Para Mami

Algo que quice escribir hace mucho. Ya basta de esperar.

..........

Para Mami

by: Maya I. Wilson Estrella

I can’t seem to write about anyone but you.

Wanting you to love me. Wanting you to care.

Wanting you to treasure me and always be there.

I’ve been so far away. I haven’t left you notes. 

If I had, would you even read what I wrote?

Wanting you to be proud. Wanting to be good.

Wanting to be just as loud and also understood.

Hold my hand, please. It’s been so long.

I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t want to be wrong.

Have I been missed? Do you remember my name?

It’s me, Ma. Did you notice the rain?

It’s your eyes, your smile, your nose.

I’ve still got all my fingers and all of my toes.

Wanting you closer. Wanting to forget.

Wishing I’d called. Wishing you’d fret.

There were nice parts sometimes.

Petting my hair back, temple kisses, applause.

The times I was purer and devoid of flaws.

You read to me, danced with me, I sang in the womb.

Why’d I have to go on and grow up so soon?

Mándame besos, bendiciones, tu fuerza, tu paz.

Muéstrame que yo sí soy capaz.

I’ll miss you for always, I’ll love you forever,

Gracias a Dios our relationship is better.

..........

Te quiero, Mami.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Vibes

Vibes
by Maya Wilson

You feel like jumping in puddles while wearing yellow rainboots.
You feel like extra gooey smores.
You feel like bare feet running through grass.
You feel like a pile of clean laundry that was left out so you snuggle and sleep on top of it.
You feel like when cats rub up against your legs.
You feel like the dust particles you see floating through sunbeams.
You feel like kids running along the shore with sand pails in their hands.
You feel like when a ladybug lands on your nose.
You feel like defrosting your feet by a fire.
You feel like big splashes and ocean waves and rustling leaves and butterfly kisses.
That's sort of what it's like.

..........

I wrote this poem over the summer for Kota, a very special human being <3

Enjoy your spooky October!

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

I Am From

Hello hi there my loves!

It's been quite a while, I'm super sorry. This isn't quite an update per se, but it's something to tide us over while I try to come up with a general update.

I wrote this for my Freshman Writing Seminar class––we were given a template based on George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From" and were told to fill in the blanks. Figured I'd share :)

..........

I Am From

by Maya I. Wilson Estrella

I am from weathered chancletas,

from Dawn soap and tupperware,

I am from the concrete jungle,

the scent of fried salami.

I am from the blooming orquidias,

the caoba tree whose long limbs

I remember as if they were my own.

I'm from Eleven MnMs and crinkled noses,

from Abuelo and Abuela,

I'm from cackling laughter and petty grudges

and from picking our fingernails raw.

I'm from always be early and never be late,

and two wrongs do not make a right,

I'm from oraciones before bed.

I'm from Queens, New York and the

distant valleys of Ocoa.

Abuelo's dulce de coco and Grandma's tuna melts,

from Grandpa's unjust unemployment and

the politics he fought against.

Yellowed letters written in desperation,

carefully tucked in a forgotten box.

Memories of entire lifetimes scattered among

the new.

..........

Ta daaaaaa there you have it. I remember Yan Diego having to do this in like 6th grade and I thought it was the coolest thing ever :) I hope you enjoyed! Might be posting some other little things I've written recently at some point soon.

I love you all!

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

I Am

Hello hi hi hi I literally have two entire blogposts on hold that I started before this one (it has been impossible to come back to writing them for some reason) but the inspiration came to me (probably due to my own delirium) and I couldn't let it go #sorrynotsorry ;)

Anywayyyyy here's the piece I felt overwhelmingly compelled to write.

..........

I Am

by: Maya I. E. Wilson

I am not beauty, nor elegance, nor grace
Don't you dare speak my name
I am festering wounds
I am tumbling mouths
I am crumbs in the bedsheets, stale gum and plot holes
I am not softly falling rain
I am the hurricane
I am peppered on bruises
I am swollen tonsils and week-old stubble
I am talking hands and chipped nail polish and sand
I am sunburnt ego
I am too-large nose
I am too loud, too short, too proud
I am my mother's mistakes
I am my father's mistakes
I am above my past and I am forever grieving it
I am reaching for fireflies
I am making new histories
I am big, I am love, I am joy
I hold the entire world in my palms
I am the cracks on the sidewalk and the flowers that grow from them
I am freezing cold water and gasps for air
I am yearning for something that might not be there
I am not steady
I am not calm
I am not a product of everything wrong
I am kites flying high and piles of snow
I am not the rehearsal, I am the show
I am tuna melts and Yankee candles and pinky promises
I am tangles of ivy and Newport and clam chowder
I am frigid Novembers and colder Decembers and overweight Vermont turkeys
I am crackling knuckles and future arthritis
I am the dulce de leche my grandparents invited
I am the speeding sailboats and the swaying palm trees off the coast of California
I am the currents flowing through Río Ozama
I am the hymns from churches I've never been to
I am a New York sliced pizza and fights you've never been through
I am too scared of subways, too Hudson River,
too young and still too much of a giver
I am not the national anthem, I am not a prize to be won
I am the children's laughter at recess
I am the view from Pico Duarte
I am the unspoken progress
I am free time on a workday
I am the floors my mother slept on
I am the songs my father sang
I am my brothers' peace of mind
I am the help hotline you rang
I am the dream that never ended, the story always retold
I am terrified of staying, terrified of growing old

