I can’t think with the voices in my head
The voices sound like they want me dead
I can’t act with this fear in my bones
This freezing terror won’t leave me alone
I can’t love with hate in my heart
I’m trying to forgive but I’ve had a rough start
I can’t really seem to do anything at all
Nothing to uplift when all I’ve done is fall
I waited to share my thoughts because I let them stew and I was distracted by a ton of nicely done fanfiction (fanfic writers, I love you all for your beautiful artwork and writing and I just appreciate the fuck out of you).
Anyway, so Power Rangers happened last week, have you heard? Have you also heard that the cast of awesome misfits is beautifully diverse even if we still have our “irrelevant white male leader”? Then you may have also heard that Trini Kwan is Latina. And not just Latina, but also potentially queer. The girl doesn’t like labels at the moment, and as a queer Latinx myself I totally understand that for teens and others who are discovering themselves: labels can be a bitch to figure out. So here’s to the label-less Latinx Yellow Ranger giving this next generation of Latinx youth another superhero representative to look up to (shout out to America Chavez whose debut comic recently came out)! Here’s to the questioning youth of all ethnicities and races who can see someone struggle to put a name to who they are and realize they are not alone in the unknown. It takes a lot of guts to admit you don’t know who you are.
Continue reading “My Thoughts On Yellow”
I want no one.
I never have.
I want her.
I want to touch her,
I want her to touch me.
Continue reading “Confounding Thoughts”
Just a little something while I was flying to Tampa yesterday:
I’m in a fucking can in the sky. I am gliding to my death. I’m touching clouds, staring down below at the world so small, I feel like a damn giant.
I love to fly. I love seeing all that God created from a height only They can reach and I can never aspire to.
I’m afraid of heights. I’m small and I was made of the earth and my feet should never leave the ground.
Continue reading “Airplane Mode”
I haven’t been good about posting anything, and one of my favorite ways to get back into the writing habit is to begin with a story. This time I have decided that the story would be a personal one, my coming out story. Normally, because of the multitude of times that a person comes out, it’s customary to pick one of significance to your identity. I have been figuring myself out for many years, however, so this is kind of my ultimate coming out story. Or better said, this is my coming out journey. Fair warning, it’s very long and very much a work in progress. Here we go:
I have been having problems. Problems in that I’m done hating myself. I’m done trying to bend without breaking. I am done with trying to make my mother happy. But part of making my mother happy is also in line with what I grew up with, what my beliefs are, what my thoughts are. So I’m basically going against everything that has essentially made me who I am for over twenty years of my life.
I cannot remember a time when I was not fascinated with
women. Even with the Bible teachings and my family reinforcing them, I was sure
God, my creator, was a woman. Too perfect for the He, the Father role, the male
neutral. Because my mother was my world, and in my eyes God’s very
representative on this Earth sent to show me the path I needed to be on. Women
were the backbone of my family, the feeders and caretakers. All my teachers up
to fifth grade had been mainly women. My favorite shows had women leads and
strong relationships with other women. It seemed the most normal thing in the
world, then, to believe that the crushes I had on other girls, on my role
models, on my favorite actresses were just an everyday thing. Until they
weren’t. Continue reading “My Path to Me”
I have accepted that as an Afro-Latina who identifies as queer, asexual, and homoromantic/lesbian, I am a triple strike. Or quadruple or whatever the number may be. My name has always immediately identified me as other because Erisel Cruz is in no way a white name. But in reality, I am not scared for me.
I am scared for my brother who is Afro-Latino, and damn proud of his Blackness. I am scared because he used to be (probably still is but won’t tell me) stopped by the police for “looking Middle-Eastern”. I am scared because (God bless) he found his truth in Islam (and I could not be more proud, regardless of our “opposing faiths”). Because now he’s a “Middle-Eastern looking”, loud and proud Black man with a non-white name who worships the same God I worship but in a different tongue and style. And the only thing that might keep him safe is his uniform because to this country, at least he’s useful through his service but God forbid he tries to walk down the street in a hoodie instead of Army greens. Continue reading “I Am Scared”