PS. . .I love you

I write so often that I forget to speak. I feel through pen and paper as my heart beats out of my un-healed chest. People tell you it’ll get better but who’s to really tell how long it takes to pull yourself together after a heart break. How do you fix something that grew to such a magnitude in such a fraction of time? How do you explain the inexplicable? They. . .people, the doubters, will never understand.

You meet new people and you find renewed hope in their eyes. They charm you into believing they are there to fix the gaping hole that replaced a once whole heart. Yet here I am, bleeding out again, and this time, unlike ever before. Immediately after his absence I wandered back into those moments when I said forever and I meant it. My forever looked much different. He is a distant and unattainable forever. . .and even though he has always been far, this is final and painful. I find myself drifting off to the moments I laid in the dark from across the country feeling him down to my bare bones. I remember the spark of electricity that rocked me to my core when we said I love you. In those moments I allowed my soul to escape me as it embraced every part of him. I knew, this is it. That was the moment that people hope for, something most will never feel and I did. . .I do. It’s so powerful it hurts. I sit upright with this fake smile on my face and I’m empty. I had never felt so whole in my life and fulfilled by love but here I am just days after completely baron. In the blink of a scared eye, I shed an ugly light on myself and ruined every hopeful possibility. I hurt the heart of the one I swore to protect and obliterated my own in the same panic.

I was driving last night. It is one of my favorite things to do because I can think and clear my mind. I sat distraught in my car and shed inconsolable tears so that when I was ready I could walk into my home and pretend that I was not falling apart. Unfortunately there is no distance in this world that will allow me to outrun the love I have for this man. It is inescapable, it is powerful and more than anything I ever felt, it is painful. When you meet someone you have no idea what they will mean to you, or how they will impact your life. I in many ways wish I had never met him, only because of the excruciating pain I am in. I miss it all, the laughter, the love, the fabricated fantasies we had that would never become true. Even the stupid disagreements. He made me happy and now I’m dejected back into the reality that is life without him while fully knowing someone like him exists. It hurts and I don’t know how to fix myself. I wish I could put back all of the little pieces that so willingly threw themselves open for him. My heart is lacking and its pulsating and pumping to the rhythm of an open wound.

I feel like I am living two lives. The one where everything is just peachy and I work and come home and I’m that same hopeful person I have always been but then there is this other me, the me I am when I am sulking in the solace of a broken heart. There are moments when I sit with my back against the wall and I think of his eyes and I kid myself into believing I can draw a perfect memory of him. I touch my lips and I frown because the only reciprocity I have is that of my cold fingertips against my anguished smile, my lips will never know his. I hold my hands against my chest and I realize there is nothing there but pieces of anatomy. My heart is working but it is very much missing the one who once made it jump out of my chest. How in such an ellipses in time could I have loved to the point of my own detriment. As impossible as it seemed it happened in two hearts that lived on the same pages for a short run. I was foolish and jumped ahead only to lose it all.

To never hold that face in my palms, or hear a last I love you, that is my pain. No more giggles and silly, “what up tho,” I took these days for granted because I thought there was always going to be a tomorrow. The what if that will remain unanswered is all I have left. One day I know I’ll smile and be thankful for no matter the brevity, that I had a love so powerful. That day is not today, I am but a vessel of a woman, empty and angry because I am broken over the one that never belonged to me outside of my heart.

Je t’aimerai pour toujours mes yeux brillants.

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Calling

There is no stutter

in the words that I write

There is little fear

not even a fight

 

I feel I say I scream

From mountain tops

indented phrases

elapsed in thought

 

No holding back

Once silent murmurs

The light of day they see

Words formerly unheard of

 

No coward stance

behind closed palms

Nails are strengthened

no more clenched jaws

 

The fear of failure

Is not even a thought

as soon as pen touches paper

fearlessness in foot

 

what makes you stutter?

what holds you back?

rejecting rejection

before it begins

 

Paper can crumble

it can be torn down

Yet it is a release

Of all my thoughts

 

To scribe is my calling

No matter the doubt

Every word I’ve written

Has somewhere to be found

 

No Better Than You!

Read me, I dare you!

It’s not about being single, it’s not about having a man or needing one. It’s not about being stubborn or unwilling to let people in.

I’m a single mother to a charming 12 year old boy. His smile lights up any room he enters. He is funny and makes me happy. But then there are those moments when I fail him, I fail myself and drop the ball. We aren’t perfect but we try.

I’ve been working since I was 14. I had him when I was sixteen and since then I’ve been a mother, a fighter a god damn warrior. I hold my head high even when I’m drowning. I look all put together when I’m shattered and torn to pieces.

When I say no, I feel bad. When I simply am stretched too thin and I can’t I feel bad for being unable. I make it to every conference, wipe every tear and comfort every concern or fear.

I’m shaping the heart of a future man. I’m setting the pace for who he should become. I don’t have testosterone, I lack manhood but still I try to instill the morals and conduct of a man to a little boy who is being raised by a mother who lacked a mother and father.

I stand head high, shoulders erect but the truth is some days I want to crawl into my own little hole because I’m my own army of one. I self soothe and tell myself every little thing is going to be alright but it’s not the same as having someone else tell you what you know to be true.

It’s not fair to tell a boy he’s the man of the house. It’s not fair to expect him to step up in more ways that he should. He shouldn’t be deprived of a simple childhood that simply requires him to be happy. So I brave the cold and put out fires on my own because he should never know of my struggles.

I’m not team single, I’m not team baby momma or daddy drama, I’m team mommy. I do everything in my power to keep my sons father involved and will no matter how tough it can be.

