from a weed to a beautiful lavender colored tulip.

i read at my first open mic. no longer a poetic virgin. although i still feel like a poseur. i read this piece below.

(these words were born through an activity given to me by my therapist. i was to write about my body. how i see myself and how i want to see myself. it was an amazing writing exercise...)



i stand crooked and insecure. brown and awkward. i often go unnoticed. folks pass by me without even a second look. i am nothing yet i am something to somebody. this weed, me, growing in a sea of manicured faces. beautiful faces that look at me with questions like who is she? why does she look like that? i stand out like a sore thumb. there is no way getting around it. i am different. my branches do not curve. they are unattractive. difficult to look at. my legs are weak. the wind is blowing me left and right. i am fighting to stand tall but am unable to. i fight to raise my back but i fall back to my feet. until one day the rain washes away my sadness. the manicured lawn is shining bright. something comes over me. the green zombies start to morph into these dry, brown objects. lifeless beings. something is happening to me. this power is going through my veins. my brown stems are changing colors. ROYGBIV is starting to glow on my feet.

i stand tall, poised, and confident. no longer brown and dull. but black and bright. the sun is hugging me. my African ancestors are holding me up. i’m no longer afraid. i have the spirits of mi abuela, mi tia tata, mi abuelo ‘tin, and so many of my other kin. they made a path for me. i will not let them down. they planted the seeds of love, compassion, and courage on this growing bud. as i rise i notice that i am taller than the cookie cutter faces on the green pastures. i rise with a power i have never felt before. my green limbs resemble the beauty that i always known lied within. i stretch my hands out in mountain pose. the purple petals hug me and they stretch out. my salute to the sun is returned with a glow that brings my other petals out. the lavender kisses my face. i shift to warrior pose. then crescent moon. other petals just begin to grow. my strong, toned legs are holding my pose. i am a female warrior in a battle for my life. and i win. i choose life. from a weed to a blossoming tulip. i know that my growing is infinite. my beauty has no bounds. i am who God intended me to be. a beautiful, lavender, blossoming tulip.

namaste.

Love Letters....

Love Letter

I am sitting on my bed thinking about the last three months. I was asked to write myself a love letter. I thought it was a silly idea. I mean what do I have to tell myself that I have not told myself looking in the mirror. Then silly turned into frightened. I mean what do i really love about myself? Is there anything, really?

This letter is not a letter to a loved one who passed away. This letter is not about how much I love my significant other. This letter is about me, my body, my self, who I really am.

Dear Rebel Poeta:

You are a kind soul and soothing spirit. You are giving, trustworthy, and open-minded. You love unconditionally and you work hard to make others happy. You are simply beautiful. Your almond-shaped eyes, your coily locs, your flawless caramel colored skin, your beautiful crooked almost white teeth. Your broad-shoulders, strong toned arms, nicely round-perky breasts, and your almost flat belly. The scar on your lower-right side of your hip where you got your appendix taken out. Your small but round derriere. The curve on my almost toned back that allows me to do the most comfortable, soothing, and relaxing yogic back bends. Your strong, toned, and athletic legs. No, I never ran track in my entire life. But I have legs like a track star! I love my legs. My feet are wide but beautiful. I am a perfect size 10. I love my body. It is the way our Creator has intended. All these perfect imperfections make me beautiful!

I am beautifully human. I love every part of me.

Always take good care of yourself, sis!

With Love & Courage,
RP

Do you have what it takes? To be whoever you dream to be.

If you really want something, you MUST run out and get it. Live your DREAM. Set GOALS. MAKE IT happen. There is no way to achieve your goals. To make your dreams into a reality if you do not work at it. I have to be my own cheerleader. No one is going to get me to my goal but me.

sister spaces + courage= healing

The night of October 15th, a few of my close sister-friends came together to be a part of our very own sister circle. We came with the essentials in our emotional backpacks: faith, trust, openness, courage, vulnerability, and most importantly love. We had no idea what to expect. All we knew was that we were ready to create a space where we can vent, scream, yell, cry, laugh, and celebrate....us.

