Writer's Block

It's ironic
For years now
I buried my feelings
Never an utterance rolled from my tongue
To shed light as to who I was
Building an insurmountable, impenetrable fortress
No one could glean what laid inside
Only the wise knew what brewed underneath
And, thankfully, they are a dying breed
I was alone where no one could hurt me
Safe within my own mind
Never prodded or nudged
Never asked to share what was mine
But the irony?
It's a dreadful reality
The ground, impregnated with the unsaid,
Mocks me through this empty page
Refusing to yield the fruits of silence
It doesn't care what I sowed
Or what I want to reap
Yet, when I close my eyes
It whispers the words
I try to say now
And when awake
It speaks a dead language
My thoughts, a loss forever

To-Do List

I have a million and one things to do
Now a million and two things
Demanding my attention
Clamoring to be completed
Requesting my attendance
But I don't care
Cause I would rather be doing you
Against that wall
Or in the pool
Leaning over this table
And on your chair too
A million and six thousand things in line
But you're number one in my mind

Plan A

     Her tiny fingers, so like mine, laced between Daddy’s as dinner proceeded. Glancing over at me, she flashed me a smile and in an instant, I was a little child again, basking in the light she gave out.

            I have always loved her smile. Its radiance soothed away any worry plaguing my mind, even now as a woman, who was more, at least I hoped, than capable of handling the real boogey men of adulthood. But it always offered me extra courage and this occasion was not different.

It seemed like a good time. Both my parents were in a pleasant mood, laughter flowed easily between conversations. There probably wouldn’t be a better chance to share the news that I’ve been sitting on for the past week. Focusing on their smiles, I told them.

            The words barely left my mouth when I sensed the shift. Daddy’s grin slacked a little as he listened, but he tried to upkeep the façade of being happy to hear it. Mama, on the other hand, showed her disdain immediately. Her other small hand clutched the wine glass and I realized then, no matter what, there will never be a right moment to share with them, especially her.

            As soon as I finished, Mama downed the remaining wine in her glass and said, “You have got to be kidding.”

            Rolling my eyes, my assumptions were confirmed.

            Daddy squeezed her hand and tried to quiet her but she brushed him away, asking me, “This has to be some kind of joke?”

            A laugh escaped my lips and she looked hopeful, her manicured nails stringing through her pearl necklace. My eyes narrowed and I repeated what I said, ending with, “I’m serious, Mama.”

            She slammed her wine glass onto the dining table and jumped out of her seat. Her heels clicked against the floor as she paced the room, yelling, “Gina, we did not give you everything in order for you to settle just for anything. Where is your head, child?”

            I leaned back into my seat, folding my arms across my chest, as her criticisms continued. Daddy’s voice peeped over Mama’s once in a while, but he clearly shared her sentiments, only in a nicer, softer tone.

            Five minutes later, Mama, calming down, took the glass full of wine offered and sipped half its content. She looked down at me and said quietly, “Now finish up your dinner and we’ll talk about this some more later.”

            Shaking my head, I mumbled, “I’m not hungry anymore.” I gathered my plate and went into the kitchen with Mama tailing behind.

            “Don’t be foolish, Gina. You hardly touched the food,” she said as I dumped it into the trash.

“Oh Mama, I couldn’t manage another bite after the bullshit you and Daddy fed me out there.” The plate clattered into the sink.

Her eyes narrowed and she said, “Watch how you talk to me, young lady.”

“No, you watch how you talk to me. I am an adult who doesn’t need either of you questioning my every move like that. The way you and Daddy reacted, it seemed as if I proposed committing murder.”

She gulped the rest of the wine and slurred, “Well excuse me for being concerned with your life. Because you pay your own bills, does not negate the fact that you are my baby. I was born to worry about you.”

“Mama, there isn’t anything to worry about. I’m happy. I hoped you both would feel the same.”

We both stood on opposite sides of the counter, glaring at one another.

