long lost love story
to their eyes, ears, phones win all
can’t they see beauty?
dirty jokes revealed
modern film adaptation
i still can’t win them
sometimes the weight wins
bearing down on my heartstrings
i question my choice
they go home, forget
(just another stupid class)
for me, a heartache
i search in branches
for tomorrow’s brighter sky
let the clouds break free
a simple haircut
butchered by barbers for years
no one knows curls
and yet, i love it
no hair in face, no tangles
nothing but freedom
if scissors make me
free from society’s rules
why not keep it short?
more than a haircut
freestyle manifesto
for feminism
one absent student
not running his hive today
bees work without stings
blueberry morning
jumping, painting, coloring
make my Mother’s Day
(never mind the fights
the back talk that’s motherhood
the teen wannabes)
to end, we play spoons
the morning snow has melted
we have only blooms
only love we share
with slightly spoiled three girls
who gave me this day
like Christmas in May
red and green lights shine on streets
marking my way home
I always think about this post. And still wonder if it was worth it. Was it worth it?
If you would like a Spanish visa, begin here. This is the first photo I have ever uploaded to my blog. Because a picture is worth a thousand words. Because you can’t possibly understand.
This is my living room floor. And one member of my family’s paperwork for a visa application. One.
There are five of us.
This is only ninety percent complete. We are still waiting for the two most important papers of all. The one that says I have a job in Spain. And the one that says we’re not criminals.
We are not criminals. We are five people connected by a thought I had when I was a heartbroken nineteen-year-old freshman in college. The thought? I will teach ESL. I will marry someone. And I will take my family to a Spanish-speaking country so that my children will learn Spanish.
What you don’t think of when you…
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i give exemplars
rubrics defining each part
yet you ignore them
you’d rather blame me
with a 2 a.m. complaint
that i am unfair
i cordially write
explaining what makes papers
but you don’t respond
at school, more chaos:
PARCC schedule: 2-hour class
for ninth-grade babies
it’s no wonder when
one stands up shouting, cussing
routine wrecked for tests
what people don’t see:
accountability lost
teachers? the ones blamed
and yet, i love them,
want us all to be better,
face our faults… and win
a lasting impact:
two years after Spain living
she still shows interest
group culture project
acoustic guitar homeland
plays her hand at chords
yes, they were too young
to fully understand Spain
what it could offer
but joy of bragging
piques her cultural interest,
memories’ high rates
in the end, worth it
an investment that pays back
one strum at a time
free Sunday funday
festive city opens spring
with cartwheels and dolls
Location:S Saint Paul St,Denver,United States
on your first Mother’s Day,
you will sit under the sun.
rain clouds won’t creep in
to cover the sky with gray.
puffy white balls of cotton
will sprinkle the blue
with heavenly sparkles tinged
with the gold from your heart.
on your first Mother’s Day,
you will hold your womb close
and your memories closer
(let them fly, those clouds)
you will drink iced tea
on a deck that shines
like a knight in armor,
ready to face the fight.
on your first Mother’s Day,
you will tip your glass
to all that could have been
and all that will be… soon
you will face the heavenly blue,
your eyes clear with sun
dipped in heavenly gold.
you will remember… and forgive
on your first Mother’s Day,
you will have the hope that holds,
the heavenly hope that makes us see
how blue-sky-sunny our dreams can be.
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