lost her to a life-stealing seizure.

She died after caring for her cancer-ridden grandfather. He died 2 days prior to her. I was in New York at the time and spoke to her the day before she died.  I told her that I loved her and ordered her to rest.

Pam was good at calling people out. She and I had heated arguments about race. This is a good thing. In the end, we both learned and grew.  I told her that I hated it when the word ‘Nigger’ was used by anyone.

Pam thought I wanted to use it in the same innocuous way she did. She told me to mind my own business. I never heard her say it again.  Then she cut down on the gangsta rap and took to R&B a bit more.

In the end, I loved her family and she loved mine.  Today, my best friend is an Iraqi Muslim. For the past 10 years we have been there for each other. I have watched her children grow and go off to college.  Through Sahar, I have come to know and love other Muslim women.

When I was a very young girl, I would often stare at a picture of a meadow with a brook, a bridge and pastoral hills in the background. I always wanted to know what was behind those hills. Hence, I wanted to look beyond the obvious.

I was a collector of stories from anyone who had been outside of my Southern California world.  This is how you begin to think on a global scale. This is why I love history, museums and Olympic multi-racial athletes embracing before the world.

Happy Corruption, I have arrived

Blatantly Wierd in full display

Vendors of odd trinkets, offensive shirts and grotesquely delicious food

Gluttony, she rules today

Bombard me with offers

Taboo tattoos, psychic nonsense

Mind is quite pliable

Essence of ganja invade my nostrils

Bohemian drum circles upon grateful sands

Strangest version of Hollywood

Nestled beside vixen ocean

Sweet, bitter Venice

Nirvana to bipolar heart