I Knew She Was A Mom

I knew she was a mom because she wore clothes that had stains in strange places.
I specifically remember the small, sort of textured, white stain streaked like a chef’s sauce perfectly along her left shoulder blade, signifying the infant she likely had awaiting her at home.
Her long brown hair was in a disheveled ponytail, just covering the edge of what looked to be a dragon tail tattoo; a reminder of her spontaneity. Her basket dangled from her forearm. In it sat two boxes of spaghetti noodles, a container of wipes, and a carton of almond milk. She leafed casually through a copy of Women’s Health Magazine as she patiently awaited her turn in line.
Her face showed calm, relaxed almost- the quick trip to the market possibly the only break she’d get that day.
I listened as she talked to the cashier during her turn to checkout. I noticed how humorously she spoke of her three year old’s obsession for pasta based dinners; how it was going to be her second pasta meal in three days. She laughed as she joked on likely returning sooner than later for more noodles before she casually strolled out of the automatic doors and into the parking lot.
Her smile still showed as she got into her van parked neatly in the closest parking spot to the store entrance.
I knew she was a mom because she was. She wore it proudly (and probably unknowingly on the back of her blue t-shirt) and she wore it well.



I’ve struggled hard to have the nothing that I have right now;

pushed past my limits, taken bullets to the chest. Somehow

I’m still breathing on my own; can’t take it easy now,

because as soon as I let up, straight down I’ll start to plow.

Often, I binge on wind and water to adjust my fate;

trick my body and my mind to think it’s not too late;

go hungry evening after evening, but my kids, they ate;

tuck them in, then eat the leftovers right off of their plate.

Someone called me lucky once, something about I’m still young;

to just “hold on”, that I’d “pull through if I would just keep strong.”

Rolled off his lips like he was singing lyrics from a song.

He’d never seen a struggle, didn’t know that broke lasts long.

Working after hour after hour, less than minimum wage;

check-to-check living, trapped in a social economical cage;

stifled rants and petty names brewing a terrible rage

spawned anxious habits, made it difficult for me to engage;

but I stayed silent, lost my voice to let the bigger ups win.

I trail a path where high hopes flare and then depress me again.

I still won’t quit, despite the battle, I’ll give my hundred and ten.

When empty handed, I’ll complain about it all with my pen.



Crystallizing Moments:  i.

My personal project to help my writer’s block. I will be writing and posting a series of snippets or “scenes” throughout the week in the form of paragraphs  or poetry (maybe a couple drawings) to help fuel my literary flow. I hope you find as much pleasure in reading them as I do writing them.

And he said,

“I hate him like a brother. Like- he is annoying as hell and sometimes I want to punch him, but at the end of the day, I’d walk through fire for him.”

His eyes stared at the red hot moon lounging in the sky, another day closing to its end.

Without Walls

In the pit of my stomach
I feel it rise
As the truth is never easily swallowed
The bile spills out
Tormenting lies of time and company
A stinging blow to the core
Though this news isn’t new
Rather desperately denied
As naivety prompts easier living
A heart merely held together by bandages and a thread of hope
that this will be the last time I get hurt
When my walls come down

Note To Self

Dearest Me,
Do not to forget who we used to be,
The one who’d pick up all the pieces of our torn mentality
Remember when our heart was split;
Lungs tight, we couldn’t even breathe
The feeling was so damn near fatal,
it was a struggle just to see,
because our eyes would burn and tingle
from the nights we’d spend awake
Crying & swearing that we never let
another close enough to break
us down like that, and forget not
the misconception of our lies
The battle between heart and mind and seldom what’s between our thighs
Beneath out skin is where we’d hide,
Yet visible for all to see,
but not available for help
The only one for us,
is Me.