I have to learn to forgive myself for the things I did as a child under the influence of parents and religion. Blind obedience and mindlessness were taught as virtues that one should strive to master. I was so eager to please. I feel embarrassed thinking back to that child.

I’m trying to release guilt I have for the people I’ve hurt by holding them to a standard that is impossible to achieve.  I was ignorant of other ways of thinking I only knew black and white.

Punishment is not how forgiveness is earned.

Corazoncito

It happens in the early mornings drinking coffee in the gentle sun. Or when something beautiful happens, and I feel the need to share. I’ll pick up my cellphone then quickly set it back down, it hits me like a fist hard against my chest, my mother won’t answer my calls anymore.

She drifted away so slowly from me as the Jehovah’s Witnesses pressured her. Too busy to plan anything then missed calls and unanswered texts began the process of disengaging herself from me. I’d stop over, but no one ever seemed to be home. I never believed she’d genuinely shun me for being gay.

I tell myself, I’m an adult I’m not a baby that still needs her mommy. I don’t need silly Spanish lullabies or a hug as a safe harbor from a shitty world. I will create my own family circle where love isn’t conditional or something to be shamed over. Piece by piece I will remake my broken heart.

Happy Birthday

I grew up with the knowledge that one day god will destroy everyone I love. When I surrendered to the fact that I was gay, I accepted that I would not live forever, not in paradise, not in heaven. I’m 26 in ‘worldly’ years if I count that my birth was from the point I was honest with myself and walked out the door. Were I to die tomorrow, it would be without regret. I’ve not held back even when the terror of rejection gripped my heart at having fallen in love. I loved, fucked and laughed as my spirit directed. A dark abyss or a state of bliss, at least I lived honestly.

Daytime

The world does not see me beating my fist against my forehead trying to numb my mind, to silence my thoughts, a cracked record repeating, “stupiddumbstupiddumb.” A young child filled with fear of her creator, I died with the first bloody thrust of the maker’s tool. Emotions muted by thick black clouds of depression nothing can penetrate the shell around my heart. I remain as a shameful stain poisoning the soul of this broken and scarred body.