Woman Seeking Enlightenment

by thecraftaholic

Here’s a new poem I wrote recently. I hope you like it. It comes from a personal place. If you were ever reading my blog, and wondering what the hell I ever had to heal from that was so traumatic, you can read this poem. It tells you my story.
I hope you like it.
my
song of inspiration comes from a
dark sort of place
i
can barely remember
being born of ash and soot
i
slithered out
out the side, as Rumi said
and I
thought of you
even then.

As I
climbed out the hell
that mother birthed me in
the fists flying to me, the words that hurt my fragile ego
the
hell
I don’t have the answers
but I’ve got the questions
I
shaved my head and legs
just for such an occasion
I
sang once a
song of sadness
tears, oh yes
just like Job my
tears were my food
I went hungry
I wandered the streets with only one sack of clothing and a
pair of plaid bell bottom pants I wore everywhere
I lived and wandered
on the streets
unloved
abandoned
looking for you
while others laughed, thinking they knew you
pointing to churches and temples and mosques
they laughed at me (while I was temporarily jesus, seeking to be clothed and fed)
I cried
looking for you
I even tried to die, at seventeen
looking for you
10 times I tried to die
to be closer
to something
or nothing
and my
sanity lingered by just a thread, my
mind grew mad
looking
boys, silly boys
came and spoke their fancies
and then
and then
and then the blood covered my thighs
and I
and I birthed
death
and I
cocoooned myself
hid myself
and
I heared you call me
but in disgust I
did not obligde
instead I wandered the earth
and thinking myself only a tomb,
I wandered
wondering
and then
and then
and then a bull came and
spoke words like
the sounds of birds and
and I
was
taken
I was taken
I was
smitten
he enveloped me in this
this
this abyss of
art and
music and

LOVE

and if I never knew the word
I do now
I gave in to him, and his stubborn ways, his
light brown chocolate eyes and his
smile that lights up a room
and
the way he tilts his head back when he laughs and his
pelo bueno
and even
even
the funny way he almost blows steam from his nose
when he occasionally gets angry
he
waved his magic bull horns
and
and
and suddenly I
shook the soot off
and I washed the ashes away with holy water and images of St. Mary coming from the water,
La Virgen de la Regla
(I left her some sea shells and a pot of honey in Coney Island, just in case)
and I
I became a Pheonix
and now
I
fly in my dreams, I
carried in my belly
my greatest effort
I
pushed her out
and
from my belly, she came
covered in magic
surrounded by love
and
old jazz music
(that last line is because at the hospital they let me bring a boom box, so I did,  and I was listening to Cab Calloway and Count Basie when she came into the world. I love jazz from the 1940’s a lot.)
I realize this poem is quite dark in the begining, but that’s kind of a lot of my poems.
And the Virgin Mary thing is a metaphor. I’m not catholic. I like to collect saints tho. I remember my father telling me a story about when he was a kid in Puerto Rico, saing that once he saw a catholic saint walking around in a neighborhood curandero’s home. That story, rather than freak me out, actually intrigues me. So I always love to look at a saint and wonder if this one will come to life.
Also, this poem talks about my journey and dealings with domestic violence as a child. No one talks about this enough. As adults, we should not be ashamed of our past.
As Daniel Beaty says, I am my father’s child, but I am not his choices. You know? Talk about it. Don’t be ashamed of the stupidity of your parents. Their stupidity does not in fact, make you stupid unless you choose it to be that way.


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