A moment of Happiness


I am a happy person

I have my ‘episodes’

I have my ‘moments’

But I am happy

Some days my happiness sends me a quick reminder that it still exist.

Today was a reminder


I was driving back to our house from Wal Mart and my kids were in the back seat surprisingly quiet. I turned on the radio and a song by Selena Gomez was on (which quickly falls of my scale for good music btw) and they both started singing along, makig funny faces, and laughing. I glanced at my kids from the rear view mirror and I smiled. I felt strange. I felt like I haven’t smiled in the longest time. My face felt renewed.

I turned up the volume and quietly laughed to myself.


I used to loathe my existence.

I used to avoid happiness.

I used to be oblivious to love.

Even now, some days I wonder if it is real, all of it.

So, Happiness sends me a reminder that I am still alive. I am worthy of being happy. I am capable of giving and receiving love.

A wake up call.

I am happy today.

My Body


From the day I was born my beauty was forced on me

My beauty was to be shared by those around me

My beauty was never mine

From my legs to my hair, my beauty was cherished

My curvy body

My small waist

My long curls

My long lashes

My soft lips

My body was beauty

Beauty forced on me

Appearance was a priority forced on me

Why? I don’t know

By the age of seven, my body was no longer mine, instead, it was taken from the men who turned it into a sex toy

By the age if eight, my body was recycleable; passed from one to another and used up as many times they wished

By the age of nine, my body was a collage of new needs and forgotten futures

By the age of eleven, my body was introduced to new artifacts:

Full breasts and a Nice ass

During my teens, my body was unbearable

My body became a temple where I could walk in and worship all my hate to it


At age fourteen my body found true love, but not from me

My body received uncontidional love, but not from me

My body was foreigned to me

I only saw it as a dirty dish rag and it didn’t matter how many times I tried to wash it or change it

It was still a rag

My beauty was forced on me and used against me

My beauty introduced me to hell

Before the age of 22, I couldn’t bare to look at my body naked

I felt the filthy hands of my abusers

I heard the echoes of perverted men and prideful women

I smelled the breaths of those who forced my body on them

I felt the hundreds of eyes starring down at me

I couldn’t breathe, so I didn’t look.

At age twenty two, I remember standing naked in my bathroom. I looked at my body from head to toe and whispered You are beautiful

Not an ounce of belief, but I said it

Now, at age 24, I am laying on my bed



You are beautiful

This is my beauty. This is my body. This is me.

The Thirteenth Piece: The Three Year Storm (Part One)


My first day of middle school was nerve wrecking. I woke up at 6 a.m. and walked to the bathroom only to realise that a huge zit grew overnight on my chin.

This is a disaster.

Kill me.

The first day of sixth grade and I had a zit. I tried to make it disappear. I dabbed a bit of toothpaste on it (my mother once told me it worked) but quickly washed it away when the burning sensationbecame unbearable. Next, I tried to pop it, but only failed and made it worse, so I decided to cover it. I was not expert in make up so I decided to take the low risk choice and just hide it with a small bandage.

Just kill yourself already.

My day was already fucking me over.

I was mentally preparing myself for the first day of middle. I decided that I should continue as I was in fourth and fifth grade, socialize and fit it. I wanted school to be a distraction from the reality that haunted me at the house. I wanted to be normal, but there is so much one can do to prepare. In the end, LIFE loves to punch and kick you around.

Our house wasn’t far from my middle school. It was located in front of my former elementary school and about an eight minute walk from our house. On that day, eight minutes felt like hours. The closer I got to school, the more anxious I would become. I had to constantly stop to balance my beathing and take momens to relax. Surprisingly, I arrived in one piece and headed to the gymnasium. I walked in and saw the crowds of kids.


Don’t stare so much.

I clenched my hand infront of me, avoided eye and physical contact and headed to the wall mat. I leaned on the wall and released a long, silent exhale. I didn’t realise I wasn’t breathing until I leaned on that wall. I stared and floor and listened to the laughters, screams, and talking around me.

I need to leave already.

My first day was already heading downhill.

I didn’t recognise how much time passed until the gymnasium was half empty. Everyone was heading to their homerooms. I quickly picked up my backpack from the floor and searched for my homeroom. It took me longer than usual to find it. By the time I arrived most of the seats were filled. I looked around nervously and found a desk in the middle of the room and quickly sat down. I placed my bag infront of me and sat in silence until the teacher came in. Nearly everyone in the classroom had made a friend, except for myself and another kid. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone. I was anxious. I was afraid.

What if they stare ar your bandage?

What if they don’t want to talk to you?

What if I talk too much?

What if they ask too many questions?

The CONS were endless, so I just gave up.

The months that followed had it’s nice outcomes; I was able to make a few friends, go to a couple school dances, exhange friendly letters, etc. As much as I tried, I still felt distance between me and everyone else. I think it was just the fact that I always had my mask on even when I was with friends. I felt safe. If they tried to ask questions, I avoided them or just gave vague answers. Friends were temporary for me, because I was too afraid to put down my mask and just say This is me.

My personality took a darker turn after my visit to the assistant principal’s office.

My need to fill the aching void that dwelled within me increased and transitioned to my second year of middle school.

Where did it go?


I remember the days we spend hanging out.

I remember the secrets and storied we kept to ourselves.

Where did it go?

I remember hard times and fun times.

I remember sleepovers and never ending laughters.

Where did it go?

I remember being there for each other.

Small or big…we were there.

Where did it go?

I remember us

I remember our friendship

I remember the love

Where did it go?


Busy lives.

Hectic schedules.

This and that…

Yet, i’m trying too keep our connection

Why are you still so far away?

I’m trying.

All I can see now is a thread.

I’m still trying.

Where are you?

Why are you not trying too?

I think I’ll just stand here now.

I’m tired of trying.

I’m tired of this one sided friendship

Where did it go?