I just want to be alone.
I want to cuddle
in one corner of my room
until my thoughts
stop gyrating at the same time
as the ceiling fan.

But the more
its blades oscillate,
the more
a headache intensifies,
and the more
my body shrinks into a fetal position
until I am trapped
in a womb of uncertainty


I think the carpet
has grown apathy towards my skin.
It used to embrace me
until I fell asleep.
But now,
it pinches me with every fiber
of its being
as if it’s trying to push me
to stand on my feet,

but I resist like a fetus
who isn’t ready
to be born into society
yet the mother’s uterus contracts
in preparation for delivery
and the labor process


I feel my bedroom’s walls
contracting me, pressuring me out
just as the carpet

I feel the tension in my spine,
in my limbs, in my mouth.
I just want to cry

but instead,

I stand up, I turn off the fan
and I go out
into the hallway outside my bedroom
to find my mom
standing in front of me;
for the moment
I would cry,

to hold me
in her arms

like the day I was born.

Written by: Lucero L.


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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s