I am not fleeting, nor sudden, nor temporary.
I am present, ever constant, ever permanent.
Ever here.
Do not try to perfect me,
I am my own magnum opus.
You do not get to claim me.
I am not yours to be had.
I am mine and mine alone.
You got that?

..........

So I casually stayed up all night––it's currently 12pm (as in noon) and I have yet to fall asleep :-) I dunno, I felt this urgent call to write. Like, I just had to. It was gonna eat at me otherwise.

Would love to hear your thoughts <3

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

P.S.: I'm reading this over right now and I don't know if it's the sleep deprivation but I am absolutely in love with it <3

Time Capsule

Hello hi all.

I was attempting to write an actual blogpost for this (and I promise it is coming... eventually) but realized it is far too late and I am way too under-caffeinated so I'm resorting to slightly-very-cringey-at-best post. In short, I dug up some old writing pieces from twelve year old Maya, as in, weirdly religious, uncontrollably emo yet optimistic, using words I didn't really know the meaning of Maya. Sure she had some insight about quite adult-y things back then but she also very well may have been tripping off lack of melatonin production.

(Just for reference, most of these were written the summer I was away at Phillips Andover for weird artsy prep-school summer camp. Hence the odd prompts and shit. Carry on.)

Anyway. Here goes.

..........

"We carry around our own exits"

         We are the ones who decide how we finish. We make the best out of life, out of our opportunities, and how we decide to behave is what is going to be remembered. We make our own marks on this earth. I believe that we should all try our best, even when we fail; at least we worked hard enough to say that we put effort into whatever we did. From the day we are born, we carry around our ending, and we just have to find it. Our purpose of living isn't just trying to find our end, but enjoying the journey along the way. We are born, and we travel this long journey that leads us closer and closer to our end, but sometimes we just need to be reminded that it will all be worthwhile if we make it that way."We carry around our own exits,"... Yeah, that sounds about right.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

For whom do we express ourselves if not for ourselves?

   I usually ask myself the same question whenever I am about to make a decision: “Am I truly doing this for me, or am I trying to act like someone other than myself?”

   My parents have raised me to be my own person; they said it was okay to think and act differently, so long as I made smart choices.

   I always try my best to be confident in my own choices of thought and my own choices of action. I try my best not to let anyone tell me how I should live my life, or express myself.

   Everyone has their own moments of insecurity, when they try to be someone they’re not, or otherwise, they are pressured to. Of course, I’ve experienced those times when I just tried to fit in, where I’ve acted a little differently for the sake of people liking me, but I’m trying really hard to break that habit little by little.

   In conclusion, I am successfully trying harder every day to let loose and just be myself, no matter what people say. I am who I am; I was born that way.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

...Last Glances...

Have you ever felt the urge to look at that person one last time, but you didn’t, and that one decision haunted you the rest of your life? Well, that disgusting feeling has touched me more than once, and it’s scary to move on and look ahead when I think about it. You’re unsure; you feel cheated, that it might’ve been necessary to take a last glance, but your foolish mind blindly ignored your first instinct.

   First deaths always hurt the most. Especially when you knew that person. Especially when you were close to that person. And then you try convincing your brain that it’s not true, and your whole body goes in denial. Then it starts going numb, and when you’re numb, you’re not supposed to feel the pain, but it hurts more than it ever has before. And you try hiding it, and you try getting over it, and you try to remember his face, and you try to remember the last time he smiled at you… Then it all seems real and it all feels gone, like all those moments spent with him were wasted, and then you feel guilty for not looking one last time, just so you could remember those smiling eyes, and messy, black hair, and goofy laugh. Just one last time… And then the feeling clings to you forever.  

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Where I’m going...

   Where I’m going, it’s full of hills; grasslands cover all that is seen. Hills over hills, meadows over meadows; it all seems pretty endless. At dawn, the sky is a pale pink; rays of purple and orange seem to burst from the heavens, kissing the soft earth on the horizon. Sheep start to graze lazily as the big, bright sun illuminates the land around them. There, I can run free, not a care in the world, just wandering and admiring God’s creation. At noon, I’ll retreat to the nearby woods, dreaming underneath its shadows. I’ll speak with the squirrels, sing with the birds, care for the deer, and keep the trees company. Where I’m going, the dawn simply lulls into dusk, and the days seem blissfully endless. There’s no need for sleep, for my sleeping days will be over, so I’ll take my time and wander. A young fawn will keep me company as I count the stars in the sky, telling the youngling stories of my adventurous days. The fawn will go to sleep and the night owl will whisper its call, and I know it’s time to wake up. Though now, it’s a dream, I know I will get there; someday, I promise I will. My days will pass by, but it’ll all be worth it, for in the end, I’ll have eternal peace.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

“The self is made manifest in the opposites and in the conflict between them. It is a coincidentia oppositorum (coincidence of opposites). Hence, the way to the self begins with conflict.”

