snow globe

she holds our snow globe in her hands

she looks deep inside, curious

is she waiting for the magic to begin

does she know how to make it start

is she imagining the chrystilized snowflakes falling from our dome shaped sky

can she see my hand glued to yours 

or how my eyes are drawn on so it looks like im looking directly into your wooden soul

does she notice how my smile is painted on so blissfully 

do my rosy cheeks convince her 

do they make me seem real

i wait for her to shake our world alive 

i wait for her to spin the dial somewhere deep at our core 

thats when that magic starts, and the music begins

when we dance moving from here to there

instead she falters, she falls hard to the ground

and for a second our world awakens

the snowflakes rush to the sky and then begin to fall swooshing left and right

but our snow globe crashes to the ground

glass shattering, paint chipping, our world falling apart

i wonder if she sees the snowflakes now as glitter painted styrofoam scattered across the floor

the chip in my complexion reaches my glass painted eyes

it leaves me feeling broken, but at least now my hands are no longer glued to yours

my wooden legs are separated from the snow globe floor

i have fallen out of the place i once called home

you're still stuck inside, left with all the glass

is this freedom, i dared to ask.

A Glimpse of an Unwritten Story

I sat on the white bed, in the newly washed white sheets. Clean, that’s how everything smelled, how everything felt. But that’s not how I felt. I felt dirty and ashamed at what I had done.

I took a deep breath, but even that felt tiring. My whole body ached. I looked down at my arms, almost afraid what I would see. But, they had covered it up. They had wrapped my mistakes in clean white bandages just like the white sheets and white walls. I sat there thinking, this couldn’t get any worse, and then suddenly, it did.

I saw him.

I saw him as he pushed the hospital door open a little further, but when he stepped closer and I could see the pain on his face, in his eyes, I had to look away. But he only moved closer, until he was in front of me, hovering just far enough away that I could feel his presence, his warmth on my cold skin.

“Oh, baby..they called. I..I didn’t know...they wouldn’t tell me...What..what happened?” he finally asked, his voice full of urgency and confusion.

“I.. I am so sorry..”I cried, tears pouring down my face. That’s all I could say to him. He deserved so much more, but that’s all that I could manage.

“What did  you do?” he said moving closer, finally looking down at my arms. “Baby, did you try to..why? Why would you do that..?” he gasped.

“I just couldn’t do it..”

“Do what?” he asked, hands on my face.

“Decide. I couldn’t decide.”

“Decide what, love?” he asked more intently.

“I was just so scared..”

“Scared? Of what..? What’s going on?”
“I...I’m...” I felt stuck, unable to say the words. “Oh god,  you’re gonna hate me..”

“I couldn’t hate you.. There is nothing you could do. Nothing, that would make me hate you.”

“That’s not true,” I sobbed..

“Did you.. Did you cheat on me?” he asked.

“No, no of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” That would have been in my control. This, this just happened.

“Then what? What is it?” he persisted.

“I’m...” Just then the nurse barged in, her eyes cold, full of judgement. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just seeing it that way, projecting the way I would assume she would feel.

“Ma’am.. They said you asked..They wanted me to tell you that the baby is okay”

“Baby?” he said breathlessly. “You’re pregnant?” He looked at me, then down at my stomach. Elation, at first softly lit up his face, but then he caught a glimpse of my arms still bandaged, attached to wires and it all faded. “We were.. gonna have a baby, and you... you slit your wrists. You were going to take your life and our baby’s and you weren’t even going to tell me?” The words sound harsh,but his voice wasn’t. There was no anger, just pain and disbelief and disappointment. And that crushed me. Anger I could deal with, but disappointment... I felt like the room was spinning. I started speaking, knowing I needed to explain, but the words came out all jumbled. I am not really sure if they made sense, but I couldn’t help myself, I just kept going.

“I couldn’t decide. I didn’t know what to do...Either way, there was pain. Either way, I would lose someone. My family, they would never understand. They will kill me. Disown me. If I kept the baby, I would loose my family. They would never support me... I would loose my dad.. My dad, he, he didn’t talk to my aunt for eight years! For eight years and no one will tell me why, and this, surely, this is worse. He would never talk to me again. And maybe before I could have dealt because we didn’t talk before. We didn’t have a relationship. But now I do. We fixed it. Us. we talk now. I just got him back... We just fixed things and I would lose him. But if I had an..an.. If I didn’t keep the baby... if i had the procedure...I, I’ve seen how that takes a toll on someone, keeps you up at night, my mom had one.. Did I ever tell you that? Twins... both had mental and physical disabilities...doctors told her they would be in so much pain... at least her reason wasn’t selfish..Mine is.. And she still would wake up in the middle of the night crying, claiming she was hearing their screams.. And that, that would be so painful, but, but  I could deal with that, that and the guilt. I really think I could...I could deal with that..I would take that for the rest of my life, to keep my dad. But you.. You...? I couldn’t... I couldn’t imagine losing you. That would break me. That would destroy me... I can’t fathom that kind of pain...But that’s what would happen if I went through with it, because,  I knew it would break you.. because of your faith, your family and because of who you are. I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t do that to us. And I just felt stuck. So stuck. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like the walls were caving in, suffocating me and I just wanted it all to end.”

