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W A N T E DB l o o d M e m o r yP a g e 1 8 - 1 9

“ Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.” – Thomas GrayThroughout this semester, I have fallen completely in love with writing poetry. As ateenager, I used to dabble in poetry as a way to express emotions, tell stories, and eventherapy. I would stay up late at night with a notebook, gel pens, and a pocket rhymingdictionary writing poems. Looking back, the poems are extremely cringy and embarrassing. Most of my work is fiction or loosely based and exaggerated around things that havehappened. My favorite poems that I have written this semester are the sonnet titledSmoked and the Abecedarius titled Apocalyptic State of Mind. I hope that youenjoy reading my poems as much as I enjoyed writing themI was drawn to creative writing after my first semester because I took a typicalEnglish class, and I discovered I really enjoyed writing. Each assignment boostedmy confidence and empowered me. I must say that this is the best class I have ever taken.I learned about the rules of poetry, how to write different kinds of poems, how to createtension and engage my readers. Hopefully, I was able to capture some of the things I've learned so far.As an adult I didn’t do much writing. I didn’t feel the same desire to writebecause I wasn’t that angsty, emotional teenager anymore. Suddenly, in my mid 20’sI became physically disabled. I was stuck with feeling lost, useless, and helpless.After about a year of my pity party, I decided to start my journey of highereducation. It had been over 10 years since I was in school, and I had this irrationalfear of being “too stupid for school”. Although it terrified me, it was the best decisionI’ve ever made. Going to college in general gave me a positive and constructive outlet,instead of letting depression and grief consume me. It allowed me to work my mind in afulfilling and healthy way.

I want to dedicate this portfolio to my soulmateBarry, whom without I would be entirely lost. to Melanie, who intensely inspires my creativityand is the strongest woman I've ever met. to Alexis, who is my rock, my moral support, mylogic. I could not have finished any of my poemswithout your support.to Earl, who inspires deep emotion in my writing.I hope you are finally at peace. And finally, to my father Riq, who always taughtme to always be unapologetically myself, I miss you every day <3

Can you hear the birdsDo you feel the crisp cool air?The warmth of the sunSmelling the mowed grassStopping to cut the rosesFertilizing the pavement

In times of darkness, close the blindsWhen in doubt, be indecisive In times of darkness, open your eyes

Earl Grey Teathe same big hou S e on the corner. the front door slightly cr ack edopen. the walls are m U stard yellow. showcasing the nicotine stains, the kitchen is dated w I th early 90’s appliances. expired earl greytea bags scattered everywhere. ru sty fa uce t a nd dir ty C ounter next to the holes in thebathroom walls. that is where the d emons. were com I ng through.the bedroom carpet is D renched. the smell of hot metal and fireworksfills the a ir.the s tre ets ar e f ill E d w ith si len ce, fl ash ing li ghts from the ambulanceand c op car s a re bou nci ng wit h c uri osi ty. ....n oth ing wa s t he sam e a fte r t hat da y.

She just fell and that was your alibi.And this would be my thirteenth reason why. The loud flick, as he lights his cigarette.More frightening than I’d like to admit. Smoke-filled space around his dark silhouette. He's taunting me just for the hell of it.Excruciating words under my skin. Crawling through the bullet holes, I'm left with.Delivering strikes like a bowling pin.An Oscar worthy bitch slap, like Will Smith.Blistered chemical burns of his gaslightmolotov. All expenses paid guilt triparound the world. Champagne toast. Firstclass flight from the man of God, I used to worship.

/ mid· nīt / noun. 1. Time of day between 11 PM and 1 AM. 2. The mostintense time / should be asleep / counting sheep /itchy sheets /crispy, chill of the stale air surroundsyour body / the loud sound of silence deafening you /click, click, click from the ceiling fan / drip, drip, dripfrom the kitchen sink / tap, tap, tap from your heartbeating faster / racing thoughts / manic panic /serotonin, endorphins, adrenaline consecutively rushingthrough your entire body / feeling inventive,innovated, creative / ready to tackle your to do list /eager to finally get your life together / nointerruptions / no distractions / Adderall focus / RedBull energy / your mind is Atlantis / another dimension/ unbothered / peacefully chaotic / anything ispossible at midnight / best time for an adventure /tale as old as time / spiraling out of control / wideeyed / red eyes / absolute oblivion

Here, we have time to stop and smell the freshlybloomed roses in the springtime. Our kids can giggleand run through the cool water shooting rhythmicallythrough the sprinklers. Without any other worry thancombating the spicy summer heat. They gallop out of the house with so much excitementwhen they hear the sweet, nostalgic melody of the icecream truck. In my United States their only dilemma iswhich popsicle they want to cause a monstrous brainfreeze. In my United States, we can inhale a deep breath of thecrisp, bitterly cold air, through both nostrils and feelrelief we are alive. We can sit across from the smokycampfire and watch the sunset fade into the end of theearth without pulling out our phones. Our attentionspans are longer than a 30 second Tik-Tok. We can have barbecues with our friends and loved onesbecause we aren't shackled to our jobs. Anyone here cansurvive working less than 40 hours a week. Mentalhealth and sick days are unlimited. Our people are notjust cogs in the machine. Our people matter. In my United States, poverty, starvation, andhomelessness don’t exist. Families don't have to sleepunder the highways or wait in line at the soup kitchen.Our people aren't on the corners begging for foodbecause we simply have enough for our people. Everyone here is happy and healthy because allmedicine is legalized and affordable. No one is dyingbecause of big pharma's capitalistic agenda. In my United States, the government isn't controllingwhat you can do with your own body. We don't needRoe Vs. Wade or the supreme court to authorize ourchoices. In my United States there aren’t a million hoops tojump through to survive. We can simply make itbecause we are the land of the free. We are actually free.

Unhinged thoughts and chemically imbalanced. At this point, I'm justvicariously living through people who can set healthy boundaries. Alas, whatever will be, will be. Pop anotherXanax like tomorrow will never come. You are forced to make your move. It all comes down to this. Zugzwangrespectfully, I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Or to simply state it, No. Sacrificial dagger to the part of my mind that needs to be compliant. To the part of me that will not rest until my duties are fulfilled. Before everything happened, I never understood just howcatastrophic life could get. I never considered what my role to play was.Even with my blonde hair and blue eyes. I am a strong woman. Figuratively speaking, of course. However, I am constantly, Gaslighting myself until I give in to it. Giving into temptation. You never knowhow much a person can take. How much they are willing to take. I guess it comes down to how youjustify it in your own mind. Will you just idle or will you be akamikaze? Are you willing to make that commitment? Eternal damnation to prove your point.Luckily, most people in my position are well enough to know that isn’t an option. Damsel in distress? That could never be me.Metaphorically, I'm on this constant rollercoaster of twists and turns. Usually, I’m not thisnarcissistic. But isn't that what all narcissists say? I feel as though I am constantlyobligated to make the right choices. Some may call itpersistent people-pleasing syndrome. I guess if it waddles like a duck, quacks like a duck, it probably is a duck. If only I could muster the courage to say

My dad, after he fought so hard to stay alive. He battled cancer and beat it, but theexperimental chemotherapy destroyed his kidneys. My hope, after watching him stayon the kidney donor list for over 6 years. The sparkly off-white and cherry redpontoon boat my dad bought a few months before he died. Our plans of “sailing”along the beautiful Oregon rivers. My best friend from middle school, Hunter, whojust couldn’t understand my grief at such a young age. My childhood home when we moved over 1,789 miles, to Kansas of all places. My mom's little red Honda, after hitting a huge, bouncing tow hitch in the middle ofthe highway, somewhere in Nevada. This was a fourth of the way into the treacherous 27-hour drive to the land of Oz.Which in all honesty, should have been a sign to abort mission. An entire week in Wells, Nevada – population 20. After almost driving off thatmountain. I have never seen a smaller town in my whole life. There was one motel,one auto shop, one truck stop. They housed more tumble weeds and dust storms,than people. Hundreds of tokens into the Ms. Pac-man arcade cabinet at the truck stop. I almostbeat the high score! While my mom poured quarters into the Walk Like an Egyptianslot machine. I still can’t listen to The Bangles without thinking of that time. Theoverpriced, Burt’s Bees lip balm and hand lotion variety pack that I just had to have,from the truck stop gift shop. My tonsils, after enduring three years of tonsillitis. My ability to swallowfood without it getting lodged in my nasal cavity after the surgery. Monthsof physical therapy to learn how to swallow again. To this day I still can’tswallow without things going up my nose.

The coolest, bejeweled Mickey Mouse ears from Disney World, atthat Best Western in Orlando. My mom and I took a vacationafter two years of grief and heartache. This was one of the bestmemories I have. We went to an amazing all you can eat seafoodbuffet, every time you went through the line you got an entirelobster!Most of 8th grade, when anxiety and depression consumed me.My favorite t-shirt – it was white with neon pink splatter paint. It glowed vibrantly under the black lights. Until, it was violentlyruined from a watermelon Four Loko, vomit stain. The entire year of 2010 when I decided that binge drinking wasmy favorite activity. My first job as a florist – I learned about company politics andbeing an adult the hard way. My belief that the adults in my lifeare innocent. After learning about my mother's meth-capades.My easy going, people pleasing attitude because I decided Ideserved better. My low self-esteem when I finally foundsomeone to show me unconditional love. My insecurities, when Iwas accepted for who I was, even if I didn’t know who that wasyet. And finally, my fear that I was not worthy of happiness.

She must have good genes to still look like that. She has so much painfor someone so young. “You are as beautiful as a rose” they say. But that's not what she hears. She’s half-price if you ask her. With a major discount. She’s cheaper the more you buy. She is adorable until it's time to say goodbye She’s small, high heels, ripped jeans, and more makeup than an pageant queen. Please don’t discount her as a human being. She just wants to be healed of her pain. Because we are all hurting. We are all just wilted roses, with trauma and stress in countless rows. It started when she just needed the money, by the way. That’s not something you’ll hear from her though. The assumption is that there is some anomaly in her genes. As she looks at her reflection through the windowpane. She doesn’t recognize herself anymore, all she sees is the discount

coupons in the penny saver. A buy one get one free discount in a motel that charges by the hour. Rose petals are strategically plucked and laid from the bed to the windowpane. Every rose has its thorn. The harder you're pricked, the more you’ll buy. He loves you; he loves you not. Her Jeans are violently ripped off of her. They don’t hear her cries. They don’t hear her screaming no. They are getting what they paid for, at a discount no less. How can they take you seriously when your jeans are on the floor? And there are single file Rows of neatly cut powder on her bathroom counter. She buys a one-way ticket to hell. It's just a little bit of pain. She keeps saying to herself, No pain, no gain. Until she is mentally not here. She closes the door on who she once was with a numb goodbye. After each act she says she doesn't want to discount herself anymore. She will not be flattered by rose petals and coke lines. She will zip up her jeans. But the zipper of her jeans is broken. She slams her fist into the windowpane. Glass and blood as red as the rose petals shattered on the floor. She cannot be hereanymore. She says will not discount herself anymore. She wants to say goodbye.

I’m sorry about the time I spent our savings. The PlayStation 5 wasjust released, and you were already planning on spending the money to buyit. There was nothing you wanted more than to inhale the sweet, new plasticsmell. You couldn't wait to break the factory seal. That smell was yourheroine. I’m sorry that I took that away from you. I'm so frustratedbecause I take my paycheck every month and make sure that the bills arepaid on time. I’m sorry that I have to worry about how much our dailylife costs. While you get to leisurely coast through life like a bottle-fedbaby. I’m sorry that your parents didn’t teach you the value of a dollar.I'm sorry that you don’t have to worry about where money comes from.I’m sorry that you never had to manage your finances and were able tobuy whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. I’m sorry that I madeyou get a job to pay your fair share. I knew that you were a spoiled brat.I knew you were selfish and inconsiderate when I married you. I’msorry that I asked for the smallest amount of responsibility from you. And most of all... I’m sorry that I married you.

