Glass Wall

I feel like I keep hitting a glass wall.

Like I am walking at a slower pace than everyone else because I am carrying an extra 200 pounds of color, queer and poor. But I remember the words of my mami, “Con guanas, si se puede,” and every now and then when I get bursts of energy I run to catch up to everyone else.

But the other day was different. I was walking slowly but when God’s grace gave me a boost of energy, I ran. I was running and I refused to look back as I focused on my future possibilities. I was running. God I was fucking running for my life. I was running because I knew I deserved to be with everyone else. I was running because I deserved to be valued. I was running because for so long I never believed I could ever run. I was running because for once I believed I had a chance to survive.

Just a few steps before reaching the masses I slammed against a glass wall. My skin tore and my bones broke. Blood was gushing from every part of my body. But most important my spirit died a little. My spirit that fed me when I was hungry. My spirit that gave me a voice when I felt silenced. My spirit that gave me a heart when mine had vanished. Oh spirit, may the part of you that died please come back to life. I need you. All of you.

I’m laying on the ground almost dead. Swallowing my own blood, feeding my thirst anyway I can.

Homophobia hurts.

Racism hurts.

Both together kill me.

They are the ones to blame for the glass wall and the extra weight on my back.

They are the ones to blame for my job placement.

Where the straight Chicano gets the Chicana/o floor because having a queer Chicano would endanger the machismo.

Where the white woman gets the Rainbow house because having a queer of color would force the department to breakdown down their white supremacy in queer spaces.

Homophobia hurts.

Racism hurts.

Both together make up the glass wall that continuously makes me feel hopeless.

David.

David one day you will live one life. One day you will be able to walk through glass walls and turn that pain into love. But for now, living and dying is all you can do.

God save me!

Spirit

I have been in a romantic state of being lately. The words In Lake’ch makes my heart hurt. Like my spirit is draining the blood out and pressing its being against my tender heart. How to love when love has no words? When my mind is empty because love is not allowed? How do I allow my spirit to stop putting pressure on my heart because it’s slowly killing me? I find it hard to breathe sometimes. I lay in bed thinking because the thought of doing anything involving my body would force me to inhale the poison in the room. These crazy circumstances force me to belong to me. I feel alone in a crowd of one hundred. I need to snap out of it. I need to love my heart and mind. I feel like I am about to have a heart attack at any moment because the pressure is getting too immense. Spirit please stop crushing me. Spirit give me a free pass and allow me to not love… at least for now.

hush

I want to be raw but my rawness is fragmented. Only pieces of me are raw and the rest are shielded by an armor of self-hate.

I want to have the courage to heal in the places that have become invisible. I want to write, even when writing is physically impossible and emotionally painful.

I want to have courage.

I want to have courage.

I want to have courage to stand up for myself, my heart, my body and my spirit.

naming

In the process of developing my queer identity, I am constantly attempting to put a name to what I am feeling. But I often find myself going blank as the terms that “society” reproduces never quite fit with what I am going through. How do I name something that doesn’t have a name? By the time I reach nothingness, I get frustrated. Mostly because some third person usually takes the leadership of naming what I am and what I am feeling. It pisses me off.

I am not queer,

I am not joto,

I am not lonely,

I am not beauty,

I am not ugly,

I am not brown,

I am not poor,

I am not David.

I don’t know what I want. But will I ever? I’m sitting in my desk facing a mirror because the thought of facing a computer that never talks back to me is heartbreaking at the time.

I wish that when I was born I had been isolated from the world with only a mirror to interact with. Grow up knowing the features on my body. The pores that allow my body to breathe. Get to know myself, with only my spirit guiding me. Maybe then I would have the courage to speak truth.

To speak truth to the experiences of my body,

My lips,

My eyes when they see shadows and colors,

My subconscious that never sleeps,

My heart that bleeds pain and love.

I wish I had courage.

Enough courage to tell you that I love you.

That everytime I see you there is part inside of me that just wants to hug you and tell you that I deserve to be happy with you.

Why must we play?

Why must I think I’m not good enough?

Why do I feel like my body isn’t adequate enough for you?

I want to yell in your face and be part of your mainstream world.

I want to stop crying because the tears that runs down my cheeks stings.

It stings because it reminds me that I am still trying to heal from when my father touched me.

It reminds me that I am still trying to heal from my under bite.

It reminds me that I am still trying to heal from all the times that my leadership has been doubted because of my queer Chicano identity.

Crying stings. But I only hope that when you look into my eyes, your love will give me the courage to face the mirror and be the one to name myself…

let me patience

I want to be unselfish.

i miss my family. i miss my mom. my sister. my comadres. and my home. i can't wait for tomorrow!