-Carl Jung

What I interpret from this passage is that we create ourselves and improve ourselves through conflict. As crazy as that sounds, it is usually true in lots of cases, where the argument between two opposites brings them together. We see that mostly in family relationships. The conflict, when confronted, can clear out just what was needed to be said. This would explain coincidentia oppositorum.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Grieving and Regrets

Cemeteries are full of memory and regret.

The headstones engraved with meaningless words;

The empty silence that reminds me of my loss;

The battered land that be crossed again and again.

Survivor’s guilt burns to the surface of my skin,

As I sit and rue for hours on end;

Hearing the humming songs in my head,

Swallowing my tears, for he’s not dead.

I turn around and almost swear that it’s him;

At least, I wish, oh! I wish it were him.

But it’s my old,

Sad shadow there, instead.

I faintly hear whispering words,

Hurtful words; Painful words.

I wish I could sew down my ears,

To save myself from this raging guilt.

Getting ready to leave is the hardest part;

Sometimes I wish I were dead so

I didn’t have to leave him.

Cemeteries are full of memory and regret.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

“A necessary end...” -Saltillo

   I race along the path of unknown as I swerve through the towering trees that try to manipulate me ~

I don’t let them. I cross many rivers, past mountains, past forests, hearing the echoes of the eery tree nymphs. I am running away, but I’m not sure from what. As I run into the unknown, horrifying memories of my past flash through my eyes. The intimidating trees offer no comfort as I weep. Proceeding along the path, I get distracted by the luring, angelic voices of the nymphs. I turn every corner, but there is no escape. The white voices surge through my brain. Full of frustration, I bound my way back through the remaining obstacles. The trees are clearing and the voices, fading. At last, I have reached the end of the path, and gratefully, I welcome my end.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those

who could not hear the music." 

-- Friedrich Nietzsche 

  And those who were classified as “different” were bullied by those who envied such personalities. And those who sang and spoke “to themselves” were thought to be mentally insane by those who could not hear the spirits. And those who loved with a love unlike any other were threatened and called “gay”. 

  This particular quote makes me reflect on many things, and think about many relating situations. This particular statement makes us question the society we live in. Is it truly that bad to be our own person? Why are we questioned about our own choices that we make in our own lives? I strongly believe that we are who we are, and no one is in a place to judge. 

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Threshold- Joseph Campbell

  If I had been moved a moment too late, my life wouldn’t be as it is now; I would feel like my life was pointless ~ no purpose to my living.

   I was a mere nine years old when I was touched by a song, a song that would be the beginning of a whole new way of thinking. The speaker was a seven year old girl, who had recently had visions of the upcoming World War II; her innocence completely shattered. The tears that rolled down my cheeks by the end of the song were caused by the powerfulness of the words; the great emotion from the lyrics. I was quite naive at the time and didn’t understand war very much, but after hearing the song ~ interpreting it ~ I was changed.

    ...children...hurting...crying...needing...begging for someone to reach out and save them!

   All I could do was weep for those children who never got the chance to be kids; who were born into a world of conflict and danger. I had become extremely sensitive to war topics after that. Barely two years later, I had to read a book for school called: The Hiding Place. It was a personal experience about the Holocaust. I read that book page through page; I felt the fear and terror build up inside of me ~ and then I found what was missing in my mind: the amazing power of faith in God. 

   As long as the author and her family prayed to God for the forgiveness of “those poor men (soldiers who tortured them) who don’t know what they’re doing”, her family was always saved from the frightful beatings to come. This book literally changed my life. I am grateful for absolutely everything I am given and my life feels like it has a purpose now, even if I don’t know what it is yet, but God made me for a reason, and I’m sure I’ll find out someday.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Holy fucking shit, that was a trip and a half. I hope that wasn't nearly as uncomfortable for you as it was for me. Seriously, why was I obsessed with aligning in mismatched formats??? for like? paragraphs???? Who knows. None of us may ever know.

