Nearly a year and half ago, I made a decision to pursue love. Love for myself, love for my work and the love of my life. I took a chance and left everything and everyone I knew to pursue a romantic love, work through my burnout, be one in myself and attempt to figure out what’s next.
I used to hide underneath my towel after a shower, from my own self. I was taught by society to be ashamed to even look at my own body. But through motherhood, I accepted my body for what it was. After seeing it change through pregnancy, giving birth in my own home, and using my breasts to feed my child, I now see my body as something powerful, something that can create and sustain life. I now embrace it completely. I feel comfortable looking at my body, and touching my body and I praise it for it's magnificence.
The reason we are here is because the love our ancestors had for us. They wanted our survival, through the survival of their children who are now our parents, grandparents, etc. As both WOC and POC, and especially when you are first generation in this country, the love that enables our passions is what enables our survival. The survival of our futures, of our community, and especially of ourselves in a world that tries to break us down.
Love was always complicated in my house. Como chiles ardiendo en el aire, stinging your insides as you try to breathe. Love cared for you, controlled you, filled you with possibility and was always there. My mother could never leave my father, even if she should have. That is how I learned how to love.
Dancer between a rhythm and a reality hips open in bloom to a new song while lips, releasing letters into long legged vowels whisper in the ear of another hour An eyelash once spilled from the bottom of a wink predicting tomorrow’s weather.