I was listening to NPR this evening, and Dr. Andrew Weil was talking about homeopathic ways to fight depression, increase overall wellness/well-being, happiness. One of the things he said that resonated was that taking stock daily, through mediation, prayer, or other practices, of all for which we are grateful, can help restructure the brain over time in a way that helps safeguard against major depressive episodes. This fits with my existing spiritual belief in the power of gratitude to manifest the blessings and opportunities we claim for ourselves. The challenge is that when you forget, you forget. Even if you know the words and how to say them, they can sometimes feel hollow, meaningless, forced. I felt only that for a long, long time. And now that I am able to feel and embody genuine gratitude again, it’s as though a defunct organ has just started working again, and I want to do everything in my power to make sure it never fails again. So, I’m going to try to take time out of each day to list the things for which I am grateful, especially when I am feeling afraid or frustrated. Hopefully I can be disciplined enough to maintain a regular practice. Even if they don’t get posted here, I’d like to make this apart of my spiritual hygiene.

I am grateful for the delicious meal that was made for me this afternoon, lean chicken breast, platanos maduros, rice and beans, by a man for whom I care deeply.

I am grateful for the artistic community I have found with Teatro Luna, the loving women who work so hard to provide safe spaces for other female artists of color to grow and develop. I am grateful for the opportunity to rehearse the show we’re remounting, the individual monologue work I got to do, the chance to finally see the sketch of the set design, and re-block most of the show.

I am grateful to have been given keys to Luna Central, the new space occupied and curated by Teatro Luna, to have a space at my disposal for rehearsals of my solo show Cry Wolf .

I am grateful for the lightning. I am grateful for the rain. I am grateful for the warming temperatures, the brief respite from the bitter cold.

I am grateful for my wireless internet.
I am grateful for the new laptop my father gave me when my desktop crashed.

for the time and mental space to memorize the first monologue of my solo show, for the emotional fortitude for the challenges that lie ahead.

mostly I am grateful to feel something other than teeth-gnashing flesh-clawing bone-rending lung-splitting anguish every moment of every day. I am amazed that I am here in 2012. I am amazed that I can feel love. I am amazed that someone looks at me and sees something beautiful, not something damaged, not defective. I am grateful that I can find myself beautiful, not damaged or defective.

I am grateful for the amazing smoothie I made tonight, for the nourishment it is providing my body, cucumber, spinach, pear, guava, ginger, cinnamon, and clove. I am grateful for my body. I am grateful for my bed. I am grateful for the heartbeat that makes a willing cradle for my head. I am grateful I’m not dead.

I had my first poem published when I was about 6, so I can’t say this was my first poem, but it’s among the earliest pantheon of Kristianadom. Kristianity? *ahem* …anyway, if you were ever wondering “Damn, has she always been that intense?!” Well…yes, I’ve been this crazy most of my life. Check it…1998.

Falling With Wings

They never seem to listen
To what I whisper loud
They don’t see my tears glisten
It’s just me against the crowd

I’m screaming, sobbing, dying
They only laugh or stare
They refuse to hear me crying
But think I’m unaware

They think I don’t hear the laughter
Or that I just don’t care
They don’t see me falling faster
Reaching for what’s not there

Because I once was happy
And had a sense of self
But they’re not satisfied
So should I be someone else?

I used to be invincible
Their words never hurt me
But confidence only goes so far
And after letting my courage desert me…

Everything is falling
I’m beginning to drown
They ignore my desperate calling
I’m still falling, falling down

I hate sounding like this
Like a victim, always whining
I didn’t want to write this
But the sun, it stopped shining

I have to tell about it
Or I’ll just go insane
For the first time, I don’t doubt it
I know I’m not the same

It rings in my ears
It vibrates in my soul
It knows all of my fears
My destruction is its goal

Will I persevere?
Will I be led to death?
Will it not be that severe?
Will my fears be put to rest?

Death comes so quick
And in so many forms
Is it real? Is it a trick?
Will I make it through this storm?

