https://punchdrunkpress.com/2018/10/17/my-hatred-will-build-you-an-orphanage-by-geraldine-fernandez/ My hatred will build you an orphanage
i. I’ve met people whose smiles remind me of hospital beds asking me to ‘stay’ (stay here, sunshine) I’ve worn eyes that remind you of solicitation letters: father, lend me your name mother, do you have a moment? and I’ve read palms whose lines whisper death threats on a daily basis. ii. Mothers, don’t tell the girls they look pretty in sunday dress don’t waste time teaching them table manners or relating stories of the flower power tell them gender is a cold war and gods never play fair; Eve you will die from breast cancer, from blood loss, from woman abuse. iii. Infanta, I won’t forgive your rough roads for coaxing childhood to trade barefoot for war boots. I won’t forget how your air reeked of bad ratio: 11 pig pens is to 1 playground so I wasted sketchpads drawing slaughterhouses and never quite remembered to take a snapshot of the schoolyard. iv. Dear ego, your spine is not a fortress Fear knows you’re such an easy climb your womb is not a lotus pond you’ll bleed to death birthing a firstborn you’ll soon baptize son-of-a-gun and seventeen years later, he’ll write: mother, my hatred will build you an orphanage.
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A List Of Things That You Are Not
(That Mental Illness Makes You Think You Are) You are not the weight anyone thinks you ought to gain or lose only to gain or lose again and again. You are not your lack of appetite or your cravings. You are not the opinion of anyone who has no clue what keeps you wide awake at 4 am with your own breath suffocating you, or anyone who doesn’t care why you show up late at your own game. You are not your intrusive thoughts or pressured speech, not even your silence. You are not the mark you received from professors who have no idea what kind of super power it takes for some people to add “focus” on their reading list and get what the author means without overanalyzing and constantly fighting against the urge to jump from an apartment building or grab anything that bleeds mens rea. You are neither the awkward steps you take to dance around issues nor are you the issues the world deems irrelevant simply because they only happen in the mind. You are not any of the names Stigma likes to call you with, such as but not limited to: (1) Attention seeker; (2) Weakling; (3) Lazy piece of — ; (4) Crazy vicious b—; (5) Clingy; etc You are not other people’s expectations of you. You are not your own ambitions and your failures. You are not your failed tests, failed interviews, failed relationships, failed suicide attempts and anything the world considers the opposite of success. You are not the things you hate and reject about yourself. You are not your shame, not your shortcomings, not the scars you’ve inflicted upon yourself. You are not your paranoia. You are not your social anxiety. You are not your suicidal ideations. You are not your mood swings. You are not your overthinking. You are not your depression. You are not your diagnosis. You are not your prescriptions. You are not your loneliness. You are not your mask. You are not the villain of the piece that is your life. What you are is more than meets the eye: you are more than the parts of you that no one claps for, more than a medical abstract, more than your fixations and your passions, more than your appearance and intelligence, more than all the qualifications, strengths and weaknesses you list on your resume. You are more than your limitations. You are so so much more if you just let yourself be you, bravely. Note written for the Suicide Awareness Month ( featured by Mental Health Is Trending on their Warrior Wall) It’s September, my lovelies.
It’s Suicide Awareness Month. The sun could be high wherever we are and whoever we are with; yet it is neither the place nor the person that holds the key to experience warmth. We don’t have to go the distance or do anything sensational to be worthy of applause. And by applause I don’t mean the recognition the world is never quite ready to give to the underdogs. We gotta root for our own flaws; be generous in giving ourselves some Ted talks we’re so good at sharing with others; smile at shortcomings and scars we’re responsible for and tell “perfectionism” to fuck off for a day, a week, a month until OKAY becomes acceptable. It’s okay if I made no friends in more than a year, because my social anxiety is so severe while mania makes me say things I don’t mean. It’s okay if I drop out of my childhood dream. It’s okay if I cut people off my family tree. It’s okay if a house still sits between me and the love of my life. It’s okay if all I ever have left to hold is my breath. It’s okay if I’ve given up on the idea that stability is possible with the right dose of whatever. It’s okay if all God does right now is send more waves. It’s okay if all I’ll ever do everyday of September and the months and years to come is to simply survive from my own ideations. It’s okay to continue without knowing exactly where to settle. NOTES TO D, ISACOUSTIC*8/27/2018
https://isacoustic.com/2018/08/27/person-geraldine-fernandez-one-poem/
Also appears on print : Isacoustic* Volume 5th Notes to D D, I wonder if you read back through our message history. Are you sometimes turned on by my silence? After all, that’s my best nude. D, What’s on my mind? I want a soul to sit with over a few glasses of gin while I contemplate how to bid the world goodbye without breaking anything or anyone. D, Lust has a mind of its own. I am a participant in one too many sex scenes in my dreams, you the leading actor in some of them. D, We don’t know each other but I miss you the way the ashtrays at my mother’s place crave the presence of a man and his classic reds. D, I am most probably 5’7″ tall but I could feel so small when not dreaming or citing the higher court. It’s been two months since I opened my law books dusts of my thoughts collect into notes that are far too blue to be golden. Please meet me sometime at a bar & let us make miracles happen overnight. I need someone like you to speak latin through my skin: “ volenti non fit injuria you want this as much as I do let’s see if your throat carries the depth of your mind if bruises look better on you than other girls who have not read RA 9262* or written awareness without losing too much blood.” I could be yours until you’re alive again, G I am Narcissism
Believe in what your eyes insist when they are naked in front of your lover ~ the looking glass: “You wear perfection as matte foundation and waistline as chain of fire.” Men and Motherhood (Note to My Adolescence) The world is not flat as your chest it’s round like mother’s breasts men risk their necks to explore. Perhaps every Eve in your family tree wears fire as navel ring and carries prophets in her belly but you should know you’ll never grow into a volcano or a whale-shark. Click HERE to download a free pdf copy of the issue. We Serve Sin, Spillwords Press12/1/2016 Disciples
of our desires we burn sacrifices for a god that brings aches in our bellies. http://spillwords.com/we-serve-sin/ AuthorJuly 13. Crab. Moon-child. Mood a barrel of whiskey. Poet of color. Emerging voice. Blue and non-hypoallergenic as mother's laundry soap. Archives
April 2019
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