Sky blue

I was not a girl to cry

I don’t know why

Maybe it was easy to neglect

It was easy to forget

You came along to take it all away

With one kiss on a snowy March night

Foggy and wet we walked hand in hand

How could I forget?

As if that was not enough, you took my heart

You came blasting like the wind blowing down my walls

All my bricks were undone like a pyramid

You kissed me and all was right

I had never cried until you got into my heart

You led the way and I came undone

I cried with a smile the day you made me feel alive

I cried with happiness for you made me see the mountains a different way

I tried and tried, to not cry; now my tears make a river

Floating down the stream by myself

You left me

I cried

You picked me up to throw me right over the cliff

With that smile and your charm

I was enchanted and I cried

You kissed my lips and the sweet taste of love bloomed in my heart

I cried

My world became a never ending tunnel of surprises

Only to find you did not love me

Yes, you know what happened next, I cried

But not today! Not again!

This girl learned to cry and yes it was not always pleasant

It was not always happy

I will never be what I want it to be, it will be what it is in this moment

If we are meant to be, we will be

Once I cry it will be the past and the past will be history

I was never one to cry….

Green is to grow

      Have I become weak, frail, feeble and sad? Is it possible that after years and years of hardship I have now caved into those feelings I so detested? As a child growing up with a mother who found herself in distress every minute of every day I despised her inability to be strong. I hated her, for allowing any feeling to sink into the deep ocean. Every relationship she went through ruined her she would give it all up just to fail. She traded her love ones for men and friends.

                I never really understood why I felt so distanced from her.  I always felt detached and now I know why. Yes I did not have my father by my side and that’s a different story. A few years ago he contacted me. When the news first came to me that he wanted to talk to me I felt angry. I wanted to just yell and shout at him, I cursed him. I could not understand why it took so long. I could not understand why my mother had never told me why they were not together. She never spoke badly about him and neither did my grandmother. The big question, why???

                My next reaction was to talk to him but I wanted nothing to do with why he was not around. I said to him once –Let’s just start over and take it from here. The idea sounded amazing, I was the better person to try and be ok with a new beginning. My brain could not stop itself; I continued to think like I always do. – Was there something I was missing?

                My boyfriend at the time was great and supportive, he would say- just move forward and except it, it’s in the past. In some ways he was right but my stubborn self would not allow it. I kept digging and writing. I wrote a story about my mother, it was late July and my father read it. He emailed me and requested to speak to me. I was scared at the thought but I agreed. It was time. At the same time my brother called to tell me that he was only my half-brother that he knew that my dad was not his. I was almost mute but my sisters slash mother instinct kicked in and I replied- no matter what happens, no matter who are parents are, no matter how far or who comes between us, I am your sister and I love you with all my heart.

                The day came; I sat in my room nervous waiting for his call. I counted every second and all I could think of was what Brandt had said- What do you want to accomplish Karla?  All I could say is I want to close this and turn the page. He insisted, and said that I could do it without them. The phone rang and we began our conversation. He told me he was sorry. He told me the entire story that is too long and shameful to write. One thing I did know is that it all made sense. The stories that he told me were not far from what I had lived with her. She was young, selfish and sick. That is the only explanation.

                The most captivating thing was that she had never been there for me, since the day she gave birth to me she had left me alone. I had realized why I had no connection to her. I can’t blame her for all but I can blame her for not being there for me.  I was so depressed I could not get out of bed or eat or think. Brandt had to get me out of bed and drag me to eat. I will never forget eating sushi together, he rubbing my back and my tears dripping on to my chopsticks. Then he took me to my favorite frozen yogurt place where I had spent many sad days but even that could not make me better.

                Soon after I heard the story, I became more anxious, depressed and restless even insecure about everything in my life. I would constantly ask Brandt to not lie, to please tell me the truth. I don’t know what truth I was looking for but he gave it to me when he broke up with a few weeks later. I had never been so desperate, so sad, so lost and I had never begged anyone in my life. He walked out with my soul and I had given it to him. For the first time now I understand why I felt something. Two things happened one, I learned what it feels to feel and second, I learned how much you need those that you love especially when you need someone in the worse times. I guess I had never needed anyone emotionally; I had always put emotions aside to do what I had to do to survive.