I hope your day/night/hibernation is going splendidly! I love and miss you all.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya 

The Fire

by: Maya Wilson

Growing up, I didn't know anger.
Anger was this wooden box full of smoke,
tucked inside people's mouths and then forgotten.
Anger wasn't yet a fire. It wasn't dragon's breath or a bugle horn.
That didn't come 'til later.
For now, I learned that anger formed snakes of people's tongues,
daring them to twist their words into this and that.
Anger was slippery and it was quick,
a smoke that filled your lungs and made you sick.
It was a warning sign and the disaster.
It was a way to sedate others, to keep them in your grasp.
When I was thirteen, I learned that smoke can burn.
It knows no mercy, even if you ask.
It's painful, and bubbling and a little too hot.
Anger was a cruel friend, who mocked and feigned sweet.
Anger lashed and licked away, leaving scars to rot.
But soon, it turned to flames, clearing all in its haste.
The fire and flames took the house down with it,
The girl and her dreams, and every last minute.

Fridge Poetry

Hello my loves. Odd to think this is my first post of the year 2019.

I turn 19 this year. I go back to school this year (fingers crossed). Wild.

Anyhow, in a desperate effort to pursue my creative interests, I opted for an old friend of mine: poetry. I hadn't written anything new in quite a while and so you can imagine my frustration when I remembered how difficult writer's block can be. That is, until I remembered there's such thing as fridge poetry.

Below, you'll find Maya's 3am musings from the magnets on her refrigerator.

..........

careful bunny blood

cuddle only through bite

know before he was claws

and will eat on sight

..........

that sudden sweet taste

can come like soft sleep

why be careful

..........

only his howling

went to her

for the path did not

..........

soft sweet love

too pure but sudden

this darling thing must not bite

..........

before they try

care no more

my dead must live again

have caution but

see presently

who are always human

..........

i am deranged

my sight destroyed

would you hide my face

if she touched it

..........

a bird with hate

watches life through eyes

of guilt and chance

..........

my little dear

dead again

before the cold

if i was pure

i'd be your blood

& come home

..........

devils kiss to be violent

humans bite flesh for love

..........

So nothing crazy moving or inspiring yet but the words on the fridge spoke to me. I had to listen.

Here's to less writer's block and more writing.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

P.S: Happy 21st birthday, C. Don't get plastered. Love ya.

To My Mother

My mom is the kind of person you can't quite put into words. Ever since I got into poetry (circa 7th grade), I told myself that one day I'd write the greatest poem known to man about my mother. And believe me, I tried. But every possible effort felt fruitless because none of them ever measured up to who she truly was. I could never bring myself to show her any of my drafts because they were all incomplete. I started over again and again and never seemed able to finish––I wanted it to be perfect because she didn't deserve anything less. Here I am, years later, still with an impossible number of drafts and exactly zero finished products. It occurred to me that time is a luxury though, and one cannot waste it attempting to grasp perfection. I decided instead to post them anyway, all in their incomplete glory, in the hopes that some combination of words is the right one.

Here goes nothing.

..........

To My Mother

My mom can't cook.

Forget the lessons, the step-by-step recipes, and the easy-bakes.

There are reasons Mami doesn't step foot in the kitchen...

My mom can't sing, either.

Try as she might, the notes are never there and no matter how many times she blasts the radio in the car, something about her tuning is always off.

Nonetheless, that's never stopped Mami.

She made her own rules. She set her own limits.

Besides that, no one determined what would get in her way.

..........

Mami, I love you so <3

My mom is not a large person.

In fact, I tower one entire inch above her mere 5'1.

My mom is not a large person.

She never learned to cook, or clean, or swim, or sew.

Still, my mom is the #1 most badass person I know.

My mom grew up a rebel.

"Now, what straight A, valedictorian student becomes a rebel?" you might ask.

Well, my mom is made of fire, you see.

She pops, and flickers, and crackles.

She's warm until you bite her, then she burns.

My mom is so cool, she learned calculus over the phone.

My mom is so rad, she ran a marathon with bronchitis.

My mom is so awesome, presidents from all over the world have wanted to meet with her.

My mom is so fabulous, she was crowned Reina de Ocoa at age six.

My mom is so sick, she owned a skateboard in college.

My mom is not perfect.

She has little patience, is always right and can't pronounce the word "vegetables."

But my mom is heroic.

She left her homeland at seventeen, learned English on her own and was the first in her family to go to college.

I'm telling you––my mom is a LEGEND.

..........

Dear Mami:

I know you're probably mad I haven't called you in the past hour. Listen, life gets busy, I can't be calling you every time the weather changes (here, it's every five minutes...)

I just wanted to say thanks, I guess.

For, well... everything.

You sacrifice a hell of a lot and I hope you know it doesn't go unappreciated.

Hey, Mami, you know... uh... well, I guess we don't always agree on stuff, but that doesn't mean I love you any less.

I know you don't understand how I can possibly love girls AND boys, but thank you for still loving me.

I know you will never understand my crippling anxiety, but Mami, it's okay. I forgive you.

You grew up in a world where survival was the only way out. Sacrifice was the only lifeline and courage, a necessary resource.

You grew up hot-headed, thick-skinned, determined and with a thirst to succeed like no other.

See, Mami, you gave me that same thirst.

Except my thirst to succeed has never been quenched.

