“As I Stand Here, Reflecting”

If you think you know me

Let me assure you—

You do not

You only know the projection

Of a role I like to play—

Someone I created to be some version,

Of a girl who might have been me

You think you know me

But have you had intimate conversation

With my soul?

Have you peeked inside my mind,

And unfurled the tapestry

Of my secrets?

You claim to know me

But I don’t even know me

Every now and then I get to see her

In my dreams—the girl I might actually be

And she is beautiful

She doesn’t know my world,

And so she is free of its restraints

Her home is between one dream and the next

And she speaks to me only when I’m ready to listen

Unlike me, she is not an illusion

She is the manifestation of who I hope to become

While I am shards of glass,

Still learning to piece myself together

She is the mirror: whole and far from broken

I look at her and I see my potential



Beneath the layers

You construct

Deep down where no one

Knows you, as you pretend

To know yourself,

In the fabric of

Your fabricated lies and

Your woven untruths—

There is a part of you

That you have long since

Buried, the forgotten remains

Of happier beginnings.

She crouches in a corner of

A fragmented mind, rocking

Back and forth, teetering

On the edge of something new.

She reaches for the outside world,

Where you have learned to hide

In plain sight. But you push

Her down, into the depths of a

Miserable non-existence.

She is the only one who will fight

You, but you have long since

Given up the fight


I sometimes wonder

Who I would be

If I were anyone else

But ME

Where would I go?

What would I do?

If I were, perhaps,

Someone like YOU?

Would I take risks?

Go out on limbs?

If I were just a bit more

Like HIM?

What would it take

To chase the stars?

To find out where we’ll go

However far

I ask myself

If I should change

To be like THEM

(THEY aren’t strange)

But then again

I say with glee

What good are THEY

If I can’t be ME


In my dreams I see the part of my self that wants to get to know 

My self 

I close my eyes and I know my soul without seeing it, without feeling it 

I straddle my own mind, looking in from the outside and occupying the inside when I’ve been 

Shut out

The rest, somehow seems to work for its

Selfish of me to try and pretend that I’m the only one who can 

Play this game. I picture three versions of me and I see them

Through a kaleidoscope so that there’s really 

A thousand of me sitting in the dark, around a poker table, illuminated by one Thought 

And betting on which one of us (me? Them? Her?) 

Is real 

And it’s really not that hard to guess

Not when I (she? They?) 

We look at each other and wait for one 

To make a mistake 

It’s roulette with my own mind as the target 

No matter who I choose I will eliminate 

At least a small part of my self

* * *

In my dreams I sleep with my eyes open 

So that I can catch the sign that will lead me to the next non-reality

I imagine my-self in a labyrinth that is as big as space allows 

And right now, if I can call it now, because of course I am outside the binding hands of time 

This is a maze and 

I’m running through hedges  trying to find the Sphinx who will ask me 

The riddle but 

All I find are mirrors, and in this broken glass 

In this carnival where I’m the only one 

Shooting at plastic toys 

Trying to win-something

In the remains of mirrors I see nothing 

No thing appears above, below, behind, beside or in front of… 

Me?  Can I say me if I don’t see me? 

But I can hear the laughter of the rest of me 

I/they/she/we have/has reached the outside of this cage 

And I/it/she/we

Some fragment of m-e

And who I am/was/will be

Is left standing in the middle 

In this sphere of a labyrinth with no exits, no ends and beginnings it just… 


I lie awake in my dream that isn’t in fact a dream and if I look closely enough I can 

Just make out 

The reflections of two thousand eyes 

Blinking from the depths of shards 

Of broken realities 

“Majorly Minor”

I am a minority

Of a minority

Of a minority

My skin is not quite

Dark, not really

Light. I wrap my

Head in a symbol

Of the star and crescent

And yes, I am

A woman.

A triple threat, just as likely

To be triply threatened

But I fear no opinions

Sneers, whispers, or thoughts

Because others’ words

Can only serve to better me

As I am.

I choose who I want to be

Not the labels that society

Has decided to stick to the

Lapel of my dignity

Daily Prompt: “Blogger of Repute”

When I think of the word “reputation,” it always seems like it should have a negative connotation. Maybe that’s because I always read it in negative contexts. But when we think of our own reputations, we want to be remembered and noted positively in conversation. I dream of a (hopefully near) future in which I’ve succeeded in establishing myself as who I want to be, who I want people to know me as. As much as I detest labels, it’s important that we be associated with the qualities that make us who we are. At the moment, the only people who have had a taste of the person I want to be are family, friends, and the extended family that is the blogging community and my awesome followers. But even to my family and friends I’m someone who loves Spanish, loves philosophy, loves to think. I love a lot of things, but nobody sees any of those things as my reputation. (Ok, so in my parents’ minds I’m already a successful writer with a couple of bestsellers). But let’s be real, they’re my parents, they tend to be slightly biased in my favor.

For the rest of the world to recognize me as a writer, I have to convince myself that I am one. Whether I’m writing a post or a poem or a short piece of fiction, I’m still writing. I’m doing what I want to do for the rest of my life. For it to be my rep, I have to promise myself that I’m never going to stop.

30 Days to a Better Blog: Challenge #1

I originally started a blog because I wanted to get my feet wet, regarding the whole self-publishing experience. I wanted to dabble in the blogging community and get to know people who shared similar interests, hoping to open my own doorways of opportunity. Now, nearly seven months later, I’ve managed to publish over a hundred posts, and with each update I’ve felt the same sense of pride and joy. It’s no small feat to put your work out there for the world to see, to let the mouse hover over the publish button while asking yourself the same questions every time. Should I re-read it again? Is there a better way to word that? What am I doing? This sounds stupid.

But no matter how much time you spend going over a draft, no matter how much you hesitate, you always find the courage to do it. I’m glad that I made what has turned out to be a very important decision. As an aspiring writer, it’s a vital first step for me to be able to introduce my writing and myself in any way that I can. In today’s communication age, there are many outlets for writers that did not exist a decade ago. We need to take initiative and “sell ourselves,” because no one is going to hold our hand through the process. That’s why I’m grateful for having such a widespread outlet as this, to be able to share my work and enjoy others’ work as well.