David Preciado
03/08/2010
SWAPA ANALYSIS:
“I write for my own self value. To take ownership of my skin color, sexuality, voice, body and story. My grammar is horrific. My passive voice is distracting and my vocabulary is limited. The disclaimer I just stated is my defense against the hierarchy that disempowers me. It’s meant to be evidence of my insecurities that are rooted in my own internalized oppression caused by homophobia, racism, sexism and classism. Here are my wounds and the pen I am writing this piece with are the healing herbs to my surviving soul.”
–9/30/2009 first SWAPA during Chicana Studies 151 De Colonizing Feminism
My progress. I have always been a poet and only recently did I realize that I am also a writer. I began to write after my father raped me. I was eight years old when I first picked up a flowery journal and wrote about my sexuality. I wrote about the false love my father gave me. How I fell in love with the devil. Love at the age of eight was nothing but a perverted/innocent/naïve/child that was thirsty for more fatherly love-even if the love was rooted with a heart of an alcoholic/rapist/mentally disabled man. I regret ever falling in love with the devil. Twelve years later I ask myself, why couldn’t I fall in love with the angel? And if not an angel, why couldn’t I remain in limbo and never experience love to begin with?
Father I love you.
There is not a day I go by that I don’t think of you.
Father I love you for the devil you are but I wish I would have fallen in love with the angel of you.
My life prior to my rape is lost.
I don’t remember how it feels to look at my body,
My hands,
My feet,
My mouth,
And remember a time when my skin was clear of scratches, from the cuts of your dick.
I am in this constant horror film in my head.
I am walking alone in the alley; the only thing visible is the reflection of the moonlight from the fog in the air. I’m rushing, trying to find the nearest payphone, store, person that could help me clear my vision so I could go home. I finally spot someone. Their back is facing me. I begin to run towards them, yelling, screaming for help. Once I’m close enough, I take a moment to catch my breath. Breathing for my life, I take the last ounce of energy to tap them on their right shoulder, but before my fingertips touches the coat, you, the devil, swiftly bite my hand off and rape me. Raping me on the floor, I lay frozen. And when you’re done, you pinch me so I can wake up. Then once again, I am walking alone in the alley; the only thing visible is the reflection of the moonlight from the fog in the air. I’m rushing, trying to find the nearest payphone, store, person that could help me clear my vision so I could go home…
The nightmare is in everything.
My SWAPAS,
My words,
My room,
Relationships I have with people,
It’s inscribed all over my body- in my spirit.
I want to run and hide.
Travel to the furthest city,
Most secluded neighborhood,
Driest weather,
Darkest corner,
And hide from you.
Hide so I can remember that I have a brother.
Although he is dead, he is still alive in my heart.
Hide so I can remember that I am capable of trusting another man with my body.
Hide so I can stop blaming my mami for never noticing the touches you gave me.
Hide so I can look at my sister in the eyes and tell her we didn’t deserve what was done to us.
Hide so I can stop writing about you.
Take you out of my pieces of paper and write of the dream I wish I had.
My progress. I have always been a poet. Che’s class gave me the strength to identify as a writer. Identifying as a writer has allowed me to write with spirit words, the same spirit words that have transformed the nightmare into a mestiza consciousness. Reading the Four Fold Way has allowed me to inhale Mother Nature’s healing oxygen and exhale the traumas of my past. Hiding is no longer an option because Che’s class has given me the courage to confront the nightmares, even if my body is too crippled to stand on its own. Gracias Che for reminding me that I exist. Gracias companeras y companeros for sharing your love with me, even when at times I was too selfish to share mine with you all. May you feel my spirit and heart whenever you inhale and allow Mother Nature to enter your body and heal your broken spirits, because to heal is to survive and all of you, my sisters and brothers are survivors. Con Amor! Tu estudiante/amigo/companero del alma.
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