Your heart may beat
Your eyes may see
Your blood still pump
And be dead emotionally

Did I just create this?
Is it my imagination?
A feeling I can’t debate with…
That can’t be my creation

But this misery has come
Attacked like a ghostly army
I don’t know where it’s from
But it only wants to harm me

No, it won’t end with me awaking
Realizing it’s a fantasy
With this pain, there’s no mistaking
My doom, he wants to dance with me

Lead me further down the path
Meticulously destroy me
Torment me with his wrath
Simply laugh and toy with me

He gives me that demonic grin
To assure me of my safety
He pleads with me to let him in
He only wants to take me

But deliriously I go to him
Giving up on all the world
I want to belong to only him
And only be his girl

He puppets my emotions
And I listen to his tune
I’m governed by his every notion
He makes me feel immune

To all of their hatred
And hurtful words
All of the torture
He let’s me fly like a bird

He puts me in his cage
And I obey his will
Become subject to his rage
Then my heart falls still

My wings are bathed in silver
A celestial sort of light
As they begin to quiver
I know now, tonight is the night

I was 12. Man…that girl was deep, son!

an accident at the death castle or
mission accomplished

and the face of the cliff roared against the sun
soldiers braving in the white light
throwing stones at eagles
the irony lost

alfa lima alfa

sleeping lions prodded with rifle butts
snake eggs crushed under size twelve
standard issue black leather
sanded smiles bleeding through lips

mike uniform tango

towers of black smoke twisted baladi
former tehran now free
and soot fell from the sky
lining the shoulders of ghosts
blowing their cover

private alphabets hit a fat wing
and she helicoptered to the rocks
collarfeathers spelled surrender
he scrunched a dumb burnt nose at her
and got mad

everything reminds you of everything

and so the tacky blue of prom jackets
and the sweated backseat taffeta
anthems and daddy’s gun
and mama so proud of her handsome boy

bring your ass, alphabets. quit fuckin around.

the wizened hematite of her eye
watched him closely kneeling over
she thumped the dust expectantly

he raised a jagged block of castle
to silence her proud white head
she flapped up to beak
through his round red cheek.

Find some things
Find some one
Find some where to hide somewhere to pray somewhere to die find somewhere to live find your perfect match
Find out
Find yourself lost
Find yourself bleeding
in the backseat
Find the shoe that came off in the crash
Find the flashdrive with your play on it
Find the perfect gift
Find yourself inadequate
Find him beautiful
Find him monstrous
Find his locks in your underwear drawers
but never find the set of keys you gave him
Find a photo of you locked in a sloppy kiss folded over the stairwell of the Metro
Find a seat on the train
Find your footing
Find the fire escape and acrobat to the roof and toe the crumbling bricks at its edge
Find gum in your hair
Find condoms in your bed
Find the best price
Find the shortest path
Find your favorite ring
Find your voice
Find the perfect line to end the poem, but somehow, write past it
Find an agent
Find a publisher
Find a discipline
Find a job
Find a parking space
Find a hub cap to replace the one crushed on the Kennedy
Find the best necklace for your Christmas dress
Find a Halloween costume
Find bruises you can’t explain
Find cheap plane tickets
Find shards of the bowl you shattered long after you swept it away
Find out the neighbors called the police
Find mold on the bread
Find mold on the cheese
Find time to practice
Find a way to forgive
Find a way to believe
Find a way to forget

The street was mine before it was ours. Now it’s mine again. And your street is mine too. The streets are mines, the city’s unlit roads, quivering explosives at every lamp. There were so many storms that summer, the power lines kept going down. And when your electricity went out, you came over to sleep under my air conditioner, and I was glad to have cool air with which to entice you, but lover, I wanted to not have to bait you with the prospect of bearable sleep. The danger I would sleep too close, that my body would emit too much heat, that you would kick the cocoon of the sheets off of us, that you would kick me to the edge of the bed till I fell.

I had a bad habit of stepping into the street without looking for traffic. And maybe once or twice, you shouted my name sharply, or gripped my wrist, and saved me from the splatter of a speeding windshield. But maybe, more often, you hung back at the curb, to see what might happen if I crossed without you.