“I needed your support tonight, not your condemnation.”

“Darling, I refuse to pretend that this is what you had envisioned for yourself,” she whispered, her eyes softening.

“Are you angry because my life isn’t what you dreamed it to be?” I snapped.

Her eyes flashed and she brought the wine glass to her lips again. Realizing it was empty, she set it onto the counter and crossed her arms.

“I understand where you are coming from because I have been there before.”

Shaking my head like a petulant child, I said, “You have no idea how hard it is, Mama. I am doing the best I can.”

“You are lying,” she said simply.

“These days aren’t like those you grew up in. I’m doing better than most people out there. Can’t you see that?”

She walked over to me and took my hands into hers. Looking into my eyes, she said quietly, “I do not care for those other people, sweetie. I raised you, therefore you are my only concern and I do not think you are all that you can be.”

I shook her off and tried to walk away, hating that she couldn’t sympathize. But she grabbed my arm, forcing me to stay, to listen to the rest of the crap she had to say.

“Mama, you’re hurting me.”

She ignored my plea, saying, “All we ever wanted was what you wanted. We wanted you to achieve your dreams, your vision. Can you continue lying to my face and say you are one step closer in completing the goals you had set for yourself five, ten years ago?”

Her words hurt me and she could tell that they hit. She pulled me into a hug, but I resisted. She let go, looking sad.

Brushing my hair out of my face, she whispered, “I’m not always going to be here to remind you, Gina.” Her thumb rubbed against my cheek, wiping away a tear.

“But it looks like you remember those plans well enough.” With a kiss, she left me alone in the kitchen.

Her heels resonated as she walked through the house, looking for Daddy. I heard her call out to him, asking for another drink.

Usually when she gave me unsolicited advice, once her back turned, I would brush it off and roll my eyes. Now, tears fell from them as the realization sunk in: she is so right. 

Confessions 2.0

I'm gonna tell the truth now.

My best friend is Insecurity. It has been with me since forever. There was no me without it lurking behind my smile and my eyes. It was my shadow and became my world in the absence of light.

Although I suspected its bad influence, I clung to Insecurity because it told me I couldn't do any better. It said I had nothing to offer being me, so I stayed and fed on its lies. But the way I ate its words, you could have sworn that I thought they were truth, that they were real.

And during the feast, I forgot that you became what you eat.

Insecurity did not stop there. It wanted all of me and did not want to share. It superimposed itself onto my other relationships, creating puppets out of those I loved, who unconsciously kept me mastered and within its grasp. I could not escape when others showed its reflection of me. And the sad part of it all is when we slipped into reality, when we drifted from Insecurity's script and they spoke the real truth, I was too warped to believe anything else.

We were joined at the hip. Actually, it was more serious than that. We shared the same body. I was Insecurity personified.

My best friend is Insecurity but I really have to let it go because I want to love without the fear of the expiration date. I want to court life, not while tied up by strings but on my own two feet and of my own accord. I want to do many things but mostly I want to be me. Not me and it. Just me.

Because it's time to start being on my side.

Me Versus Me

So my head keeps playing ping pong between my thoughts

That oscillate between doubts and the truth

And it seems that the doubts have the upper hand

Am I good enough?

Am I a good daughter?

Am I a better sister?

Am I an irreplaceable friend?

Or can someone else substitute all the positions I play

What is my worth

When I know that another can do so much better

Cause I don't think I want to be here

I don't want this

I don't want any of it

All these responsibilities

All these expectations

Everyone relying on me to fill their requirements

Everyone needing me to be something that they want

Everyone molding me into a more desirable person

Someone, I believe,

Who is generous

Who is whole

Who is perfect

Who is not me

Not one bit

Because, I am flawed

I am broken

I am selfish

I am me

And even if I tried

To take on that role

Killed my dreams and destroyed my potential

Ignored my will to follow yours

I'll fall short

I will always fall short

To be the everything you want me to be