Instead of praise, my body punishes itself if it does not have the strength to go on.

See, mi cuerpo, Mami, was not built to endure a life like yours.

Mi mente, Mami, was not structured with the inches thick of buffers that block out killing machines of the world around.

You are petite, but you're built like a stone wall.

Mami, you are a fortress.

Everything you hold dear, you protect. You are fierce with defense and baptized with respect.

You fear no coward, you fear no villain.

You grew up a dragon with a fire burning so hot, it could melt hatred and turn arrows to stone.

Mami, you say I am your dragon but I have yet to breathe a single spark and someday I am hoping to become a fortress as well but I feel as though the only building materials I've been given are ash.

I cannot build from the ash, Mami. I am not a phoenix. I cannot rise again, like you did.

You have so much strength. You know nothing but perseverance. Mami, I know nothing but defeat.

Your child, I am nothing but the shadow in your flames.

Everyone says I am just like you, but Mami, can't they see that I am weaker? Not tougher, not keener.

I am nothing but me. Plain Maya. Nothing more.

I cannot be you. You have done so much more.

How do they expect me to do it?

Where do I even begin?

So you see, Mami, I have anxiety, and I know you don't quite understand it because you grew up in a world where there simply wasn't enough room for that. Only the fittest would survive, so you did.

Mami, I live in a world where perfection is everything.

Image is everything. Legacy is everything.

How must I take on such an enormous legacy when you are divine?

I simply cannot recreate your success story, please forgive me.

My fears blockade the way.

I hope you still have room enough in your heart for me.

..........

Three unedited, erroneous attempts.

Oh whale, at least I tried.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

My Monkey

To you.

..........

I know this is new. I know.
And it's true.
But it's just all these steps that have led me to you.
The heartbreak, the sorrow,
The worlds of pain.
Not one of them told me what I was to gain.
And you know, so it seems,
I've gained quite a lot.
A lover, another, a man of my dreams.
I don't know where this leads,
Or what love will become,
But whatever it is has already begun.

..........

Whoa.
Do you ever just stop and think "No, there's no way..."
It's just a coincidence, the universe at play.
But it's not. He's real. You're real. It's all real.
You've spent days, weeks too, forgetting to feel.
And then in pours the sunshine, the rays of sun,
The fluttering butterflies that say "He's the one!"
And he's warm like honey, and fresh like dew
All I can say is he's beautiful, too <3
I really like him. I hope he likes me.
What happens now, we'll just wait and see...

..........

Back again with the sappy poems, I know. But hey, who am I to tell love no?

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

RAWR

Hi. I think you're asleep right now.
I hope you're dreaming about breathtaking things.
Anyway.
I'm writing to let you know that I really can't stop thinking about you, hard as I try.
And that scares me.
Like a lot.
Day 1 went really well, Day 2 even better, and I just can't quite map out how I feel like I've known you all my life.
Is that weird?
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it's weird.
Don't mind me killing insomnia by writing about you <3

..........

Are you real?

How did you swim your way to me?

Someone like you doesn't exist.

Not even in my wildest dreams.

No, nobody has those blue-grey eyes of yours.

The dark ring around the exterior, crashing with the softer inside hues.

Nobody's got those shimmering, kaleidoscope eyes that dilate every time they see me.

Nobody's got those full lips that curl upwards without even trying.

Nobody's got that laugh that bubbles up and explodes, before sighing.

You've got me mesmerized, you have.

Inexplicably, like you just washed up ashore and turned out to be the most beautiful thing on this beach.

You're like a battered conch shell that plays echoes of the most stunning song.

You're like that feeling you get after sitting in the sun.

You're like a terrible chaos of wild and fun.

You're like peppermint hot chocolate.

Warm, hot, comforting, minty, great for a rainy day ;)

I like how you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention.

I like how you take my hands in your larger ones, kissing them and keeping them warm.

I like how you made an entire playlist of songs that remind you of me.

I like how you call me My Maya.

I hope I continue to get to know the you you want to be.

I hope your passions grow and allow you to succeed.

I hope the world lights up your eyes like a Christmas tree.

I hope at the end of the day, it's me you get to see.

I cannot promise I will age with grace, I cannot promise I will make no mistakes,

But at the sight of the sun, I shall not run,

And instead take the risk with open arms.

I know it sounds scary, I know, and it is, but the window is open.

Shall we see what happens next?

..........

Rawr.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Reasons Part 2

Reasons Not to Die:

1. The feeling after brushing your teeth
2. The first snowfall
3. All the poems I haven't written
4. Extra whipped cream on smoothies
5. Cold pizza
6. Crackling fireplaces
7. Kittens
8. Sunshine on a chilly afternoon
9. Swishy dresses
10. My wedding day

Fragments of a Fragile Mind

The universe works in funny ways. Last week, things got a bit dark and fuzzy again.

If it weren't for my dearest friends, I don't know where I'd be.