I looked down, unable to make eye contact with him, afraid to see that there was no more love for me, just pain. Pain, that I had caused him. And I couldn’t bare to see that in him for me. I waited for the anger, that I was willing to run away from it all. I waited for him to call me a coward for pushing my pain onto him. But it didn’t come. Just silence.

“I didn’t know what else to do..” I whispered. Time stopped, no one spoke. Machines buzzed. The air felt cold. I cried and so did he. And then suddenly... he spoke..

“I would have chosen you..” his voice raspy from all the crying. Was he telling me I should have chosen him over my dad? “You wouldn’t be you without your family. You wouldn’t be whole anymore if you didn’t have them. It would have made you feel empty. If you had told me, I would have wanted to keep you whole, with your family instead of the baby. I would have chosen you.”

“What?” I asked, breathlessly, in shock. Tears fell from my eyes.

“Your father may not have understood the pain you were feeling, the turmoil going on inside of you, but my father, the one up there, he has already paid for our sins... He would have understood...”

I looked at him in awe. How had this man, this wonderful man, put aside his beliefs, just to keep me whole, to keep me from being torn apart.

“I’ll come with you..” he said, laying down next to me, his arms wrapped around me.

“Come with me where?” I asked. He swallowed.

“For the procedure” he told me. I gasped. The abortion. Not only would he still love me, he would forgive me.. after all I did, but he would come with me... to support me..

“Oh god,” Something inside me broke, the dam, I think, that was holding back my tears. It broke and the tears came pouring out. My whole body was trembling, shaking as I sobbed into his chest. He held me tighter somehow, somehow not revolted by me, but comforting me. The thought of that only made me cry even more intensely.

I cried and I cried. I cried until the room slowly got brighter, the sun on the horizon, rising. I cried until there were no more tears left inside me. And he didn’t speak. He just brushed the hair out of my face wet with tears, and rubbed my back in circles.

Then finally I spoke, my voice raw. “I didn’t know what I wanted, because I was thinking out of fear. Fear of losing my dad, my family, or losing you. But you, somehow even in the midst of all of this, in a time where you could have acted out of anger, or pain... you acted out of love, selflessly. You said you would support me, even if it went against everything you believed in, just because you love me. And didn’t want to see me in pain...” He leaned in,  gave me a small nod and kissed my forehead.

“Whatever you need. I am here for you.”

How I See the World

They say I'm perceptive or intuitive because it's hard for them to fathom that I see something beyond what is there. No I am not just paying more attention or attaching more significance to smaller details that others are ignoring. No. It's not like that. Because when I see people I don't just see them. I hear them. I feel them. I embody them. Part of me becomes part of them. The way they think becomes the way I think. Their voice, their vision becomes mine. I can see what's behind the door they just cracked open even when all I can really see is the back of their head. I can see all of the things that had to happen for this moment to happen as if I lived them and I can see in the eye of my mind all of the things that could happen because of what is actually happening now. When I hear their voice in that moment, I can feel the resounding echoes left behind from the words spoken hours ago and draw from them the sounds of the words that are still to be spoken. Because those moments, the glimpses of those memories past or present don't just disappear. They create ripples in time and space that bounce back and forward from past to future to present creating imprints that can be absorbed and understood. 

So no, I don't just generalize or assume how people will act or treat one another. I see it. I feel it. All possible extensions of if. In that very moment, I live it all. Their past. Their present. Their future. Each indistinguishable from one another, intertwined and tangled in the mess of my mind, left for me to interpret and explain. Left for me to decide what should be said or unsaid. Leaving me to figure out which moments will help to explain or improve their relationships or which moments when exposed will explode like time bombs destroying everything in their path, including me. Because time is a sensitive thing. And it does not like to be bothered. 

But do not be mistaken. This is not the start of a story about a super hero or a genius. I am not special. I do not have powers or gifts. I simply see people as avatars in a game that I can choose to step into, to live their lives and feel their stories and then come back into my own. But I do not stay impartial as I think I was meant to. I hear their thoughts as my thoughts and yet my thoughts are better. I know their feelings as my feelings and still I can tell the difference because they can be distinguished if I let them. I allow my feelings to be felt stronger and my voice to be heard louder. I give more value and weight to the things that belong to me because suddenly I have forgotten that we are all one. I used to look at me and you and her and them and see different variations of the same being. I used to think that is me in a world and time where my life wasn't my life. But somehow now, the strings attached to the things I now call my own seem stronger and tighter, unable to allow my mind and my being to explore, to fathom what could and what might be, stopping me from understanding the actions and thoughts and words of others and limiting me to my own. 