My son is a great kid but he is anxious and worries about everything that is going on, if he’s cornered he feels the need to fight back. He’s emotional and strong but he’s no Goliath. He’s not a straight A student but he’s the best student he can be. He’s facing a major block with attention but I always do my best to rear him in the right direction. He is not medicated but diversion and planning with a child like him is complicated. It’s tough, it requires effort and constant diligence.

I work, I study, but above all else, I parent. I don’t want pity and I’m not complaining I’m just stating facts. The facts about the walk of my life that most others will never know.

Simple facts that people who pass judgement may overlook for others who have their own stories to tell. I very rarely make comments or statements about arguments I know I’d lose to an idiot but enough is enough!

Welfare, drug screening and government assistance are hard topics but everyone is a critic and everyone has an opinion about a matter that they may have never experienced. Or perhaps they may have experienced but because they are no longer in dire straights they feel the self imposed right to give advice to families benefiting from their hard earned tax dollars. Suddenly because people have their best foot forward they forget the shit they had to step in to get there. People become insensitive and unkind all because, “if I did it you can too!”

Well here is something you all do not know. I lost my job in February of 2012, I spent almost a year unemployed before I found a job. I had a brand new car and prior to I was doing pretty good for a simple girl from Tampa who wore hand me downs as a child and got her first kid sister doll from a garage sale. I had a good reputation and long run in the child and maternal health field. I was Johanna Arroyo, a member of my community, a link to families and resources. I trained peers and worked with families from all walks of life and adversities. People let me into their homes and allowed me to touch their lives without judgement or superiority. I did it all because I loved it and suddenly after a decade of working in non-profits and social services I became the under served.

Was it unfair, sure but I wasn’t dying. I had my health and I had my boy. Things were different and I suddenly could not just rely on myself. You all are my friends, you know me, you encourage me and see the kind of person I am. I’m not lazy, I don’t mooch off the system, I don’t live off of others. In the year I spent unemployed I never missed a meal, the power remained on in my home but my dignity fell at the seams at times because of people much like all of you and me.

I went grocery shopping and as I pulled out my EBT card from my purse I saw the smirks of strangers because I clearly was living off of “their” hard earned money. I was a vagrant who was pulling my government assistance card from my designer satchel. They didn’t know I spent $65 dollars on it at the outlet store as a simple gift to myself while I was still employed. They didn’t know I was putting my groceries into my brand new 2012 car that I had purchased again when I was employed. They didn’t know this because they were so concerned about how hard they’ve worked in their lives they couldn’t lower their noses to realize that I too had busted my ass. They were simply focused on the negative stigmas of the needy. If I had wandered in looking torn and dirty I would probably have been more deserving. But no, I’m a proud woman in my character and appearance. I painted my nails with the polish I purchased, again, when I was employed and when I didn’t have enough money I washed the cute name brand clothes I owned by hand in my bathtub at night along with my sons school uniforms while he was sleeping. Clearly I wasn’t deserving of wearing some of the things I wore because I should be too poor to live off of them, those people who didn’t know me. See you all read my life, my posts and everything through your own eyes, you know of my footprints in the sand but they didn’t. The same is said for every other person out there trying to find their way back into self sufficiency, there exists someone out there who knows her story too. While we all try to figure out how and when they could afford it. They had to explain their expenses and have their life scrutinized down to every detail just to get a handful of assistance for their children.

The government should cut public assistance, the homeless need to find jobs because handing them a little bit of chump change is above us, I guess that is what everyone says but guess what, your hard earned money will be taken from one and will be redistributed and given to another. Instead your money, your tax dollars can build roads and construct buildings that the poor and less than privileged will ever be able to afford. That all somehow makes sense and keeping food on the table of families doesn’t because they didn’t earn it or work for it?! You all have mothers and fathers, if there is no struggle in your present or immediate history look above your parents and get to know your roots and figure out if you’re still willing to turn the other cheek. — feeling no better than anyone.

I’ll Know When I Get There

I’ve overcome some obstacles, some big, some little; they varied in facets and depths.

During the storm I ask why has it rained on my parade. . .how did I get stuck in quicksand. . .why, why, WHY didn’t things go according to plan?

I have learned so many things from these unsolicited obstacles that I now know they happened for a reason.

I offer this as my best explanation of life, knowing all too well that I have lived but a fraction of my own lessons, so please don’t be offended.

Consider yourself the parent of your dreams and life. No matter your spiritual beliefs, we all know that everything happens for a reason, but we aren’t so forgiving or welcoming of those things when they happen.

When people have children, they choose a name, decor and all of the little details of the baby boy or baby girl to be. We celebrate the arrival before the arrival and we wish and hope for the best. Some pregnancies (adoptions, surrogates) go as planned. No need for medicinal intervention, no pain and yet others hit you with a curve ball. It seems as though a catastrophe has occurred in a seamless plan.

There we are again…why why why?

Why you ask?

Because it is part of the journey!

Little Jon arrives in place of Jane. Some little angels are born with additional chromosomes and parts, some are incomplete and need more care. As our children, we nurse them and love them and fight like hell for acceptance for them. We go down a long and winding road for the betterment of them.

At the end of all the struggle, and the unplanned blessings we never look at our children and think about everything we went through to have them. . .we see them for who they are and who they’ve become.

Such is everything in life…we can’t shoot for the stars and get distracted by clouds. Just remember that if we just travel a little further, the journey will no longer trump the final destination.

Instead of saying why, tell yourself, “I’ll know when I get there!”