Poetry and Me

Today, I am working on my poems, and I must have hit a nerve.

I began to squirm.

Writing from a place of vulnerability can be exhausting, in part because of the emotional toll it can take on you. Exploring past issues, rehashing out experiences that were once dead and done, reliving memories can be hard.

Lately, I find myself sifting through a compartmentalized box of memories (good and bad).

Sometimes, we bury our feelings deep within the confines of our souls and never really find closure. We move on from a bad moment and some of us never get the closure we need. But, my personal trip down memory lane has left me with a sense of healing, or closure.

What does closure look like?

For me, it comes in the form of a series of poems that explore my life and identity as a woman, a minority, and mother trying to figure out who I am in the midst of trying to raise strong young women.

And, let me tell you I am tired.

I am tired of being subjected to a world that expects certain behaviors and norms in order to succeed. I am tired of the way society has created standards of beauty. I am tired of sitting in a room where I am silently criticized because I color my hair blue (purple, pink, and green) or I have henna on my hands. I’m tired of trying to fit into white America in my America.

But, in this exhaustion I also find truths.

I find that I love discovering myself. I love the beauty of language. I discover that the power of words can move me to tears, bring me joy, or bring me peace. In this vulnerable place of discovery, I use my words to heal my wounds, to find my serenity.

Within the spaces of my lines, I build my stanzas of truth creating my poetic voice.

Copyright © Delia Marrero 2019 All rights reserved.

I am still working on my goal of raising funds to attend the Martha’s Vineyard Institue of Creative Writing. It’s not easy to continuously ask with originality. Honestly, I am running out of words and thank yous. I have reached out my audience over and over again and I know they must be tired of me at this point but OH WELL I am being persistent.

Chasing what I want and taking the steps towards becoming a better writer.

It always amazes me how the most supportive are those who you would have least expected. Then, those who you thought would support you ignore you but everything in life is a lesson learned.

What I learned is that if I don’t keep at this I will not get anywhere. I can’t be a writer in the dark. I have to find the mentors and workshops, I have to work on my craft, I have to WRITE.

I need to be proactive and do the things that will help me with my craft (NO! I am not talking about witchcraft). Writing takes practice, dedication, and time. Writing is not an overnight success story in which your first attempt is a masterpiece.

So I am still asking for help if you are able to, a share helps too. Below is my Go Fund Me:

https://www.gofundme.com/creative-writer039s-dream

 

Creative Writing HELP

Hello everyone! It has been a long time since I posted a blog. I have not been writing much since the dreaded writer’s block has made its way into my life and has settled down for the long haul. Recently, I decided that I need to break through this writer’s block and I have been actively revisiting works from my past, rewriting, redrafting and submitting. I have been receiving rejection letters but they do not deter me. Then late one night I received an email stating: “Your poem, which speaks to both your love of poetry and the moment of birth of your work is wonderful, and your letter which reveals the joys and the struggles of creative writing (btw: I’ll be talking about my own first 100 rejections in the class I teach) is precisely why MVICW exists—you seem a perfect match for our program.” I received a partial scholarship opportunity for a week-long writing workshop.

I am writing to ask for your help. Since this is only a partial scholarship p I still have to pay the remaining tuition balance, lodging and travel expenses.

I am reaching out because I need help. I have had unforeseen expenses and my general responsibilities and bills have made this surprising opportunity a little challenging to come up with all the necessary funds. The program received an additional donation and reached to me for the opportunity. If you can help it would be greatly appreciated.

Below is the link to my go fund me campaign:

https://www.gofundme.com/creative-writer039s-dream

 

THANK YOU! SHARING HELPS TOO!

 

 

Releasing Writing Fears

I like writing but I am hesitant about sharing. Self-doubt, apprehension, and fear continuously rear their putrid heads over and over again.  The self-doubt and apprehension lead me to write. In part, I believe that this is an oxymoron because the fear and apprehension should make me run from the craft.

The exploration of my language leaves me at a loss sometimes. I am lost in my thoughts and words— constantly. I am lost in observation and I am lost in the wonderment of exploration. I can explore the darkest thoughts of my mind and create something truly unique or I can create a poem that embraces every romantic idea I have ever come across and yet somehow, I feel it’s never good enough.

It’s not good enough so it’s not worth sharing.

I have so many creations, characters, and plots that are begging for exposure.

They haunt my thoughts daily.

They chase me down dark damp dreary desolate corridors.

They rush to the forefront seeking the spotlight in the world. They long to enter the minds of others and leave behind an impression of existence.

And, then, there is me.

I stand in the way of everything. I place myself between the world and my words.

Is this intentional sabotage or uncertainty? It may be both.

So I have decided to make myself uncomfortable!   I am trying to share more, I am seeking exposure, albeit, baby steps but nonetheless steps in the WRITE direction.

