Okay so I've only gotten one personal essay published (so far). But I'm quite happy about it.

If you're wondering what it's like to be a Venezuelan American living as an expat in Germany during the terrifying era of Trump, read here: https://inkstickmedia.com/today-i-woke-up/

 

Poems  n'Stuff follow:

The poems below can be read how most of us usually read (left to right) OR you can read each page individually. Sometimes you can even read in zigs and zags. 

 

I wanted to make a format that needn't be analyzed. It allows readers to mix and match lines and interpret it however they want.

The rest are 'normal', although in no particular format either. 

El Verano del Lunes Eterno

 

El sol se esconde

Huyendo.

Huyendo mi piel

Porcelana de invierno

Mis brazos privados

Del dulce color del sol

Azúcar morena

Café con leche caliente

Manta de arena isleña

Que quema,

Divino.

 

Pero yo sigo aquí

En mi lunes eterno

Cielo de hueso

Desteñido. Desolado

Soñando con radiación electromagnética

Y pienso en ti

Con tu alma isleña que emanaba luz

A través de:

Una risa rica con vida

Unos ojos de anís

Hasta en los días mas grises

Del polo nórdico donde

Viviste, aguantaste y terminaste

De vivir

Pero no de ser

Respiro fuerte y pienso en ese ser de luz

Y sigo

Aquí con mi lunes eterno.

Translated:

The Summer of Endless Mondays

The sun hides

Evading.

Evading my skin - winter porcelain

My arms, depraved

Of the sweet color of sun:

Brown sugar

Coffee with steaming milk

Blanket of island sun

That burns

Divine.

But I'm still here,

In my eternal Monday

Bone sky: Bleached. Stark.

Dreaming of electromagnetic radiation

And I think of you:

With your islander's soul that emanated light

Through:

A laugh rich with life

Eyes of anis

Even in the grayest of days

In the nordic pole where you

lived, held on, and stopped

living

but not existing

I take a deep breath

and think of this being of light

And continue

Here with my eternal Monday.

Goodbyes

 

My life feels like a series of goodbyes 

I move forward with resolve and dry my eyes

But I can’t pretend I don’t notice – 

Can’t pretend they don’t start to take a toll,

These bittersweet goodbyes 

 

I’ve lost count of how many times my mother

drove me to the airport before the sun had even risen

to send me off to the next goodbye

 

What is this constant going?

Is it opportunity? Is it luck?

Or is it a curse my family carries, stuffed 

In a suitcase from continent to continent 

Crossing borders and stopping. 

Making connections to places and friends 

Only to have to say goodbye again 

 

My life feels like a series of goodbyes

I sigh and force the tears out of my eyes

Thinking; how privileged am I?! 

How dare I complain!

There’s so much pain we were able to escape 

But every man I’ve loved I’ve had to leave –

Those heart wrenching goodbyes. 

 

And now I love you 

And I have you here, so why suffer?

Only fools suffer for the future and the past 

My head is determined to focus on the now 

But my tired heart knows – 

My life is a series of goodbyes.  

The Morning Bird’s Pity

 

I pity the night.

It comes, simply to fulfill its duty 

Yet it is shunned, in favor of Aurora 

She – the night – is used;

Criminals use her to blanket their sins 

Children, for ghost stories whispered fearfully

 

She – the night – is welcomed only with dread.

Insomniacs await her with trepidation

Aware that this cloak of darkness

brings only the promise of endless unrest.

The broken hearted know:

Upon her arrival,

All their monsters are brought to life.

I pity the night.

For at dawn she is quickly sent away,

Shooed and forgotten

In favor of a new day. 

Joint poem: Aurora's Agony

 

I envy the night.

For it is under its cover that lovers lie,

Staring longingly into each other’s eyes.

The stars, those heavenly bodies, are her faithful companions.

Fireplaces blaze, children sit on laps, dinner time commences – 

Oh, how they all laugh!

But upon my arrival:

Alarm clocks sing their perturbing ring

Lovers must part

The masses rub their weary eyes 

And heave the heaviest of sighs

As duty commences, all art rests.

Oh, how I envy the night!

For it is her, not I, that serves humanity best.

Nostalgia

 

Dear friend of mine:

Being with you is the simplest of joys in that

We can simply be, and everything is exuberant yet serene.

 

I miss the bookstores, oh the bookstores!

Where I spent countless hours and countless dollars

Each book, a creature with its own story –

besides the one gracing its pages.

Used books are the very best of all, for books are made to be of use.

 

If I should ever return, I’ll soar to the bookstores

Skip along the narrow aisles

And take in that scent

Of wholeness, of ink and paper, of wisdom.

(And pet the orange cat at that one mazelike place).

 

Should I ever return, I’ll stuff my face

With those giant, delectable sushi rolls

And laugh, with puffy sushi cheeks as you sit across from me.

 

I’ll stroll along the river, and sit on the dock

To bid farewell to the day

With a burst of colors and calm

And for a moment, be in awe at the world

Even though commercialism and blind consumerism live

A couple blocks away, on Newbury Street.

We are here, on this dock.

And on this dock, everything is simple and pure

And there are dogs with their humans and they, it all

Makes me smile brightly from the inside out.

 

I know I will return

But even if I do not

I revel in the luck I’ve had

In forming these perfect memories

Alone in pleasant solitude

And together with you - my best of friends,

A soul that matches and mismatches my own seamlessly

 

When I am far away

And the world is harsh

I remember that I have a friend unlike anybody else

And then everything is okay.

New York, Paris, Madrid

I want to be New York, with its loud and colorful confidence, always in demand.

I want to be Paris, with its mysteries, knowledge and romance.

I want to be Madrid and look people in the eye, unwavering and brazen.

I want to be New York, Paris and Madrid- filled with art, color and history.

Anything but the presumably safe suburban cul de sac, beige and unchanging.

Nada Más Rico

Cuando el sabor de la realidad no te apetece,

es importante no olvidar que no hay nada más rico que…

una arepa caliente un día de domingo

despertarte por la mañana y saber que no te tienes que levantar

morderle los labios a ese que te sabe besar

la agua fresca que fluye por la montaña y llega a refrescar tu cuerpo

el ritmo de los tambores que se siente por todo el cuerpo

la idea de enamorarse como en las canciones

el reconocimiento que la idea de enamorarse es mucho más rica que la realidad

escuchar tu lengua materna después de mucho tiempo en un país como extranjera

la belleza escondida en la soledad.

Yellow

 

Oh darling no, amber is NOT the color of your energy.

Don’t deny

You love things that roar, always have

Even if you dimmed down because that’s what good girls do

Quiet wisdom, you tried to emulate

But in that yellow they can see you from a mile away

So they cannot hit you. They cannot touch you

Like the sun - too much, too bright, too loud, too AHHH!

You are

Like drums in the rain.

You always did like the high jumps and the big leaps

That took you across the floor, across the world

in one grand movement

Loud but sure, loud but unsure

Steady but spazz spazz spazzy

You walk but you want to skip

You skip but you want to jump

You jump but you want to fly

To scream, to sing

 

So darling, yes the amber of the candlelight has its allure

But don’t let that dim your flash, stomp your high

Because baby, darling you’re bright yellow

And you always have been.

 

Shock, irritate, gleam

But don’t you, not don’t you ever dim.

COPYWRITE (HA)  3000 Elissa Gonzalez Copywriter
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