W A N T E DBlood Memory“You have the right to remain silent,” the police officer said as he closed theshiny handcuffs on my stepdad’s wrists. I watched them walk him to the back of the car as darkness filled the sky andtheir lights flashed and engulfed the parking lot. I watched as she screamed hysterically. “Why are you taking him!” “He is an innocent man!” she pleaded. As they pulled off, my mom rushed back into our room in a panic. Since I wasthe older sister, I knew it was my responsibility to keep my little sisters calmas we watched our life fall to pieces. My mom has always been a little off.Always struggled with her mental health, but this broke her. She plopped ontothe ground against the bathroom counter and kept rocking back and forth.Just like the time she wore the tin hat and thought the aliens were invadingearth. As she slowly rocked, tears streamed down her cheeks. Every so often,she would mutter inaudible words. She has never been able to takeaccountability for her actions, but this was on a much deeper level. My littlesisters and I watched our mother fall apart as the roaches and mice laughed atus. A few hours later, we were greeted with a five-star dinner of stale vendingmachine honey buns and tap water from the bathroom sink. I was so numb; Ithink we all were. The next day was not much different. I was awoken by my mom loudly snoringin the bathroom. The acoustics in that bathroom were any musician’s wetdream. Her head lay against the base of the toilet, and her legs spread acrossthe back of the door, keeping it from opening. I gathered all four of my littlesisters and set out to the gas station down the way. We frequently did thisbecause sharing a bathroom between seven people is something I would notwish on my worst enemy. About halfway through our journey, I noticedtoday’s paper was left atop the dumpster near the mini-mart. I was alwaystaught that everything is valuable and salvageable. I wiped the coffee groundsoff and unfolded the paper. My heart skipped a beat and sank to my stomachall at the same time. On the front page, it was all there. The whole scene wascaptured for the world to see. In the largest, boldest print on the front page. Itread, “CON MAN CAPTURED!” I quickly folded it and shoved it into mybackpack, so my sisters wouldn’t see.

The coffee-stained paper screamed my name as we took turns in the bathroom. Justwaiting to be read. I couldn’t help myself. As I read, everything started to make sensewhy we moved from motel to motel and why we weren’t in school. Why we had to lieabout our names. He was a con man. The paper confirmed that he was stealing, writinghot checks to each sleazy motel we stayed at, and then skipping before they knew itbounced. The thing that got me was that the only reason he was caught was because ofthe raffle tickets my sisters and I were peddling door to door for our “church” group. We rushed home so I could confront my mom about the factuality of the claims. She isstill passed out in the bathroom. Luckily, I was able to push the door open. I shook hervigorously until she woke up. She sat up and looked confused. I threw the paper in herlap. As she picked it up, her eyes widened like a deer in the headlights of an 18-wheeler.I was so mad at her for involving me and my little sisters. How can any reasonableperson explicitly involve children in felonies? She starts rocking again. I decided to call my grandma to come pick us up. As the phone bell trickled, I twirledthe cord around my finger. I was so nervous because my grandma wasn’t a prizeeither, but at least we might be able to have a normal life. As she answered the phone, I already knew. She slurred so hard I couldn’t make out anything she was saying. “Hi Grammie, its Marie. I really need your help. Ed got arrested, and momma isrocking back and forth in the bathroom again.” I pleaded. She said in a serious, clear tone, “Put your momma on the phone, Marie.” I tried to listen through the door, but she was crying so hard that her words weremumbled together. After a few hours, Grammie shows up in her old, rusty StationWagon to pick us up. She seems to have sobered up from our phone call. She burstsinto the room and demands we pack our stuff while she makes her way to my mom. Mysisters and I gathered leftover grocery bags and filled them with our clothes as fast aspossible. Grammie commands us to get in the car, and we abide. Grammie wasn’t thetype of woman to mess around. She said to do something, and you do it. Within the next few years, we discovered that Ed was acquitted after two years in jailfor “mishandled” evidence. This is a news article I found on Ancestry.com about my relative. Names have been redacted.*I don't condone or agree with their actions*