                I could finally understand why she was so in love with love. My mother was enchanted by love because her life was a waterfall of disasters and at that point in my life I needed that love. I truly did love him so much; I gave him a second chance only for him to tear my heart again. It took me this long to realize what I learned.

                I learned that you could truly fall in love. I learned that when you love and never been loved before you fall in love with love. I learned that I have been loved before I just did not allow myself to love them back. I learned that Brandt was my first love but not my lifelong love.  I learned that I know how it feels to love and that it can happen again. I learned that feeling is better than not but only with the balance of loving yourself first. I can do anything as long as I love myself, accomplish my goals and allow the right person to love me back.

Black

When the wind blows

Take me away into the distance

Make me feel the burst of love, the softness of a touch

When the ocean roars

Swing me away like a child

Drown me in your arms; just take me away from all of this pain

When it rains

Let me feel the droplets

Let me taste the world but don’t ever let me go

When the sun comes up

Don’t let me be sightless; please don’t let it burn me

When trees plant there roots

Don’t allow me to plant mine, I don’t want to settle

I just want to grow

As you grow old

Don’t stop listening, don’t go blind on me, don’t ever let me go, don’t forget me I beg

When they bury me

Make sure there is daisy’s every day

Pull out all the weeds and tell me s story

Smile at me, smile at me, smile at me

I will lay there and listen

I will hug you and smile

I will sing for you in the distance

You will feel my warmth with the sun rays

I will never forget you

I will never forget you, I will always remember

Red

How does one get over a broken heart? We can all relate to the symptoms of a broken heart. Broken Heart: a place deep inside that hurts extremely bad you can die, it cries so much it begins to dry, it’s so numb you forget to breath, so cold it makes you blue. I had no idea that that could actually happen.  

​See there are many things and people that have broken my heart but I have never been as despaired as I was the first time I really had my heart broken. For the first time ever, I begged and pleaded for him to stay. I screamed his name so loudly it felt like I was all alone in the world. The pain came rushing not just in my heart but my stomach my head. I could not eat, I could not sleep. It was as if I had run away from sleep and it would chase me. Soon, I became numb allowing my body to take over I could run for days. As the pain got worse the more I could run the more I wanted to feel the pain because that was the only thing I could feel. Not anyone or anything could make me smile. I found out what it meant to be blue. After a week I had lost 12 pounds and I had lost myself.

​After two weeks, he returned and wanted me back and like a starving child I went back. No second thoughts, no hesitation I loved him. Six months later he did it again. It was like a sick joke. This time it was different. He had already taken part of my soul that when he broke up with me I was confused. So, muddled in my head, I stayed with him that night. I cried for hours lying next to him full of disbelief with hope that I was dreaming. He rubbed my back and gave me water. It was as if I was sick and all I needed was cough syrup and after three days I would get better. We had breakfast, we had a nap, we had lunch, we made love and still I felt the pain. The next few days were a blur full of stupid things. In the middle of the night I drove to his house. I called him a million and one times. I did everything I could to see him. He became my pain and cure. Some may say I’m a masochist. Some will call me crazy now for allowing myself to be friends with him.

​I don’t know if I could ever be over him or how much I loved him but I do know that would never get back with him. I do know that I hope we could always be friends because there is something about him and us that is impossible to break.

See I don’t think I could ever feel the same way for him because that kind of love has come and he took away. I love him in such a different way. He is my protector, the one I could tell anything to, the one that will never judge me. He is there if I need him but keeps his distance. Can I lie and say that it does not hurt, no; it does from time to time it hurts. But I have learned and accepted that he was not the one for me and he does not deserve me.