Here are mere fragments of the things said, all from different conversations, bits and pieces of the state of mind.

The purpose was to show the scattered frenzy that I can become and ultimately, to show that you are not alone. The fact that I'm writing this right now proves that I was not alone, even if it felt that way.

I can assure you at this moment in time I am safe and okay.

Caution: May contain triggering content. If you are ever at risk, please get help. I beg of you.

..........

Sorry sorry

I feel sick

So many things happened

How can I not let that define me?

I was trying to be rhetorical, asshole

The sad part is I wanna try again...

Except I wanna succeed this time

I wanna hurt again

So fucking badly

I am so so sorry

I won't do anything tonight

But I cannot tell you how lovely dying sounds

How lovely slipping away sounds

I

I'm trying to be okay

Over and over again

I love you all so much it hurts but I can't tell you how much I want to die

I'm so fucking weak

But I can't get out of my head

You shouldn't love me

Fuck

I want to go

I want to go so badly

My head is pounding

So exhausted

But I'm all snot and tears and yucky

All I'm gonna dream about is dying and I'm scared

I'm sorry for keeping you up

I just feel so fucking lonely

Fucking hell

I just wanna be loved

I don't wanna be judged

I wanna be hugged and told that I matter

And fall asleep not hating myself

I want people to fucking give a shit about me

I don't want to disappear into nothingness

I want to hurt because I don't know how else to be okay

I want the outside to match the inside

Just

I just can't go to work

There's so much blood

I'm literally itching for sharp edges

I'm craving it holy fuck is this what addiction feels like?

I can feel the hurt in my chest, I can physically locate it

I don't even like blood

And how I could so easily drown myself there

It feels like there's this little parasite in my brain telling me that I want things that I don't really want

And I'm too tired to cry anymore

It's just been the worst night ever

Just know that I love you please

And I hope that you love me

But I cannot promise you that I won't try again

I'm sorry if I've failed you

I didn't mean to scare you I'm so sorry

Goddammit 

I just really want to not exist

And I can't bear to put you through another Rosie

I want to end it so bad

I feel like I'm suffocating

But I'm not actually sick

My head throbs

Please don't leave me

I feel lonely

Not your fault

And I couldn't think and my heart was literally ITCHING, like a mosquito bite but inside of me

And I kept scratching at my chest and trying to breathe but it was suffocating

I felt physically attacked

My head was pounding with a migraine. It still is.

And I just can never win ever

I am never right

I am never understood

I'm still in bed

I just feel so unaccepted here

I'm just so angry

I just feel bad

I haven't eaten since 7:30pm last night

I don't want this to get worse

Everything feels so foggy right now

My whole body feels heavy

I still can't get out of bed

I don't know

I'm sorry it's not like I meant to

I love you too

..........

Bless the hearts who endured with me through the early hours of the morning. I couldn't have done it without you.

Please know that I am home and safe and okay. As okay as I can be.

And again, please get help if you are in need of assistance. It is the best thing that will ever happen to you.

I love you all.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Portrait of a Dissatisfied Teen

I hate what I see. I shouldn't, I know. But I do.
The figure I see in the mirror doesn't reflect an inch of the person I want to be.
Squinty eyes, one slightly larger than the other. Short, boyish eyelashes.
Plain brown.
Owl-looking glasses that only exaggerate this fact.
Dark circles that could go round Saturn and Jupiter, each, at least four times.
Craters dotting every zit I lost a war to.
A mouth slightly too big and lips slightly too wide. They're chapped.
Peach fuzz. Oil. Scabs.
Pale, ill-looking skin. I will never be as tan as the rest.
My teeth, God, my teeth are all kinds of fucked right now.
Yellower than I'd like, gaps where there shouldn't be, teeth chipped here and there more than twice, causing razor sharp blades to slice at my gums. It's a warzone, I tell you.
My hair hangs limply around my face, lifeless and greasy.
Nothing bouncy or fun or delightful about it. Just there.
Lines decorate my neck, signifying the baby fat that used to clump there.
My collarbone juts out like some frail kind of dinosaur.
Flabby arms, dark pits, questionable hands.
Boobs that make people question whether I'm actually a little boy.
A stomach far too fuzzy, bumpy, squishy, pudgy.
Somewhere or another, bite marks and scratches that went a tad too far.
A waistline that I'm told doesn't reflect my heritage, a butt that jiggles no matter what I do.
Stretch marks of all different shades, reds, purples, blues, whites, grays.
I look down at my legs. Too weak. Too hairy. Too thick. Too scarred.
A faded line grazes about three inches of my thigh, an injury attained in a backyard
Bruises pepper up my knees. No clue where they're from, but I seem to attract quite a lot.
Damn my shins, the stubble refuses to leave no matter how many times I hack it down with a blade.
Besides, my skin rewards me by flaking and burning and stinging and bubbling up like a red fire.
My feet, just like the rest of me, are small. Far too veiny. Far too pale.
I turn around once or twice, hoping to magically fall in love with something I overlooked.
It doesn't happen.
I resume my work.

