• Get all the latest Claudia news with a dash of poetry. Sign-up now!

    Join 189 other followers

  • Instagram

    Little sister poem. Be woke.❤️ #ajamonet #poem Found these wings on Sunday just strolling through DC. I’m reaching the part of the program where I’ve got so much good in my life but so much fear. When people ask me what my plans are for when my work permit expires, I kind of want to answer with silence and leave it at that. There’s no plan. There’s no plan for when that happens because something needs to pass in Congress before then. The longer the delay, the higher the chance there will be a lapse in a protected status or a  direct jump into being undocumented. There’s no shame in being undocumented. It’s just a really difficult path. Right now my hope is that people with wings, you know, permanent residents/citizens force their representatives at the state or national level to do something. I feel wingless right now. I mean, I’m entering rooms with sad poems in my mouth. I mean, I may or may not be spending a lot of time crying. I mean, I’ve got a job, poetry, bread, my mother, but no future and it stinking hurts. AND I wish I didn’t have to remind people that this is my reality, but I don’t see any new rages at society other than the regular fighters who have been fighting too too too long.💔 Practing my senses. 
#PoetryTAT #poettime
  • Me on the Twitter

  • Archives

  • Recent Posts

  • Advertisements

1,000 miles: step 46

Most mornings find me tightly bound to my blanket, ignoring every one of my three rise-and-shine alarms.

I read once (in one of my favorite novels growing up, Spinelli’s Stargirl) that we are most alive, most human in those first moments after waking up. I find some truth in the idea, particularly after I’ve woken up from a strange dream.

But honestly, isn’t life itself a strange dream?

Maybe the product of a brilliant, boundless imaginative writer. The universe’s conception from nothing takes my breath away; I seldom think about it for if I did, I’d need to stock up on oxygen.

And don’t get me started on how destruction and creation coexist… dangling mysteries and reality.

While these years of higher education have put some distance between myself and a dear-God, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a bit of holy in daily life that I’ve stopped noticing.

A few weeks ago, I sat at my balcony and watched the wind blow dandelions seeds. Scattered. Slow-moving bits. Floating up, as if to no end.

Watching seed by seed pass me by, I was reminded of a classmate reading an autobiographical piece over a year ago. She described making wishes upon dandelions seeds as a child. The way in which she described the moment… like it was very  much alive in her memory struck me.

I thought then, as I do now, where have those fond memories of mine gone?

Today, as I walked out of class to a glowing, half hidden moon, I kept thinking: I wouldn’t have seen such a night as a kid. I wouldn’t have been allowed to walk myself home if the moon was up.

I don’t give it much thought, but it’s so thrilling to grow up. And it’s terrifying. In my final year as a teen (nineteen), I find that I’m not only growing older…

I’m growing younger. It’s a thought hard to pin down, but I’ve seen so many adult-child’s, that I know well enough:

life and death,

youth and old age,

are close friends.

Leave a comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: