If I Choose to Love You

If I choose to love you

I would be making the worse choice of my life.

I would choose to one day have you hurt me

Leave me for someone new

Break my heart a part

To a jigsaw puzzle that can never be put together…

Even with glue

You would take me away from my hopes and dreams

And ruin me forever

And yes forever, forever

My love would be the most damaged

As I would be forever in ICU waiting for your breathe to become mine.

If I choose to love you.

If I choose to love you.

I would be making the best choice of my life.

We could be birds together

Not like some dumb pigeons, but like some badass eagles that sour at all hours

We could dance like the whole world is watching, but it’s only us.

We’d stare at skylines and stars and wonder what life might be like

Our children would hopefully have your eyes and flow

But my hair and personality…

Wait maybe your personality because I don’t know if I could handle another me like you can.

I would wake up next to you

And kiss you in the middle of the night.

My favorite moments of each day would be to laugh with you

And say damn at all the moments.

I would love you at your most damaged.

And your breathe would become mine.

If I choose to love you.

The funny thing is…you don’t get to choose who you love.

For timing is always off

As love isn’t on time and probably running on CP time.

And love is never when you want it.

If love was a choice, I wouldn’t choose to love you as you’re so difficult

I could choose an easy love.

One I never worried or wished you got your shit together.

As my love for you isn’t something I can stop or choose to start.

As it hurts worse than the time I broke my hand on a mountain

Every time I see the light or it maybe having smooth sailing.

Loving you would never be easy, but maybe I love you as the worst and best of it all.

But what I can choose is me

And whether I want you a part of me.

Snapshot of Heartbreak Told in 5 Parts

Part 1

And in that moment,
I knew everything changed
A “one time thing”
Would lead to patterns of more
If I let it.
That my voice would continued to be silenced if I continued my pattern.
I decided to let go
As being selfish was needed
As the ultimate act of self care.

Part 2

I miss you most on rainy days
As the rain washes away all
Except you.

Part 3

I sometimes wish your soul was who I thought you actually were.
Perhaps it would hurt less to know that you believed you made a mistake instead of blaming me.
Maybe then I would stop thinking about you as often.

Part 4

It hit me on my walk home tonight
That I’m chasing a ghost of who
I would like you to be
But not how you are.
I’m chasing a hope of potential
And not the reality that is you now
And while love is worth taking a risk on
I worry the risk and reward won’t match
That you have such a hard bar to jump
Over the bar I set
That you’ll never reach it
I don’t know if anyone could
For I put expectations on you
That you are not aware ever existed
No wonder you disappoint me.
You never had a chance.

Part 5

I release you into the wild
With only but our memories remain
I am sorry I couldn’t be the pedestal
In which you thought I owned
But I am sorry you never got to know the real me.

Chicago Weather

My love for you is unpredictable as Chicago weather.

Sometimes I look forward to seeing you, and sometimes I can’t wait to move away.

I talk about you like summer as the best thing, but then get mad when you repeat the same blizzard year after year.

I remember the good times of Super Bowls and Championships.

But forget the 108 years of heartache.

I eat you up like pizza and Garret’s popcorn.

But hate that you never put spices on anything. Like ever.

I wish I could always run on the lake path of your heart.

Instead of fearing that I’ll slip on black ice.

I should probably move to LA, but LA doesn’t have your heart and spirit.

LA is too predictable.

And maybe I like Chicago weather.

The Minority

I wish she wasn’t a trigger

I wish every time I saw her I don’t imagine her death

I wish I could I admit that I was in love with you

Instead of high five you for your latest conquest

I wish you choose me…every time

And not only because I’m present

I wish Father Time stopped playing games

I wish we stopped playing games.

I hate that I love you

And that I compare every man to you.

I hate being in love with the idea of you

Instead of the actual you.

I hate that you don’t have your shit together

I wish you had your shit together

I wish when you do, that you’ll choose me

I hate that I know you won’t

And that you’ll choose another her

That her type is the prize

And that I’ll never be.

The Affair

And when our lips touched

I knew it was over

Over being faithful

Over saying he is the only one

Over saying to him, do you trust me?

Because in this moment

In the moment of electronic fire

I no longer belonged to him

Because my arms wrapped around your neck say you are now mine.

Even for this moment.

As we both know these few days belong to us and us alone, but the minute 8am hits on Monday, you are back on a plane and I am here

Here with the smell of your cologne

Mixed with coconut oil sweat still on my pillow and my body.

We wouldn’t work in the real world

We say as a way to protect our hearts that live close by while our bodies live far.

But for a weekend, your body is pressed against mine and I can hear your heartbeat.

It makes the sound of a 90s r&b love song

And when I forget the words, you are here right now for me to listen instead of imagine what it might be.

I kiss your chest to remix the song and you pull my chin up.

I love you you say.

Your lips

The softness of your skin

The beautiful soul that makes me a better man you say.

Your soul makes me complete I want to say.

I want to say leave your home, and we can create one filled with butterflies and orange trees.

I know they don’t grow in the city, but with you anything is possible.

I kiss you with a mascara tear rolling down my face.

A tear full of happiness, sadness, and my love for you.

I want to take a video of this moment and play it over and over instead of the memory I may remember of this and the memory of you leaving.

As the moment you leave, the dream we built becomes a fantasy

And then it’s truly over.

For I am left with but a memory of the insecurity of us.

Setting the Bar

It hit me on my walk home tonight

That I’m chasing a ghost of who

I would like you to be

But not how you are

I’m chasing a hope of potential

And not the reality that is you now

And while Love is worth taking a risk on

I worry the risk and reward won’t match

That you have such a hard bar to jump

Over the bar I set

That you’ll never reach it

I don’t know if anyone could

For I put expectations on you

That you are not aware ever existed

No wonder you disappoint me.

You never had a chance.

Loud Noises

So Many Voices

Getting louder and louder

Loud Noises

Trying to rise above

Forgetting that we are people

Forgetting that we are more than what is on a census

Forgetting that they are not an expert in everything

Scream with voice

Scream as they type

Scream with their fist in the air

But silent when they see or feel microaggressions

Silent when their fellow person needs help when their voice has been silence

Silent when comes to doing the work

But are the first to speak up when they have no part in the conversation

Instead of listening to those that live it

With different experiences

Different thoughts

And different motivators

Not able to admit when they don’t know everything

Not able to admit that this is not their experience

Not able to admit when they are wrong

That although they may be oppressed as well, their oppression is different

We are not all the “American Boy” prototype

With Khaki pants and a polo shirt for sure

However their differences and mine and your differences do not make us the experts in understanding all

But as the loud noises

get louder and louder

They continue to believe they are like

Clarissa and know it all

Instead of working to understand

Instead of working to silent

And instead of working to listen

They choose to scream to prove a point that is already gone

And click and tap and push on their hate and insecurities to flame a gaslight

Loud noises

Getting louder and louder

But say nothing

My Shield

When I step on the scale
I try to play tricks
If I stand on one foot
If I stand on the side

Maybe, just maybe, I’ll weigh less
Maybe, just maybe, that number will validate me
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel better

About the shield of a body that has few protective layers
Layers that make it the strongest, yet weakest
This imperfectly, perfect body of mine

This layer for when I was bigger than all the girls in my class
This layer for when I wasn’t Mexican or White enough to sit or play with you
This layer for when my boyfriend didn’t take no for an answer
And I confused it for love
And this layer for the self-hate I tell myself in my darkest moments
Yet, smile through

It’s a shield that brings people in, but stops them from getting too close
But then gets mad when the boy I’m dating stops calling, gets engaged, and has a baby by a woman out of no where

It’s the loneliest of shields
But sometimes it can be the best of shields
This imperfectly, perfect body of mine

I’ll never not be the bigger girl
But I got hair and body that many pay millions to a plastic surgeon for
The scars on my knee from two knee surgery
Show my warrior spirit
The nose I got from the Queen of my Nana, that I once called a witch nose
Show the spirts that guide me

And this butt of mine
I’ll sometimes catch it in a mirror and ask myself
“Girl, have you been doing squats?”

The shield of my body
Has a few colorful layers
That make it weak and strong

This layer can talk to anyone
This layer loves the sound of her feet when she runs
This layer got herself a Masters degree
This layer moved across the country with a home or a job for the dream of laughs

My shield, while dented and imperfectly perfect, is the only shield I got
And while I’ll pick and tear it a part
Shows my journey more than any number on scale will

This shield of mine has protective and color layers
Imperfectly, Perfect
Strong and weak

This shield is me.

 

 

Running and Butterfly Goddess

I do my best thinking on my run. Running helps me to clear my head, helps my anxiety, and helps me build my inner and outer strength.

Running is also my reflection time. Reflection on building up a better life for myself, family, and community. What I could have done better. And what are the next steps. All this and more are probably the reasons why I don’t like running with others. This is something to think about as my marathon training becomes higher mileage, but that’s a topic for another day.

After each run, I post on my Instagram about my run. It started as a way to keep people in the loop about my mental health, but it then became a place to keep me accountable and also as a part of my healing. Mental Health is often a topic we sweep under the rug. And when we become sick due to our mental health because we can’t physically see it, we often don’t give it the attention needed or admit we are sick.

It took me months before I could admit I was sick. I knew I was sick when a friend who was suppose to come out for the weekend canceled on me, and I didn’t leave my house or my bed for a weekend. This sounds normal to some, however for me, I am almost never home and if I am, I am working on art or something. But I didn’t admit or do anything about it.

The second biggest clue was when I was on a flight from Chicago to Phoenix in March 2017. The flight was very bumpy and we were flying through a storm. When the plane dropped, and said to myself, “I don’t want to die this sad.” I didn’t know why I thought that.

I finally admit I was sick in July 2017. My best friend was in town, and we were at a pizza place in Chicago. I just started having an anxiety attack in the middle of the restaurant and crying. My best friend was trying to help, but there was nothing she could do. My body started tensing and then I couldn’t move. We were finally able to leave, but I was at my worse.

There were other moments that followed and were in between these big three that lead to my mental break. Poor diet. Not taking of myself. Poor work environment. However, these moments stand out because it shows how it gradually got worse. I’ve always had anxiety and depression, but like many, I would move on and keep doing what I was doing. Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing and expecting different results. Something like that.

However, I didn’t acknowledge what years of doing that really hurt me until it physically took a toll on me. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t operate. I felt broken. My mom was the biggest help in my life. She would call doctors, sit on the phone with me, and talk to me. My mom is my angel on earth. With her help, therapy, and my framily, I was able to heal and become better. I started building confidence and merging out of my cocoon.

This is why it probably stung the most when this past weekend, a family member used my anxiety as if was a weakness. The context had nothing to do with my anxiety, but a Facebook post that had gotten out of control. When I tried to put a stop to it all, I was told that “anxiety may not be the issue.” When I said they had crossed a line and not to talk about my mental health, they then said something to the affect of agree. Do not bring up your mental health if you do not want people talking about it.

I am happy to talk about my mental health, but not as a weapon of weakness. The more one tells me to stop, the louder I will become. I do not talk about my mental health for others as burden. I talk about it for myself and to bring awareness. It’s healing for me and hopefully will help more people to talk about their journey and get help. It took me a long time to admit that my mental health was not a weakness. That it was good to talk about it. That I wasn’t crazy. And that I am worthy. It does hurt when someone you love decides to go low when you were trying to figure out what was happening.

It’s taken me a long time to be the person I am today and be so open, both online and off. I never shared hurtful moments like my sexual assault, binge eating, or my anxiety as to not disturb the peace. There were bits and pieces, but I wanted to be liked so much that I kept a lot of it hidden. I didn’t want to be too different than what I already was, and I didn’t want too much attention, even though I craved it.

Along with the bad, I never shared too much of the good like my work ethic, education accomplishments, and positives in relationships which is sad as well because I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging. That I was doing good while my community may not have been.

It’s a common struggle and fear for many when our good and bad gets thrown back at us as if it is a weakness. It’s a poor tactic used to silence when there is nothing else. It’s often a tactic some use against those trying to help them, but when used it doesn’t matter what happened before as it crosses lines.

To those who choose to throw or clap back by using mine/your pain and happiness against me/you is not a reflection of you. It is them.

I almost let it get to me, but I am butterfly goddess.

I am proud of the body that allows me to run, dance, and hug those I care about. I am proud of my mind that allows me to create, think, and build. I am proud of my anxiety and depression as it shows me the depths of hell, but also has taught me tools needed to better my life. I am proud of my voice that allows me to speak, tell my truth, and be a warrior.

I am a proud woman of color, and this world will never shut me down.

Finding Your Tribe

Growing up, I thought I was the weird one.

At the time, mixed children were not in style, and I didn’t know many. For a lot of my friends I was the darkest or the lightest person they knew. Growing up, people would ask fun questions like which part of your body is white and which part is Mexican ? Why do you have both a menorah and Christmas tree in your house? And where is your mom’s family from. To which I would want to answer:

1) None that you’re going to see

2) Because we like presents

3) California! Damn. But also Guadalajara. But most are legal. My dad’s family are the illegal immigrants. You think Konopken is a real last name? Chances are high they made it up so to not be caught! I have no proof, but anyways.

However, I didn’t answer any of those questions like I would imagine. In reality, I was the curly hair, Coke bottle glasses, and curvy girl who wanted to fit in so bad with my white friends. But also I wanted my skin a little darker and my valley girl accent to be less when hanging with my brown friends. It brought up feelings of not being enough for anything or any body. Not even myself.

After a while, you learn to adapt by not talking about it, putting your head down, and out working, out shining, and out doing those feelings. That by doing so, maybe they’ll look past my differences. Of course we live in America so why I’ve always worked twice as hard, the result is always half as much for women of color.

With all this, I kept a lot of things bottled up. My eating disorder, whom I was dating, being sexual, loneliness, mental illness to name a few. You wouldn’t have known because I’m an extrovert. I love being around people and experiencing life. However, I didn’t really like being alone because then I would have to hang out with myself and deal with all of this.

When I tried talking to other people about why it stung so much more that my boyfriend is now dating a very white girl, they didn’t understand or didn’t see why. So why am I going to talk about it or anything?

As I said before, you learn to adapt and move on. That you’ll be good wherever you are. And then two years ago, I did a show at Under The Gun that would not only change my creative career, but my life. Allison Reese produced a 6pm Sunday night show called Bits Welcomed. I told a story about destroying a car in Australia and possible hitting a kangaroo.

After the show, I went to get pizza with Allison and she started talking about this show she was doing later that night called Matt Damon Improv. She mentioned that it was a show of all women of color and one white dude that could only repeat words that have already been said. In my head, I was like I want to be a part of this. Maybe she’ll ask me. Allison ask me I am right here!

Allison continued talking about this show and how it would be a one off, maybe a few months. When I saw a break in the conversation I said well if you ever need anyone to play, I would love to. So I got to perform with Matt Damon Improv that night in our first show and many shows there after.

And the shows are great. I love them. However, the shows are secondary to what these women mean to me. They helped and made me laugh me through my anxiety and depression breakdowns including coming to my apartment, picking out clothes so I could make it to shows, eating a lot of food, dancing to dumb songs we’ve made up, self care nights, heartbreaks, and sharing our feelings over bad techno music. They are everything I never knew I needed. They allow me to share without judgement. They allowed me for the first time in years to be proud and happy with who I am. They allowed me to find my voice. They allowed me to be me.

It’s the other 23 hours and 20 minutes that off stage that I love the most. And I hope you one day find people and your tribe.