A letter to myself

You are not useless. You are not a bad person. You are dedicated to those you love and to growing yourself and you should still love yourself despite your mistakes, because you are still figuring out what’s “normal,” because you never knew what normal was. You are human and you will make mistakes but you will grow. As long as you know that your mistake was of pure heart and you are dedicated to learning from that then no malice was done.

 If someone who you showed all your scars to can walk away during your healing then they don’t deserve to have you when you are healed, nor were they willing to wait.

The most beautiful flower blossoms late.


30 day poetry challenge

I’ve fallen off the face of the literary earth, ceasing to pay attention to the one escape I use when I need it the most.

Life has gotten the best of me.

So, in a last ditch effort to get back to what I love, I will be completing a poetry challenge. ^_^

Lets see if anyone can figure out the poetry challenge of the day simply by reading my pieces, then at the end I will post the challenges so you can see if you guessed right.

Cheesy? I know.

So, this is how it ends.

So this is how I spend my days with you now


Only to find that you get home when we both have to go to bed because we have work in the morning


Because we can’t seem to get along when we do have time together


Your words feel real this time

I can feel each one pelt my heart

This kind of talking has awakened my irregular heartbeat

The kind of dance it does when it knows it’s almost over

You say that I’m special and that you would like to keep me as a friend if it had to come to that

That sleeping in the other room might help us both decide

That you don’t want me to leave just yet, but you want to separate while keeping me here

Holding me near…from a distance

Of all the oxymorons

If you let go, you let go

Who are you fooling?

I’ve been there love

It prolongs the pain

What kind of sadistic game are you running on me?

Keeping far enough to try and let me go, yet near enough to keep the last flame kindled

I won’t let you do that to me

But I want you to

Because, as always, we’re at the opposite end of the looking glass

Maybe it’s my experience in long relationships. Maybe not.

But I’d like to think that things aren’t as bad as they seem.

That couples have quarrels


The more I grow into comfort the more you grow out

What is all this about

And why are you doing this now

Dragging me across the line

We are separate and your phone is locked

But you ask who I talk to like we’re together

You finally said those words that were like suicide to your ears

The words you didn’t want to hear

It hurt, I saw your eyes tear

“Maybe we’re not supposed to be together. Maybe you’re meant to be in my life as a friend.”

Then we can all be happy in the end.


Let me tell you, those exes that you swear I maintain relationships with

Have all been cut off

I’ve been doing this for too long

I know how it goes

You want to gently back out of this thing

That way it doesn’t hurt as bad

And you fool yourself with this illusion of still keeping me in your life in the future

Not how it works

If we separate it will hurt. Bad.

We won’t talk and when we do it will drive us further

You can’t be friends with an ex you loved so deeply while trying to wade the waters of being single again

There’s too much jealousy, between me you and her

Eventually the next won’t want you talking to me and that’s that.

I know because I’ve seen you do it to girls for me.

It’s called karma

Breaking up and trying to be friends drives a deeper wedge than just breaking up

Just like all the rest, we will play with keeping contact until we realize it hurts

Someone will distract our attention and we’ll get over each other

Then one day one will reach out, in an attempt to not fully forget the other

Short words will be exchanged and that will be that

Or short words will be exchanged and that’ll be an argument with the next and that will be that

Our relationship will diminish into the likes of turn strangers passing each other in the streets.

So tell me what you want

Because despite all the fighting, it’s worth having you sleep next to me

I guess I’ll see you next lifetime love.

Sitting outside Albertson’s

I think that life affords us these opportunities in disguise as trials. We’re so stuck sitting up in front of the TV that anything else allows us discomfort. Here I am sitting, draining about my problems. Work, relationships, school, life… And up walks this homeless lady, with her plastic bag of cans and a sign. Automatically I am taken aback. I want to pull my backpack a little closer and I even contemplate walking away. I don’t because it’s too obvious, and I care enough about people that I don’t know, not to make her feel bad.

I look up as she moves coolly across the parking lot to receive a whole cigarette. I scoff, “Is that what you’re worried about?” My prejudice and I… That thought is followed by, “Maybe she would do the same for food. Maybe she’s taking anything she can get.”

I think about the dance my sister performed that told the story of how the public makes the homeless population invisible. As she returns to the bench with her retrieval, I wonder if she’s the stereotypical “territorial” homeless person, who doesn’t like people touching their things. “Have I invaded her bench?” Then I realize I’m being prejudice again –labeling people and putting them into categories.

We have minimal eye contact, but I can tell she’s troubled. And by the phone conversation that I’m having with my co-worker about a CPS case, she can tell I’m troubled too. Her random chuckle drew my eyes up to her and she moved me out of her peripheral vision. I wonder does she need someone to talk to? Or am I pre-judging that a homeless person doesn’t have conversation?

I continue my work on my laptop, as I wait for my ex to pull up and make up with me. She doesn’t. My phone runs dead and my tummy rumbles.

The lady with curly, shoulder-length hair picks up her plastic bag and leaves, but not before apologizing for bothering me. Being the people-pleaser that I am, I mechanically reply, “ Oh no, it’s okay.” But what did I just communicate? That I didn’t mind her bothering me, or that she wasn’t bothering me?

That’s when I reach my epiphany.

This is a public table; she has just as much right as anyone else to sit here –homeless or not. Who beat it into her head that she didn’t have that privilege?

My tummy rumbles again, and then I feel bad because who knows when’s the last time that she ate? I could be just like her. She’s young, white and half-decent looking for a homeless person. I bet she came from a well brought up family, with some issues that led her down the wrong path. A path that led two totally different people, like she and I, to the same place at the same point in time. Sitting here right now. How easy would it be for us to get our paths crossed and we end up in each other’s place?

I think about how everything hangs in the balance for me right now. Work, relationships, school, life…. and she has nowhere to go but up. We’re not so different. And it doesn’t take much for us to switch places.

All this learned, by reluctantly sitting at a concrete table outside of Albertsons because I got into an argument with my now ex-girlfriend and I really have no place of my own to go.Homeless sign


I lay here on this bed, eyes peering out into a thick of blackness with my pupils pointed up towards what would be a ceiling, if light gave way. Instead all I get is darkness.


The very thing I feared as a child- in more ways than one.

Darkness was the unknown, something I could never operate on.
I developed an allergy to it, my reaction being mental malfunction.

I feared the darkness in the days I truly believed my house was possessed. Footsteps up the stairs when no one was there. I was glued to the corner of my room reading books on possession at the age of seven- something I probably derived from my mom’s paranoid state of mind.

I feared darkness growing up in Chula Vista. My mom took in my neighbor’s son on multiple occasions, providing a safe-haven from the Mexicans who jumped him for dating a family-member.

I feared darkness after my mom reported my classmates to the principal. Telling the “colored girl” that she “bathed in dirty water” was one thing, but spitting on her was a whole other.

I feared darkness two years later in fifth grade, when my sister’s dad dropped off a lunch he bought me for school. I tried to pull the classroom door tight so that nobody else would see him, but they did. They asked. I denied.

My grandma provided validity to their disapproval as she read a letter addressed to my sister’s father that was dressed in layers of racial slurs.

I felt bad.

And then I remember having my world turned upside down in middle school because they called me “white girl.”

I was confused.

I feared darkness more recently, with the sudden realization that I was on the other end of all my wonderings.

Sitting up in bed listening to my ex bad-mouth her exes, my thoughts created a trail for my mind to wonder along.

“I wonder what she’ll say about me to her ‘next’…”

I brushed the thought off, thinking we’d never drift that far into the dark.

Yet here I am today, with the sudden realization that I am there in the dark, and to tell you the truth it ain’t that bad.

I look ahead into the impeding darkness before me, listening to my current paint a picture of her past and I can’t help but wonder again what she’ll say when…

She tells me that I already have it in my mind that it won’t work.

I think I’d just much rather carry my flashlight with me into the darkness.

Where love has brought me, what love has taught me

I’ve yearned for true love, from a lack thereof, since I was little. Now, after abusive and un-monogamous relationships, I’ve come to terms with my depressing fate: I just cannot be in a relationship anymore. That means never getting serious, never getting too close to anyone. The thought first penetrated my mind prior to this past, miniscule-length relationship. I started acting in a manner that protected me from that, and then I was stupid enough to entertain the idea again. Now here I am: refusing proper nutrition and Carlo Rossi in hand- straight from its original container. It’s déjà vu. My progress has had its reset button pushed.


I yearn for love, but my Mother Theresa save-the-world ways has put me at a disadvantage yet again. I cannot go on continuing to attempt to please everyone. Something’s got to give. My selflessness is my own detriment. My selflessness, in a way, makes me a good person to one and a bad person to the other. It’s common sense, but it has just clicked to me that happiness and selfishness have some sort of correlation.


I can’t go on like this. My heartache leads me to make unhealthy decisions for myself. It starts this process of not eating, not being able to hold food if I did eat, popping Vicodin to numb the pain, sleepless nights, drinking so that I can sleep, keeping my mind busy by working multiple jobs and by partying to forget the fact that I’m lonely.


I was going through this process where I was okay, and I know no other way, I have to go through it again- this time completing it.


I dreamed of moving away from the dysfunctional family I was born into; running off with someone who was as engulfed in my world as I was theirs, having kids, never looking back- only to be there for my sisters and to fulfill the usual cliché of living happily ever after.


How naïve.


Ironic, though, that I see my ideals in you the most- and no I’m not just saying that because it’s where I am now.


You. You are:

  • Intelligent – even though it makes me feel inferior at times
  • Beautiful
  • Successful
  • Selfless- to an extent
  • Capable


Furthermore, unlike before, it’s a huge coincidence is that I don’t even have to beg you to run away with me. You’ve brought up the idea yourself.


But when raised without a healthy model of love, you kind of don’t know how to give it- or to take it for that matter. That’s probably why compliments make me feel uncomfortable.


Sometimes my mind knows what the ideal action would be, but my fear of rejection keeps me from doing it.


It’s sad that it has to be like this. The one of only two, top lifelong achievements I’ve strived to attain- and here I am: the incapable.


Life has a way of dangling a bone just out of your reach in hopes that you are foolish enough to be infinitely entertained by what it is that you want so bad. It throws these obstacles at you, when the metaphorical finish line is in sight and says, “Whatcha gonna do now, huh?” and when you work past that there’s always, “How about now,” “What about this,” and “Oops, one last thing.” I know, because I’ve been through it enough. Age-old philosophies say that it’s just when you are about to give up that your goals is within fingertip’s grasp. But why is it like that?


Why is it that just when I’ve adopted this “fuck love” philosophy someone who used to hate love all of the sudden has found the very thing they hate.


Fate is photographed in a positive light, but it really is sadistic- and I want no part in it.


Kind of like my family. My family who raised me without the skills to attain the one thing I wanted the most; the one thing that’s necessary for an infant to even survive. My lack of love has caused me to yearn for love but the very thing that has propelled me to aspire for what I am missing has caused me to have a deficiency in the tools I need to attain what I aspire towards.


Then there’s this cliff-jumping thing that people say to do, despite what you feel. Apparently it yields the most success, yet making the least logical sense- ironic because love isn’t supposed to make sense anyways.


Yes, you are the person that possesses a majority of the traits that I look for in an ideal lover, but if you pass a marked-point, you’ve done just that. I have this intuition- as much as I don’t want to. Ignoring it has led to serious trouble before. I have an intuition about my intuition and it says that I will ignore my intuition.


Sigh. I know what’s coming.


I’ve yearned for true love, from a lack thereof, since I was little. But the thing about being young and dumb is, well, that you’re young… and dumb. We simply enjoy each other’s company until it turns sour or one of us is forced to fade away. True love is but a fairytale I once read in a book. In a world with trending open relationships, one night stands, threesomes and infidelity, true love simply does not exist.

Line chart showing interest in threesomes



Line chart of interest in open relationships

Interesting how open relationships didn’t even become relevant until 2005.


On the way out

front door

There’s always a point I reach, in my more serious relationships, where I know I care. It used to be a good thing, but now it scares me. That’s what a few bad relationships can do to you I guess- for me it only took two.

I know I’ve lost control. I know I will be there, even when I shouldn’t. That used to be something I thought was valuable- the willingness to stick it out. But now, my not knowing when to cut-off is just outright unhealthy. And I know it!

My heart overpowers my mind. All the time. I just thought this time I had it under control for sure.

I do, to some extent now (thank God). It used to be that someone could physically cheat on me and I knew I wouldn’t leave. Someone could beat the crap out of me, and I’d stay.

I used to reason, “Well, that wasn’t as bad as my last.”

I never learned that just because it’s not as bad doesn’t mean it should be overlooked.

I find myself saying that today.

I find myself wanting to mirror your reactions.

I find myself confused about what the “right” thing is to do.

My open-minded logic has me debating internally. I let my organs to the fighting; I’m just the host suffering the blows.

I stood there knowing very well that it was wrong, but knowing very well that I’d let it go.

Because I’m not ready to let you go.

I know I crossed my boundaries. I can see me somewhat slipping from my own control.

I wondered why I had this split personality when I drank. Deep down I felt it: something doesn’t sit right.

Told myself, I’m being paranoid like before. Not noticing that before I was right.

I’m already trying to rationalize away the potholes in this foundation.


I always needed evidence.

My therapist used to say, “Ninety-nine percent of the time, your intuition is evidence enough.”

That I can’t go on conducting investigations.

I’d worry,”What if my ‘intuition’ fell under that one percent and I was wrong?”

She never gave an answer I was satisfied with, so I understood her logic- I was just never satisfied with it.

I guess that’s why I slipped.

You’ve treated me the best.

Thus far

But like I said before, just because it’s better doesn’t mean it’s okay- that’s my unhealthy rationale kicking in again.

Sometimes better

Is just not