“I always say that two people should fit like two pieces of a puzzle”, but if there is even a slight gap we have to keep trying to find the perfect fit. The cure to a broken heart is not cough syrup, it’s not staying friend with that person, and it’s not accepting the situation; it is whatever works for you. The cure for a broken heart is whatever you do to feel better. If distance works for you, stay away. If hating helps, then hate them. If running or sleeping or screaming or jumping just do what you want. Just remember that if it stops working, make a change.

Purple

I was about eleven years old if I can recall correctly when my mother had lost our apartment. My mother was the kind of person that always was willing to help. At that time we lived in a two bedroom apartment. She was a waitress at a club and would work nights. That summer she met many women whom needed help. Some had just come from México others had problems with husbands, boyfriends, families and more. She would let these women stay with us but it was never just them. Somehow they had kids, and relatives that also needed help, and yes they would end up staying with us. I hated every moment. I thought it was a horrible idea, because it always turns into a soap opera. No good can come out of too many people in one house. Sure enough, people would drink have fun but soon the fights would start. Ruckus would blast through the walls and people would complain. I would simply just hide anywhere I could, the closet, the bathroom or school. Then one day we got a notice that we were to be out in thirty days. Where would we go? I asked.  She would yell and get mad so I did not push. Thirty days passed and all we had was our bags filled with as much as we could. We tried going to my grandmothers but like they say “A dead dog begins to smell after three days”. My mother got into a fight with her brother causing us to have nowhere to go. We slept in the car, or the park, with a friend, with an aunt and it continued for weeks.

The thing about all of this is, and I will never forget, is not that we were homeless. It was the day I showed up to my grandmother to shower. I was wearing light purple overalls, I had on gold small hoop earrings, and my hair was in a ponytail. I was exhausted from sleeping on a bench at the park. I walked in and the first thing I heard was “wow Karla you look so Mexican like you just came from México” “like a wetback”.  It took everything for me not to cry. All I could think of was how could my mother’s sister say that? Had she forgotten where she came from? What else was I supposed to look like? After all, I am Mexican and so is she. Sure, we look different. I have black hair and brown eyes and she is light skin, freckles and auburn hair but we came to the US the same exact way.

I was five when I came to the US. I was eleven when I was told I looked Mexican. I was also eleven when I realized that this world could be sad and people could be so insecure.  I was also eleven when I learned to have pride. I am twenty seven and I’m still Mexican, have black hair, brown eyes, have pride, love wearing purple and I am extremely happy.  

Blue

As I remember it reason

The day we walked away I don’t recall crying. I don’t know what my brother was doing at the moment or exactly when we walked out but I do remember colors, me and my father. Maybe it’s a vision that I made up or maybe it really is a memory. All I know is that my room was pink a very pretty pink. I remember it was my father’s birthday. He was sitting there on the windowsill drinking what I now know as a forty or a big beer. It was dark and she took my hand. Between then and the moment I looked around, and realized I was at a bus station with my grandmother; I had been lost in the dark.  I tried and tried to remember, I really did but had no luck. From that moment on, I paid attention to everything around me. The busses lined up outside, my grandmother upset at my brother, my brothers dried tears on his little face; but the one thing that kept me safe was the blue purse I had over my shoulder. The blue purse kept me safe and it made me forget that I was no longer going to see my father. It felt like every time I opened it, it would talk to me.  I know it was loud in the station but I could hear the zipper and the ridges when I would run the zipper back and forth. It made me numb to the pain. That blue purse that crossed the border with me was my only friend, my safety and my protection.  

Tara

She was dismissive and aragent

Happy and fun 

Lonely and sad 

Hidden by her glass of wine and a smile oh so bright 

Alway lost, like compus searching for direction

She grabs me, we dance 

Drinking and story telling 

In her polyester top 3 bottles of wine later 

The intellectual begins to talk

Distorted my her words we all become partials of dust

Only stop and realize there only words spouting out I a fountain of desperate 

I look at her, I run out because I've realized I could never mirror her.