This experience has made me see and understand the necessity to create safe spaces for women of color. These are difficult to do but not impossible. While I appreciate the spaces in the cyber world (shout outs to Model Minority, Crunk Feminist Collective, Patrice Berry, Bassey Ikpi, and so many other sistas I cannot name right now) I still miss the one-on-one or face time with a group of like-minded women who care about healing. I am so BLESSED to have been surrounded by fascinating and courageous WARRIORS.

Some of the recurring themes for our discussion were centered around abandonment, trauma, abuse, sexual assault, mental health, solitude, forgiveness, and searching for 'home.' It surprised me to see these women (i.e. most of these women I have known for more than 2 years) in a different light. They were not the women with shields too afraid for folks to see them. In this space they did not care about that. They were shedding the facade that they wear at their jobs or while they are teaching in the ivory tower. They were shedding the weight that holds them back from growing and glowing. The weight that does not protect them but precludes them from being who they really are. The sister circle allowed them to be perfect imperfections. Simply beautiful.

Some powerful words that stood out to me at our sister circle (excuse me for paraphrasing):

"I usually hold my emotions in for fear of burdening someone else with my issues."

"I have never been comfortable in friendships with women because I have been hurt too many times before."

"I'm looking for a space where I can be simply, me."



I was relieved to know that I was not alone. That I was not swimming in a vast sea on my own but that there were other women of color swimming with me--- I see us moving and swimming past the currents and riding the waves to get to the other side that is...healing.

I am glad to be on this journey with them. They are my life vests. I am confident that we will get to that side together.


With Courage,
Rebel Poeta

Poetry in Motion: First Crush

I thought about you today
Better yet the deep end in the pit of my stomach did
it poked,yawned,burped,growled,cried,whaled
those noises I couldn’t control
like the anguish you hear when wolves cry out to their loved ones
feelings resurfaced
like the earthworms after a rainstorm
feelings of glee and joy
I was the new puppy on its way to its new family
My love for you never parted.
It just went into hibernation with the bears
It emerged on this Indian summer day in November

They hid in the mines of my soft spot….My heart
In hopes never to return again
But no those suckers couldn’t contain themselves
One smile from you ….My wall came crashing
Like the Berlin Wall did 20 years ago
Without a moment to soon
Those butterflies rushed back into my heart
How foolish of me…to think that I could control matters of the heart

I remember your warm embrace
The smell of your hair
I remember being tucked under your left arm
As I pretended to sleep
I inhaled the beautiful smell of peppermint in your hair
I nuzzled tightly under your skin
So that I can remember
This moment
Why couldn’t we be together?
She had you
I had another
We never gave it a chance

We knew we couldn’t be together
We held on tight
Hoping we could freeze time
I still close my eyes when I hug someone
the smell of peppermint
the breeze of this Indian Summer Day
And imagine them being you
(written November 10, 2009)

lost

i had no desire to write in my blog. its been more than a month since i looked at my journals. it is more than writer's block. i did not have the words to say. i am depressed. i am exhausted. i am over-committed. i felt shame admitting to you that i was depressed. there seemed to be nothing valiant about saying that i was falling, falling, failing, failing you...and me.. but i am tired of containing these emotions. the bottle is filled to the brim. there's nothing courageous about holding my emotions. i was lost. lost in my thoughts. lost in PTSD. lost in my fears. fears of rejection. fears of being stuck in this rut. i find that i am my worst enemy. i push myself 'til i can't no more. (sniffles, sneeze, coughing). 'til i am sick to my stomach. but so many folks rely on me. they expect 'perfection.' they say: "she gets the job done." "i can always count on you." but who can i count on? who will be there for me?


i wish the voice inside of me was stronger than my fears. i wish that i could just run away. i'd chill on the beaches of cancun. go back to that place where i was soaking up the sun with my partner in july. just listening to the waves. i want to get away! in search of clarity. tired of being lost.

Poetry in Motion: love.loss.

i remember jubilee
where you loved me
unconditionally

i remember kisses
under the sycamore tree

i remember you
and me

please.please.

come back to me.