aight. so i’m just gonna try and be as honest as possible. it’s hard right. like worrying about people knowing your business and judging you for it. people love judging other people. it’s like a thirst, this dryness in the back of someone’s soul that aches to be quenched, i think a lot of us get it sometimes but some people have it all the time. why do i even worry about that? cuz like most people are too busy worrying about themselves to worry about me or anyone else.

it’s probably just fear. fear to be honest.

but also there’s this weird mentality. to me it’s a hood thing, but it’s in other places too.

the whole like ‘don’t let people know what moves you’re making’, that ‘real g’s move in silence like lasagna’, that whole keep your business to yourself.

it’s real. it’s the difference between being about your shit and being full of shit. allegedly.

and i’m down with it to a degree. but also i want to dismantle it. for myself. with my own shit. cuz carrying things, even good things, like a basket of clean clothes or a big ass caldero full of rice, are heavy. we’re forced to carry shit all by ourselves all the time. it’s heavy. i am tired. we are tired. why do we always have to keep things to ourselves. fear? we’re afraid. also, the hood mentality is real cuz like if we talk, if you talk, if someone talks, bad shit happens. we could all go down with this smoking ship, this defunct subway car ablaze with all the things we did wrong with all the deals we couldn’t make because we couldn’t shut the fuck up long enough to realize them.

so be quiet. be a g. be real. don’t talk. don’t share. no new friends. don’t be a bitch.

i’m tired of that and also i think i’m moving forward from it, again for me. some people need that boundary. sometimes talking is the worst thing you can do. sometimes you have to bite back words until there’s blood all over your lips and it’s your blood so you can’t forget the taste.

but other times it’s too much.

i want to tell people things because i like it when other people share things. sharing. it’s good.

what the fuck am i talking about? ay. here. here, let’s do this. let’s share things.

there’s this badass latina director/writer/powerhouse named Linda and I’ve spoken about her before. and i look up to her from a distance and from up close and from an angle and from all the ways that are clouded and illuminated, i look up to her. Linda makes moves and then she shares them and she tells the world how it all got done. her words and experiences give me hope. like oh look at this badass latina doing things for the community and for herself, look at her talking about ideas, and projects and her failures. oh my god she failed in public and she’s still moving, oh my god, if i fail in public, i will still be able to move.

my other homegirl, vanessa, she writes and she writes and she cries and she shares all of her screams and triumphs with the world. with the huffington post, with her blog, with her friends because she texts and she tweets and she shares all of the secrets to finding ways out of misery and ways to dive into the beautiful fires of realizing ones dreams. and if vanessa can do it, then we can all do it and i can do it.

so please don’t move in silence. and i beg myself to please stop being so quiet and so afraid to talk.

there’s a huge difference between being a humble braggart and someone who is proud to live in their own skin and to grow new cells and write new poems and connect with other artists and to fall down and scrape knees in front of crowds of people and still get up to speak. there’s an honor and blessing involved in sharing those things.

we all need blessings. sometimes. or every day. i think i need them every day.

i think if people didn’t share things, i wouldn’t know what i was capable of or what beauty looks like. not knowing is the worst.

and there is a difference between sharing and lying because it doesn’t help anyone if i were to make up stories and dress them in up truth and paint their faces with lies that i used to know were lies but i’ve told them so often that now they’re fucked up truths. none of that ever helps. and i think i can tell, can you tell. doesn’t it feel different when someone is lying about their life?

it’s like you can knock on the words and feel that they’re hollow cuz it rings inside of your ribcage and it stings.

but when people share their truths, ay. the sun rises. and all the oranges and pinks flood over everything and it’s rebirth.

kind of, right? or something? and maybe sometimes it hurts like an earthquake and everything gets ripped apart and this is me talking about me because sometimes i see other people shining and i want to wretch out all of my failures onto the earth and pray for tsunami. cuz i don’t measure up. so i am silent. and i am miserable and i’m a literal hater choking on my hate.

and it’s harmful. but lately, i’ve begun to recognize what choking on hate feels like and i’ve started to forgive myself for it and understand that jealousy is as natural as brown skin and gay girl kisses and so it’s totally cool as long as i swallow and take a deep breath and find the space inside of me that is all human and no bullshit. when i find that place, i sit in the jealousy and let it turn bright green and sparkly and then i release it into the air and wave. and then i’m proud of the person who i was just jealous of and i admire their work and i honor their dedication and it’s all ok.

and i want to be that person who shares things and isn’t afraid. i want to be the person that lets out a little light and helps other people grow just by sharing cuz that is real and its possible and i believe in it.

my therapist told me that reviving this blog would be good for me. i believe her and i love her cuz i think my grandma sent her to me cuz i didn’t have any old ladies in my life to keep me in check and impart that good wisdom anymore and if my grandma was alive, i think she’d want me to keep writing here too cuz it keeps me connected to myself and to everyone else.

and i don’t want to be afraid of sharing, i want to be proud of myself in private and in public. all the time. and i want other people in my life to tell me when they’ve climbed the top of the eiffel tower to eat marshmallows with the birds and i want them to tell me when they’ve written the greatest poem ever and the new york times is going to publish them and i want the beautiful weirdos to tell me when their hearts have been crushed and they used the pieces to make a sculpture of frida kahlo and anything is possible if we move past silence and into song.

and so if i was going to share things, which is the plan but sometimes i gotta state the plan first, if the plan is to share then here’s a share: i’m working a minimum wage job at a cool place and i wrote a book and it’s going to get published and who knows when because nothing is ever solid and i’m living in limbo until something is concrete, until a date has been set, until i move out of new york, until i can be on tour with this little book of mine and send love letters to the girl who has my little brown heart tucked away in her breast pocket from other states while i move around with my words and if that could be more than just a dream, i’d be ok and i’d be more than ok, i’d be living that life. and limbo is ok but it’s not the world and if i had to share more truths, i’d say i’m moving out of the bronx but even that’s in limbo and if i had to be even more honest, i’d say that i’m in the middle of a monumental shift and all i can feel are grains of rice under my feet and metro card swipes between my fingers and that’s better than being depressed and bed ridden and if this is what truth looks like then boy i’m a looker, ain’t i?

i have to believe in sharing. i have to believe this. i do believe. i do believe. i do believe.

5 thoughts on “revival

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