Beast

by: Maya Wilson

When I'm sad, I don't eat.
It's almost like a punishment, I suppose.
The opposite of binge-eating for comfort.
I binge starve.
Is that wrong?
Maybe.
I just don't like the idea of feeding
The very thing making me sad.
I'm a monster.
Oh, yes, I fit all the necessary criteria.
I prey late at night, I scratch and I claw
And I pull and I tug and I bite and I bleed
And I bruise and I punish and I punish
And punish.
Starve the beast.
To hell with her.
She breaks promises.
She tells lies.
She bends and twists and manipulates
And I need her killed.
I need her killed.
I'm hungry. Please don't let me eat.

Turkey Day List #1

(I am actually the worst. I meant to post this two days ago, my bad.)

I could not be here today if it were not for:

Music: You get me through everything. You let me breathe.

Theatre: The way you tell stories is what keeps this world alive.

Poetry: Thank you for speaking the language of love better than I ever could.

Many thanks to:

Fairy lights: You somehow make everything more magical.

Prozac: For keeping all my screws in place.

Tissues: You've been awfully handy this year.

Books: For letting me escape.

The expression "Yikes on Bikes": You're my new favorite thing.

The Interwebs: You're terrifyingly powerful. I hope people choose you for good over evil.

Water: You're pretty swell. I hope you never disappear. You make everything clean again.

Soft blankets: Somehow, you make the world feel okay.

Pad Thai: I will never understand why you're so good.

Stranger Things: For getting me absolutely addicted to you and all of your talented little people humans.

Anne Frank's Diary: For documenting very real experiences that still apply today and letting us share those stories.

Candles: Well, for one, you smell good. Like, incredibly so. Two, you just make things cooler. 'Nuff said.

Fluffy socks: For keeping my feet warm :)

Showers: I pretend like I don't sing when I take showers... but I totally do.

The Wing: All the countless hours I've sung and laughed and cried down there... I can never repay you.

Snow: EVERYTHING IS SO MUCH COOLER WHEN YOU'RE AROUND. no pun intended


College: You're the only thing providing light at the end of the tunnel. Please just let me feel good enough.

Fantastic Beasts: I haven't been as excited about something in years. Thank you.

Sunsets: For proving that some things can still be inexplicably beautiful.

Tumblr: When the Abbey blocked you, I cried.

Haircuts: It's so easy to reinvent yourself. Thank you for feeling so liberating.

Snapchat: For capturing some of my fondest and most disturbing moments.

AP English: Hands down, one of the coolest classes I've ever taken.

My single: You know what's up.

Netflix: I need to spend less time on you. Whoops.

Strawberries: You're the fuckin' best and nobody can tell me otherwise.

The Pile: Tbh, half my wardrobe comes from you, so... #perksofbeingbroke

Conor's sweatshirt: I'm not entirely sure when I'm gonna give you back.

CJS's Yogibo: You've seen some shit. Thanks for still being super comfy :)

Graduation: You're all that's keeping me going.

Fireplaces: For keeping us cozy and without hypothermia.

Broadway: I will get there someday.

The multiverse: We may never understand you but thanks for, you know, not obliterating us to pieces.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Just Tired

Just Tired, Or Perhaps Dying of Depression, But Most Likely Tired
by Maya Wilson

Oftentimes, I don't greet sunlight
With open arms. You should know that
I'm sorry.
Occasionally, I find myself suffocating under
The sweltering heat of my bedsheets, and
Peeking a singular toe out takes the utmost effort.
They like to call me lazy, but come on,
Breathing wastes SO much energy.
Plus, you have to remind yourself to intake and
Expel oxygen every couple of seconds and you die if you
Forget.
I mean, what kind of sick, twisted universe allows its members
To die off for being forgetful? Absolutely ridiculous.
Winning the lottery is more probable than me
Finding the motivation to get out of bed in the morning,
And no, I'm not exaggerating.
You see, it's not like I try to make every single aspect of life
Hard for myself. By its very nature, it just is.
Remembering to eat, remembering to drink water,
Remembering to breathe, to exercise, to shower,
To sleep, to relax, to take your meds...
Good God, it's exhausting!
If they accuse me of complaining,
Forgive me, but please tell them
I'm just tired.

The Daily Struggle

Hiya!!! This poem's written in a bit of a different... style, so to speak. Let's just say work today inspired this piece :)

..........

The Daily Struggle

by: Maya Wilson

I made friends with a wasp today.

There she was—flitting and buzzing about

In all her red and yellow glory...

Nah, I'm just kidding.

That motherfucker stung me, and she stung me good.

You could say I was squirming and writhing in agony or whatever,

but you'd be forgetting an entire half of the story.

You see, upon feeling the deadly thing's stinger,

I clocked that bitch right where it hurt

(Or basically all of her, if you wanna get technical.)

I guess I should've run away or something smart like that,

But you know me.

Cold-blooded ho. That's right.

My swing only seemed to piss her off more,

So she made a bee-line—or should I say "wasp-line"—

Towards me, ready to sting with her butt again.

Goddamn, not even Kim K's ass is glorified as much.

We circled around each other for a bit, each eager to strike

When the fuckin' thing attacked me a second time,

But you best believe I was ready.

I smacked that wasp with a flipflop and down it went.

Mission accomplished.

For those of you wondering whether all this really happened or not,

Of course it fucking didn't. And if you believed me even for a second,

You're a dumbass.

Carpe Diem.

..........

The lovely inspiration I find at work, oh it's just joyous...

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Little Girl in Magenta

Surprise surprise, this new job of mine gives me a lot of free time so I've had time to write more than I usually do. Again, this poem is based on a little someone I met yesterday who made my heart smile :)

..........

Little Girl in Magenta

by: Maya Wilson

There I stood, off to the side,

Minding my own business

When I felt a pair of eyes

Looking right at me.

Slightly alarmed, I shuffled back,

Allowed a gentle smile and found

A little girl, no older than six.

She was dear, she was,

Too young for judgement, too young for reserve.

The girl wore a little frilled shirt. Magenta.

It suited her well.

Only after an attempt to say hello did I learn

The little girl was mute.

She stared at me through big, brown eyes,

And a tiny, brown hand peeked out at her side and

Waved at me.

She made some sort of silent giggle,

Letting her beaded braids jingle back and forth.

I smiled at her all the while, happy to know

Laughter is still contagious.

When I finally left, I made sure to

Wave back.

..........

And there you have it. I never got the chance to learn the cutie's name but I'm sure I'll see her around in the next couple of weeks. She was absolutely charming.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

First Day's Work

Inspired by my very first official day of "work."

..........

First Day's Work

by: Maya Wilson

Stranger danger. Toyota.

Pink blouse. Awkward silence.

Cool music. Panorama.

Motorbikes. Dirt roads.

Creepy stares. Toothy grins.

Introductions. Desk chair.

Bathroom. More stares.

Soccer tournament. Car.

Second stranger danger. Tony.

Ubers. Tomatos. Eggplant.

Medical unit. Ray Bans.

Lay's Potato Chips. Spoons.

Lots of spoons. Babygirl named

Rain. Needles. Shots. Medicine.

Water. Plastic cups. Styrofoam.

Gross. Stacking. Lines. Babies.

French. Fights. Creole. Car rides.

Hard-to-pronounce names.

Sleepy. Bumps. Pain. Salami.

Peanuts. Juice box. Rain storm.

Poetry. Theatre. Ideas. Baby boy.

Soaking wet. Jorgie. Mosquitos.

Malnutrition. Pink computers. Hot water.

Sunglasses. Yellow banana shirt. Braids.

Screaming. Mute girl. Crushes. Bruises.

Butterflies. Naked Barbie dolls. Kites.

Thick thighs. Torn nails. Childish laughter.

Olga. Green eyes. Shut doors. Packing up.

Relief. Goodbyes. See you laters.

Pickup truck.

..........

Y'all must be thinking "What the hell kind of a random list of words am I seeing here?" and I don't blame you for that. Looking at it now, all these words out of context don't seem to have any meaning, but I can assure you, they do. And that's how my first day at work went. I am beyond exhausted.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

On Giving Up

The problem isn't that I can't care for myself,

The problem is I don't want to anymore.

Sure, there are the good days where everything falls perfectly into place, but then there are the wretched days where falling off a tightrope sounds better.

It is just too hard to care anymore, Mami.

You say to dance my way through it. Sing. Laugh about it.

Twirl till the pain subsides.

I remember the way your eyes glazed over when I told you I wanted to kill myself.

Mami, I'm sorry I made you sad. I never wanted to make you sad.

I just wanted so badly to make the hurt go away so I could stop being sad so you could be happy.

But at some point in our lives, we realize that making other people happy,

Is really fucking hard.

So I've stopped trying, Mami.

I'm too tired. I just want to go to sleep.

I can't remember the last time I closed my eyes and didn't think twice about waking up the next morning.

Lately, I keep wishing my heart stops in my sleep. See, I don't want to keep waking up. I don't want to keep coming back to this.

I want the voices to go away.

There are only so many times I can play my favorite song before it, too, blends into the splatter-painted background of white noise.

I keep finding bruises all over my body but I can never remember where they came from and you know what's funny? I don't really care, either.

Sure, my leg's gone black and blue; sure, my elbows are varying colors of yellow and green but my body will rot anyway, right?

What difference does it make if it happens sooner than later?

You tell me to keep reaching for the stars but Mami, have you ever noticed how fucking far away we are from the sun?

Isn't it easier to just stay in the dark?