My Stories and Poems

daddy's loveWhy I look for you in every man
Why you were the only person I felt that loved me as a child
How I grew from you When my body grew
How I yearned
To sit on your lap again
To hold your hands
To sit on your shoulders
How I felt like I lost you
So I searched for someone
To replace you
But no one is like you

-Daddy Issues

 

Love is not external.jpgLove Machine – 8/3/2018

Blood is Thicker than Water – 7/26/2018

Lost Souls – 7/20/18


The Fence 7/19/18

I’m tired of playing along the fence.

I draw on the cement walls. I write my abcs on the brown dirt by the fence. On the outside, a big shiny word illuminates on top of the stage. I spell it over and over.

Mama and Papa tell me to stay within the fence. It’s better in here with all of them. I listen, but I play along the fence every day. I swindle my hand in the barbed wires, watching the people, the lights, and the beautiful women dancing in colorful bras and fluffy dresses. I always watch a particular one. From afar, her slim pale face gleams in the light. She smiles with her red lips as everyone around claps and screams. Her silky black hair, tucked in a shimmery blue head piece with feathers sprouting out of it. Her bright blue bra with shiny silver sparkles, and long blue skirt hypnotizes the audience as she gracefully spins, her skirt creating spiral patterns in the heavy air. I tell my mom I want to dance in a colorful bra too. She tells me I shouldn’t do that. Women like that are loose, women like that are lazy. They only use their body to get what they want.

I watch mama and papa haul 100 pound boulders in the wagon from point A to B; they laboriously work, huffing and puffing in the dust filled air, sweat smudging their hair into a lavish style. I’m young, but I wonder, is this what I will do when I grow up?

I throw rocks outside the fence. I throw my body back and swing so hard that I topple over onto the ground. My face kisses the ground. I plant my hands on the dirt to slowly pick myself up. Red drips color the brown dirt. Drips continue to fall. I punch the ground with my fists over and over. Over and over. Why can’t I leap over the fence like these rocks? I calmed down. I tell myself, it’s okay. Mama says, it’s better to stay along the fence. It’s safer. Out there, drunk men prowl around, slap women’s butts, and steal them away from their family. The fence keeps me safe. I’m okay with not knowing. Because what I know is what is in here: The little grocery booth Auntie Yua runs. The clothing shop Auntie Shoua sits at every day. They love me. And they wouldn’t want anything bad happen to me. So, I will stop thinking about leaping over the fence.

I see a little girl my age. She looks just like me. Same hair length, same skin color as me, same height. But, she has a beautiful sky blue dress. It’s sheer fabric flows in the wind. The spaghetti straps cling onto her shoulders as she holds a colorful swirling lollipop in her hands. Her father holds her hand just like my papa holds mine when he takes me to buy tamarind candy from Aunty Yua’s shop. She walks along the path and runs to the big stage. She bends backwards, cartwheels, and flips forward; all the things I do in here on the dirt ground. How can I get to that stage too? I want to know how the stage feels on my feet.

I yawn. The days by the fence drags on as my hair drags lower to my waist. My curiosity grows. How would it feel to ride on that large wheel, almost reaching the sky? I yearn to feel the stage on my feet. I imagine myself standing on the black stage. The bright lights beam down on me. I smile with red lipstick and a long sun yellow dress. I spin in circles. Everybody cheers and they’re screaming my name. I smile. Michi comes by the fence and stares out into the lights. She pushes my shoulders and my vision disappears. I frown. She tells me it’s getting late and to come back to for supper. I ask her, if she ever wonders how life was like outside the fence, but she shrugs her shoulders, tells me to come and slowly walks back to the village.

I cling onto the fence, and poke my arm through it pretending to reach out and touch the humongous tea cup that spins round and round. If I can just reach a little further. I push my arm deeper into the hole, my skin rubbing against the barbed wire, scratching at my armpit. Then, a shadow blocks my view. And someone holds my hand. I look up, and there she was.