The first thing I did was enter a poetry contest. This forced me to create and compile a collection of my poetry. A total of 51 poems which explore my love of poetry by exploring the concepts of identity, love, sex, fear, torment, nature, and any other experience of the human existence I could muster up from the left and right hemispheres of my brain.

I am also going to continue my novel, a multi-cultural contemporary romance novel sprinkled with history. The book explores the harsh realities of love, loss, grief, trauma, history and there is the possibility of happiness (this is still to be determined).

And—for my last trick there are these short stories I have been working on. Sorted little tales I take the most pleasure in writing.

I am exploring the world of writing, my world of writing. I am going to take the time and cultivate my craft and figure out what I will do with it in the next few months.

I invite you to share your writing fears, inhibitions or apprehensions. Expose them, explore them then release them.

Puerto Rico

I am writing today from within. I write from the roots of my being. I am an American, a Puerto Rican. I am the daughter of an island born on the mainland of a country in turmoil over identity. Today, I see inaction on behalf of other American citizens, on inhabitants of an island in despair.  Americans absent from inclusion, they live on an island bombarded by the waters of grief and we are all hurting. Our island is in trouble and we are stranded on the mainland, hopeless, fearful, and desperate.

La isla del encanto, la isla de mi niñez, drowned by a storm— is surfacing for air.

And I see all of us crying out for our people.

I see humanity emerging from the depths of tragedy.

We cry out with memories of a coqui singing, the sounds of parrandas bellowing through the night, el cuatro is the backdrop of my childhood, with trio music cascading through my memories.

I still smell el calor de la lluvia que cae en el verano and I hear my grandmother saying to me, “se caso la bruja, lluvia con sol.”  I can’t translate culture. I can’t turn this refrán into something that makes sense in English. Sometimes, I can’t make sense of myself in America, because I am  Puerto Rican. The earmarks of our culture lose meaning when we try to translate them.

We try to translate our being, our identity. We try to be American- but we don’t have to try because we are Americans with a dash of sazón.

Our culture is a mixture of history told over the sounds of an island’s melody for decades.

We are American. We are part of this country too; we are the people of a nation that ignores us.

We fight in wars, we work in your business, we are doctors, nurses, teachers, representatives, we even hold a position in the Supreme Court, we are Grammy award winners, Tony award winners, actors, actresses, sports players, musicians, rappers, poets, writers, executives, secretaries, your neighbors, and friends.

It saddens me that the tragedy which has fallen upon the birthplace of my ancestry has devastated the Motherland. But I want you to remember “Esta raza siempre es brava/ Aunque sople el temporal” (Residente, Hijos Del Cañaveral).

Don’t lose sight of the solidarity that has forged from this tragedy. Make an effort to help. Bring attention to the plight of our island; bring attention to the people of the island. Don’t sit down and remain silent, write letters make phone calls, donate money for relief efforts (Donating items is not always the best solution unless you know what is exactly needed. Avoid waste).

Find out where the relief efforts are, change the conversation of the nation unite with others and make CHANGE happen.

Music Saves My Soul: She Used to Be Mine

 

I heard this song on the Tony’s last year and even Broadway can strike a chord that resonates within:

It’s not what I asked for
Sometimes life just slips in through a back door
And carves out a person and makes you believe it’s all true
And now I’ve got you
And you’re not what I asked for
If I’m honest, I know I would give it all back
For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two
For the girl that I knew (Waitress)

I listened to this song and recognized the feeling in her voice, felt the pain in the words and knew the hope that grows inside. I am sharing because someone I do believe this is a very beautiful piece.

Stone Hearts

Stone hearts
And stoic faces
Bodies moving
Unfamiliar places

Trying to adjust
Appearing to fit in
Harboring inside
What can’t be shared at all

Internally digesting
Events that make you cringe

Knowing that it’s yours to keep
Preserving classification
Your privacy in tact
No one privileged enough
To get through the external hallowed out remains

Who dares dig deep?
Into your darkest night
Tunneling through
That formidable wall

Destruction
Obscurity
Gloom
And despair

Grunts of dejection
Exhaled in the night

Let’s Share: Maledicus

I recently finished reading Maledicus Charles French’s first novel. A work of speculative fiction that is more of a love story within the borders of a horror story. The characters are not your typical heroes, they are all older men in their 60’s and have experienced the loss of someone important in their lives.

What I enjoyed most about this book are the love stories; there is the love of relationships, familial love and the exploration of the love of parents for their children. I do not want to give away any spoilers but there are two points in the story where I felt the sadness of the loss and the beauty of love in the depictions set forth.

This is not your typical horror story, it may not be what you expect. If you are looking for blood guts and terror this is not it, but if you are looking for an intriguing story that gives you the depiction of the power of love in order to defeat evil you may want to check this book out.

Link below:

Maledicus