RSS

Tag Archives: submission

I Swore My Heart Away When I Was 14

I Swore My Heart Away When I Was 14.
I remember lying in bed rogandole a la virgencita to please keep my dad safe from harm
hoping for a call I knew I wasn’t gonna get.
Praying I wouldn’t get a phone call that he’s been found dead by some dumpster.
I remember a night in particular when I got tired of praying for him
So I prayed for me.

Le pedi que me isiera no quererlo mas
Que lo sacara de mi corazon

I cried big heavy tears that soaked my pillow and mixed with bugers and saliva.
I woke up the next morning disappointed because I still missed him, con coraje, like every other day but missed him still.
Eventually I didn’t think about him so much and I forgot about my prayers I didn’t cry at night and I could sleep in complete darkness
I had long forgotten my pleas and gone on with my life

Three boyfriends and many sexual encounters later I remembered my prayer.
The one where I begged Mi Morenita to take my heart out and lose it in the cosmos
I realized Im 20 years old and have had 11 men walk in and out of my life, use and dispose of my body. Told them I loved them and hated them all in the same breathe.

I didn’t care to notice when they left or how three boyfriends and eight sexual partners who I’ve never even been with long enough to know their last name had gone through me.

My first boyfriend took my virginty because I guess my eyes said it was up for grabs the moment I let him lay on my bed. We dated two weeks, had sex for about 10 minutes, said see you around and I never cared to see him again

I regretted losing my virginity to him

So I told my second boyfriend he was my first. He was older… Way older. Like ‘ready to settle down and have kids’ ready. He saw me as the type to wife up and use my child bearing hips to carry his off spring. I couldn’t stomach the idea of having his kid and having to keep a piece a piece of him forever. So I didn’t. I ran away as fast as I could from that situation by blaming everything wrong with me on him. Made myself unbearable because it was easier for someone to leave me than it was for me to walk away. Even when I can’t love I can’t leave, the guilt of not being able to give back holds me.

My third boyfriend was accidental. We weren’t meant for each other but when it’s so cold out and someone shows you warmth with their own body, one tends to think thats a special trick no one else can do. To have someone want you for sexual favors makes you feel of use or somewhat important to someone and that can sometimes even make you feel special. It had been a long time since I could make a man happy with just a kiss.

I don’t remember how this ended I just know that it stopped.

After him I didn’t want anymore boyfriends. I wanted to keep thinking i was of use. I wanted to feel wanted. But I didn’t want to love. The trick is to always keep your eyes shut.

I thank my dad for teaching me body parts are just as disposable as whole bodies. He removed his daughter to find happiness while I simply removed my heart.

Advertisements
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on December 5, 2013 in Her stories, Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Keep Ya Head Up

When the fears start to reveal themselves, but your no longer afraid you’re just so sad it took you this long to understand. Then the tears run down your face because of all the pain you put yourself through, and you wonder how you managed to pretend you were so strong when clearly you were wrong. It’s like a self-inflicted wound that gives you ecstasy, but drains and brings along so much pain after the fact. But no one is there to kiss your scars, and until you find a way to love yourself in the aftermath of this craziness you’ll never allow anyone to come close enough to. You’ll spend your life pretending. Not trying to pretend, but you’ve become so disoriented that any idea of comfort or love fills the void he left when he took your most prized possession.

You go over and over it in your mind, blame falls on yourself each time. Because society tells you it’s your fault you got drunk, and that you wanted it. So you feel at a loss and things no longer feel the same. You’re in search of an emotion you can’t describe or never had, see he took away that chance too. You begin to look for that love and connection in every encounter you have. Although with each encounter you feel more and more drained and your energy and aura are no longer the same. Some will lie and you’ll fall for it, and it will make you feel even more lost when you discover your illusions have fallen ill. It becomes so bad to the point you feel it’s best to be alone, but the inner innocence that is still left in you tells you that there is more out there, there must be.

The dreamer in you believes in hope that someday women won’t ever have to go through this, and men will cherish the creators of this world. That the patriarchal society will someday break, and things go back to the natural order. That people won’t judge what they won’t ever come close to understanding being that, that person can’t even begin to figure themselves out, because a big piece of them was taken. Losing all self-worth one day I hope they will begin to see their true selves. I hope one day I’ll be able to see my true self.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 24, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Quiet All Summer

This is what it’s like to be lost in between.