So no, I am not special. I see everything you see. I feel it all too. I have just forgotten that me is you and you are me. Because why else would I cause pain to the people around me, if I remembered that we are all the same, an extension of one another, recreations of the same being, the same energy just spliced by time waiting to one day reunite. 

The Words I Hope to Say

You will never be perfect. You will never have the perfectly proportioned face or the overly skinny body of the movie stars that you see on screen. You will never have their flawless skin or natural make up look as soon as you wake up in bed.

You will never be perfect because perfect isn't real.

But even so, I want you to grow up and see the beauty in your imperfections and know there isn't a single thing I would change about you.

You will have scars that leave marks on your skin and those that leave marks on your soul.
You will feel love and pain. You will laugh until it hurts and cry until there's nothing left. You will grow and change and break and fall and get back up again.

Each of these moments will make you into who you will become.
And so I want you to cherish every life experience that comes your way, no matter how good or bad it may seem.

I want you to know that no one else has the power to define you. But remember that there are other people that see you. Don't forget how they perceive you because it will impact you. But never let that be the reason for the fear that dwells inside you.

I've raised you to be who you are. And so I know that you are strong and smart and capable. I trust the person you have become and the person you are becoming. So move forward with confidence because you've always got me in your corner. And always listen to your heart because it'll never guide you astray.

And remember, you will always be perfect to me.

I'm Rising

I am constantly reminded of how fragile love is.
Of how quickly it can be broken or dissolve
Of how one crack can lead to the whole tree falling over.

A tree that's supposed to support me when my own legs give out,
To protect me from harsh rays of sun and give me life in the form of a fresh breath of air.
A tree that I need and can't live without.
And yet I'm far from the land it grows on.
I'm deep in the ocean,
drowning.

I reach out to the branches around me, but instead they break off,
Leaving me without anything left to hold on to.
I think of how conditional love feels,
Gone that I have nothing left to give it
Leaving me lifeless, waiting for a force of nature to bring me to life,
or at least some artificial replication of it.

But the ocean never used to scare me before when I still trusted its soft and unreliable floor.
She never lets me forget the day I took a step too far in the wrong direction and it broke beneath me, crushed by the weight of my failures.

I knew that She existed, long before my foundation broke,
She being the dark shadow that follows me stride by stride
I see Her in my reflection instead of seeing myself, even when She tries to hide.

My battle is with Her but when I try to fight Her, it hurts me too
I hear Her words and I know they can't be true

And yet, I know the seed of doubt is easily planted and difficult to uproot.
Sometimes I don't feel prepared to derail the negative thoughts that keep coming at me

Sometimes I concede the battle with the darkest part of myself. I let myself believe that She is right and I am weak.
And on those days, I will break and sink a little deeper
because my loss means admitting that She's still there, somewhere inside me just beneath the surface, waiting for me to give in again.

I know that I have to fight harder and that one day, maybe I will feel stronger.
And so I have to remind myself
I'm not drowning
I'm rising to the surface

The Right Kind of Love

I looked at this man and I felt free for the first time in my life.

Even though I had just met him, my whole body felt warm in his presence. All I could think about was how this man made me feel like I was the only woman he could see. Like he couldn't take his eyes off me.

His soft gaze met mine. "Are you okay?" He whispered softly. I nodded, unable to speak. He moved closer to me. I could see the concern he felt for me. I noticed how each movement he made was so deliberate and slow, like he didn't want to take me by surprise. I watched his hand move to my cheek, stretching from the side of my face to his fingers grazing my neck.

"Is this okay?" He asked again, softer, barely a whisper between us. Breathless, I nodded again. He moved closer. Comforted, I closed my eyes, moving my face toward his hand. His thumb made circles on my cheek as his fingers caressed my neck. My heart skipped as his other hand reached my waist where my shirt had lifted a little.

He pulled my shirt down to the top of my jeans as if he knew I couldn't handle too much at the same time and then rested his hand on top. His face was so close to mine by now that I could feel his breath in mine. His nose grazed mine softly before his lips brushed against my lips.

"Is this.." he began, again. But I took a step closer to him, melding our bodies into one. At first he hesitated, but then I felt it.

I felt it like the warmth of the sun early in the morning. Like the flutter of the wings of a butterfly. Soft, but controlled like he didn't want to expect too much from me. He kissed me like I was glass, one crack away from breaking. He would kiss me, once softly, then pull me closer and go a bit deeper. Then he would soften again and slow down like he didn't know if I was going to stop him.

But how could I tell him that every inch of my skin was begging for more. Because each time he kissed me, my whole body felt it. Like each kiss was an apology for all the pain I've ever felt, each kiss was slowly healing me and making me whole again.

"I'm so sorry" he said suddenly. And that's when I realized my face was wet. I had been crying. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I said wiping my tears with a smile, "nothing has ever felt more right"

The Wrong Kind of Love

"Hey..You're home." I said, eyes heavy. I had been waiting up for him because I knew he hated coming home to an empty house.
He grunted, his jaw tight and clenched.
"You okay?" I asked, eyebrows raised with a little concern and a little wary.
"I'm fine." He snapped, his eyes fiercely locked with mine. I looked at my husband and my whole body shuddered.

Deep breath, I reminded myself. He's just upset. He probably just had a bad day.

Silent and lips tightly pursed together,  I nodded, bracing myself for his anger. His eyebrows scrunched together. I waited, wondering if today would be one of those days... Instead he let out a heavy sigh, as if he too was just tired of all of this. Too tired to take out his anger on me. He walked into our bedroom, changed and went to sleep. But I stayed there on the sofa, hoping he wouldn't call out to me, summoning me to bed. I prayed I wouldn't have to pretend to feel comfortable lying in bed next to him again tonight.

He wasn't always like this, I reminded myself. I remember a time when his words were so sweet they made my heart melt. When his pull on me was so strong, so intense that nothing else, no one else mattered. I fought my friends, my family, my whole world for him.

 I left them all behind because they told me he wasn't right for me. Because they couldn't see him like I did. They couldn't see see the look in his eyes that yearned for me. They couldn't hear his sweet, soft voice as he whispered in my ear, "I need you in my life. Babe you make me whole. I don't know what I would do without you." They couldn't see it. They just didn't understand.

He wasn't the way they all thought he was. They looked at him and they saw this rough and harsh man. They saw his sharp jaw and rugged beard. They saw the scar above his left eyebrow and the callouses on his hands. They saw anger in his eyes. But that's not who I saw. I looked at him and I could see his hurt and his pain. I could remember his tears on my shirt as he cried into my stomach telling me about how his mom left him and he couldn't lose me too. I remember feeling in that moment that I would do whatever it took to take care of him. He needed me and I couldn't possibly imagine leaving him.

Breathe

"Breathe," she thinks to herself. 

The car pulls into their parking spot

 and she knows her time is running low. 

Words are caught in her throat, and her courage is withering too. 

Her heart is pounding in her chest, her mouth feels really dry. 

"I've got to do this now", she thinks, "it's the only chance I have left"

Her mom turns off the engine and the silence completely surrounds her. 

She bites her lip harder and again she doubts herself, 

"No I'll do it tomorrow" she resigns. 

Her mom reaches for the door to leave

But a voice inside her shouts,

"Do this for yourself. Or tomorrow you'll live with this regret". 

"Wait," she says in barely a whisper. 

She wonders if her mom could even hear her. 

But instead of leaving, her mom turns and catches her eye. 

"Everything's about to change," she thinks just one last time. 

She feels the temperature drop a little 

And she knows the time has come. 

"Breathe", she reminds herself, "she will understand". 

"There's something I have to tell you" she says, gathering all the courage she can. 

Her mom sits back in her seat, as if she knows something big is on the horizon,

and she braces herself for the unexpected. 

She swallows her fears and clears her throat before she finally speaks. 

"You know I love you," she says to her mom, "and I never want to hurt you..

But there's this boy in my life, and I love him too

I know that it's hard for you to understand, 

but he's has become my dearest friend.  

He makes me laugh until my stomach hurts 

And loves me so much my heart could burst. 

I know this will take time for all of us to work out

But isn't that what family is all about?

I understand your uncertainty and your hesitation

But in the end, I hope you support me and my decision."

She waits for the explosion to happen but it never comes. 

Neither does the wave of disappointment or the utter regret. 

Instead she feels a flood of relief and her whole body relaxes 

"Breathe" she says again, "now the hardest part is over". 

The Rising Sun

It all began when I pushed open the heavy door and took my first wary step onto the slippery wet floor.

The trees that once stood sting and intact lost their branches as casualties in the night's war.

Fallen leaves and rubbish are scattered across a once seemingly clean floor.

The drainage, although never clean enough to drink, has now gained a brown color, tainted by the dirt and rubbish that the storm brought ashore.

With a gust of wind, a gasp of fresh air moved from my lips to my lungs leaving a chill in my core.

It was easy to look through rose gold lenses and pretend the world was perfect before.

But now, with the rising sun reality has set in and we know we must do more.