Slipping into Solteria?

Expectations set me up for heartbreak every time

and it’s not the fault of the other

it’s my fault

my poetic temperment and wanting to hold out hope for the best in people

thinking egotistically that I bring that out in people.

Pero no.

It never seems to work that way.

During one of our “talks” over vino on how we were going to move forward he surprised me,

surprised me by saying his ideal was for him to stay in what seems to be the cheapest apartment in Queens

and for the chicas and I to move out.

My reaction?

First to get physically sick and vomit.

The next morning I was angry.

I have now moved into scared and depressed.

And alot of this these seems to hinge on my status of soltera/single.

He asked me during that same “talk” if I was single,

meaning if I was dating/seeing/fucking anyone else

cuz if I was, he seemed to be saying, I would be out on my ass sooner.

Funny thing is I couldn’t really answer if I was single.

I mean I’m here living with my daughter’s father but we are broken up

and there are a whole mess of other factors that I dare not write here

that demand the question of my status be answered.

And I know some are reading this smiling a little

saying it’s my karma for the way I’ve chosen to live my life

pero the poeta in me still holds on to a little hope

still has some expectations

that it will all be ok.


There was none here.

There was no foolishness

no not knowing.

I knew

he knew

and soon everyone else that need to did as well

even if we continue to play it off

each discussing the other in pronouns, initials, pseudonyms, and geographical locations

relegating certain acts to certain spaces and places.

Ya pa’que vale la mentira

la actuacion

el drama

of pretending things are the same

of saying we are going one place

when we are going somewhere else.

The hurt of reality has been cut into skin

now all that is left is the healing

the scabbing over

the scarification

and the remembering not to forget

so you don’t fall again.


Seems silly that he lied to me like that

after the more serious omissions and lies I have said and not said.

Pero he told me he was going to the museum today

with his family

with the free pass I gave him.

Pero then as I went off to buy a bottle of wine

to celebrate having the apartment the way I want it

with me and my daughters

I spotted him there

buying a bottle of wine

and I remembered

the how and the where that would happen before.

I don’t know why he felt he couldn’t tell me

the real plan for day

or why he just said nothing except he was going out.

It struck me.

I watched him from afar

waited for him to leave before buying my own celebratory bottle.

My Life is Not a Template

No women.

There is a reason why my story is not in books for me to sign,

why I have to carve out my own space through electric wires

and trasform actions into electrictrifies palabras,

why I spit on the ground and into teclado taps,

why I push my way in

and pull myself out.

No women.

There is reason

a porque

you don’t know who I am

and it is not because I am invisible

it is because you can’t be bothered

unless I am paired up with someone, something

that looks like your own privilege.

No women.

My life is not a template.

It cannot be copied and pasted,

followed like a guidebook

applied to children not yet in your wombs or delvered to your doorstep.

There is a reason you have nothing to add to the conversation

ask no questions

just watch and spy and shke your head and move on

como si nada.

Si women.

There is a reason.

Why I exist

and it isn’t for your benefit.

Le Signe de la mort

I bleed onto raw untreated canvas
so that the stain
spreads on brown stretched skin

I stab the surface and watch the red be absorbed
flow through the veiny threads,
left unconserved to rot in the sun of la verdad y el tiempo.

Asesino la palabra amor
con mi pintura femenina.
Respiro con la ausencia de vida en mi cuerpo
Y uso el lienzo para cubrir mi sueƱo durante este largo invierno.

I’ve been Away

I took a vacation. A time away from the craziness that is the logistics of a breakup. A time away from the need to post a certain number of blogposts per day in order to reach a certain number of hits, a certain amount of money. A time away from the constant demands of mami’hood and responsibilities to communities.

Vacations are pure escapism yet my vacation in a super secret location was also about living painful realities, sitting with them, hiding from them, and facing them again. It was about sleeping in and witnessing patterns of daily life you dreamed about. It was about long walks under moonlit skies, wine, coffee, nakedness, food, familiar sounds coming from unfamiliar places, breathing in new air, mourning and then hoping again only to mourn some more.

I made a game about not telling people where I was going, about being all clandestina when it wasn’t a game at all, rather a request, a courtesy, a respect for myself and others and I guess a need. A need I still am not content with and resent the same way I resent all the compromises i make. I have started to question when consideration for someone else trumps your own path to happiness and if it should.

Now I brace for the long winter of change, emotionally sleep and hibernate, using my stores of knowledge and experience to survive and wait for the spring hoping it will remain true to its promise of new beginnings and rebirth.