To feel the words of the songs you heard in your childhood resonate inside your heart. To feel the lyrics rise up, and yet not have the words to let them out.

To keep Borderlands/La Frontera on the bookshelf of your mind for two years, only to find out that Gloria Anzaldúa is dead. To mourn her passing, so deeply, so late, anyway.

To not be able to participate in the conversation between your elders, and yet rest your head and soak it in, enjoying it, anyway.

It’s the silence you keep daily, but never acknowledge, because being lost in between is hard enough without always failing to agree that Diego Luna is so sexy.

It’s not an empty feeling. It’s feeling the edges of the shape of a huge missing piece inside your soul.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on September 12, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , ,

I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend you…

I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend you.

Only trying to help you.

Don’t you see who you went to?

This person who has no more fate that to

save you

Always. That’s how it’s been

I will save you, him, them

I figure I can change you.

I just wanna save you.

And though I’ve told myself countless times

that that is not my job

That I can’t be your mother and

You my child who I nurture away

all the wounds from,

Who I defend from the unfairness of

the world. That is not my job.

It is unfair to you.

You must live your own battles, grow, fight your own raging war

I already have mine. Oh, yes, I already

have mine.

 
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on August 1, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , ,

“Why are you so angry?”

How about —

why do you try to hold my anger above me, as if it strips me of any credibility? why do you have to dangle my unhappiness in front of me?

I’ve become the most ultimately unamerican I can be — I’m an unhappy brown girl caught in a white man’s world.

I’m pretty sure if you grew up being stared at or called a sandn***er you wouldn’t be too thrilled either. If you had to wonder whether or not your masjid was going to be shot up or if your mother was going to get cussed out at the grocery store you wouldn’t be so carefree.

My anger isn’t a sign that I’m weak and that my opponents control me. My anger reminds me I’m alive and I’m still here.

20130520-091555.jpg

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 29, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Love Letter

I’m mostly mad at love right now cause it hurt my friend. Love made my friend hurt my friend.

And it hurt me too, but that was a different story. Love hurt me for the best. Love made me choose. It made me choose between loving someone else and loving myself. I chose myself. I made the right choice. Thanks love.

So I guess love saved me. I guess I shouldn’t be so mad at love. I guess I should be thankful. I am grateful love, but I am not indebted to you. I don’t owe you. I don’t owe anyone for being nice or tender or loving toward me. I deserve it too. I deserve love.

We talk an awful lot about you love.  You’re selfish. You’re a ham. Love, why don’t you step the fuck down for a moment.  Back the fuck up!

I need a breather, I need a break. From you, for me.

You hurt my friend. I didn’t forget. That’s not okay. Love, you need to get your shit together. You can’t keep hurting me or the people I love.

Love, your reputation precedes you. You really aren’t as great as people say you are. Okay, you are great, but you’re really harsh and hurtful too. And you’re mean to nice people. You hurt people who don’t deserve it.

Love, I’m checking you. I will no longer stand by and witness you hurt me and the people I love.  You need to shape up or ship out. There’s no more room here for your bullshit.

So start taking notes. I will be your example of how to treat me and the people I love. And if you can’t live up to these standards, you can get your things and leave. If you can’t live up to what love should look like, then love don’t live here anymore.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on April 30, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Hace mucho tiempo te quise

Hace mucho tiempo te quise.
Fuiste la mujer de mi vida.
El amor más grande de todos mis pinches 27 años.
Tú me decías que era muy joven
Y yo quería crecer y ser la mujer perfecta para ti.
Quería que me gustaran las cosas que te gustaban.
Quería alcanzarte y gustarte.
Yo sé que te gustaba.
Me decías que me querías.
Sé que lo sentías…
Que lo vivías.
Te gustaba besarme.
Me gustaba mirarte.
A veces nos gustaban las mismas cosas.
Pero nunca fue suficiente.
Tú querías otra cosa.
Otra vida.
Tal vez otro cuerpo y no el mío.
Otro amor.
Una vida normal
Sin mi y sin dolor.
 
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on April 8, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , ,