Pressure Headaches

Too many tears building up behind my eyes, 
They leak to my ears and now I have an ear infection. 
The pressure on my temples gives me a headache –
And pulling the trigger would be a cure-all-end-all… 
But I’m still weighing the consequences

The doorbell rang as I was cutting this out of me, 
And it was a police officer – I’m 18 so he told me my mum is getting summoned to court. 
Again. 
She’s undocumented so I felt my heart freeze,
Cuz as much as everything can be okay..
It can be very not okay too.

When I was a kid I heard a lot of my family 
Constantly spilling words like “papers” “imigração” “deported.” 
And I loved to draw so I made a couple pictures -
For my mum and dad you know, the family ones where we all stand and hold hands.
And I gave it to my mother and told her 
“Now you have papers, you don’t have to be scared anymore.” 
I think that was the first time I saw her cry. 
Now I’ve seen her with her head in her hands too many times, 
I wish I wasn’t the reason most of the time.

When my dad got sick I didn’t understand, 
But my heart did, and it forced my head down and made me leak tears from a faucet somewhere inside.
We watched him shrivel up with disease and lose hope, 
Struggle to leave his family.. 
He fought so unbelievable hard until God said we couldn’t have him no more 
And I touched my daddy for the last time – cold and sleeping,
In my living room. 
How wonderfully fucking ironic.

That faucet I still haven’t fixed and 
It’s four years after he died now. 
I don’t think I’ll ever have the strength to find a plumber. 
I’ll miss hearing the trickle when I’m alone in the dark.

Maybe it’s strange to think that the part of my childhood I care the least about now 
Is the part that made me cringe the most. 
When someone’s sweaty body is touching yours in places 
You’ve been taught to keep out of sight, 
And bruises places that will never see the light of day.
That happened over years I think – I know.
But I don’t care anymore, because I can shut my body off from feeling anything. 
And when I can’t turn it back on, I get mighty good at pretending.

This wasn’t supposed to be long 
I think I’m all done now

A Daughters First Love

If you’re wondering why I’m writing you this, then I’ll be surprised. Cause even though I’ll never know wether you saw this, I hope I’ll get a feeling. I wonder what you do. If you can see me. See any of us. I know it sounds bad but apparently you can’t miss us while you’re up there. But I believe you are aware of us and remember. And you hope we join you up there someday. I miss you a lot. I still cry. A lot. It doesn’t feel like a 2 years and a half. It feels like just yesterday when I saw you last, your skin cold as ice. You looked so cold, daddy. I felt your hands and through that river of tears I realized that I would never be able to hold your hand or kiss your cheek. Sit and talk to you. Put my cold hands on your sides and laugh as you jump away; or poke you senseless because I got my ticklish sides from you. Never hear your laugh or run outside to go say hi when you finally got home from work. Never smell your cologne or even those dirty socks you would throw at us. Daddy I miss you so so so much. I wish you could’ve gotten better. You were in so much pain and you tried so hard to make it until mommys birthday. You tried so hard to get better cuz you still had a wife and 3 kids at home. I love you so much, I’ll never stop. I’ll never forget. I’m so sorry. I wish you could’ve stayed.

Daddy

I miss my father. I miss his love, support, his never ending gentility and humor. If there is to be found, any good in me, it will have been a gift passed on from him. He was the quiet, soft spoken type, who always seemed to put others before himself, and was always there with a kind word and uplifting praise. I was always a daddy’s girl. To this day I think of him and cry, knowing I will never see him again. Heaven is a different story. But my life here on earth, devoid of my beloved father, the one hero I have seen and known and truly loved. He is the type of man I hope my husband will be someday. My rock. Strong, supportive. So sweet you get cavities just hearing him speak. My daddy… Oh how I miss him

Make Sure

When it is time for you to leave… this earth, you make sure you have worked hard to make sure it mattered you were ever here.

Sweet Moments

I told her I love her. That I was sorry for being occasionally mean spirited and hurtful, but that no matter what I do, I love her. I know pen on paper is nothing but words, and that actions are needed, but despite it all, I admire her. She is strong, beautiful. She withstood trials thrown at her for years, and only grew better with time, like the sweetest fine wine. She is exemplary, an inspiring christian, a devoted mother. She loved, through sickness and health, and prevailed. She fought poverty, and sacrificed the little she had to appease needy children. She is wonderful. Maybe she’s not perfect, but neither am I. She’s my mother, my guide and my heroine. She’s what someday, I might aspire to be

Big deal

Sometimes I’ll be thinking, about anything really, and certain thoughts will come. It varies, and depends on the day. “What if the Bible is really nothing?” “What if after death there’s only black?” “What if it’s all true and I’m going to hell?” “Why am I such a child?” I think of all the poor, the starving, and the sickly, the homeless, the orphans.. And here I am, complaining about what; exactly? Big deal, I got molested multiple times. I’m not starving or dying. Big deal I watched my dad die of cancer, at least i have a home and a job.. Big fucking deal that I see things and hear voices, I’m not being tortured, and I’m not some sex slave. So big deal! I need to GROW up and get over myself. And yet time and time again I sit and feel nothing but this melancholy weight on me. The world itself pushing me down, away, to be rid of. All these thoughts and all this pity, self pity. Then hate, so much anger, towards myself. And I must punish, oh if no one will I will. Triple blade. Over triple blade. Over triple blade.