Weary Wanderer

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and look up at steps that go on forever. Some are shallow, others are close together and some are so steep. All of them take me on a journey. I’m so weary and even though I try to psych myself up to take that first step, nothing happens. My feet stay rooted in the same spot and I struggle to move forward even an inch. My eyes water and my chest hurts as I strain to move, to continue on. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and visualize moving forward and reaching one step followed by the next. I see it in my mind’s eye so clearly. Triumph spills down my throat because I’ve taken that first difficult step. My eyes snap open and I’ve only got the tips of my toes on that first step. Fatigue swamps me and I scoff myself because obviously I’m not good or strong enough to go anywhere. I hear voices telling me that I’ve got to try again, and again, and again, and again, and again. So dazed I sway and try one more time because maybe the voices got it right this time. 

©Esther Valencia

Summertime Blues

The sun is shining and pressing down on everyone
Birds are chirping looking for water
Sweat trickles down backs and sits on upper lips
My arms shiver and my hands feel numb as
Coldness seeps into my bones, aches settle in
Humidity rises and coats the city but inside
AC blasts frigid air that is debilitating and torturous.
There’s never a season were I can stay warm enough.

©Esther Valencia

Outlaw Warrior

He can show you humanity,

Fly past rings and spheres,
Glide through flushed stars,
Open back doors and side ones,
Introduce you to neighborhoods,
Quite unlike your norm.

He can help you build memories,

Exploring each other’s palettes,
Skipping through candied sprinkles,
Past meaty sauce drenched noodles,
Into whip cream laced corners of
Neighborhoods new to you.

©Esther Valencia

#Resist

Woke up today,
Sun was shining.
Took the time to pray,
Ready to keep fighting.
Like a bird of prey,
Focused on striking,
Racist foul play,
That keeps on rising,
Like a hellish souffle.

 

©Esther Valencia

After The Tone, Record 

When I was twelve, having someone call my house wanting to speak to me and not my parents was cool. My friends and I talked on the phone like our parents and felt like we were so close to being grown ups. 

Today when I see a call on my smartphone screen that isn’t my parents, I mutter “what the fuck” and wonder why the person couldn’t text me. 

Today when my screen becomes useless and my only options are accept, decline, message or remind me, I sigh at the waste of time.

Today when an unknown number appears while I’m in the middle of watching the tenth episode of Say Yes to the Dress I wait to block the telemarketers and collections people on the other end.

Today as a grown up I don’t want the intimacy of hearing another voice over the line. I now prefer emojis and hierogifs.

©Esther Valencia 

Wishful Thinking

Standing on the margins
Looking out into the gardens
They laugh and hold hands
Joyous at the reading of the banns
Hidden from their gaze
Her eyes clouded in a haze
She surrounds her heart
Hoping to deflect the darts
Shards of loneliness and envy
From all angles such frenzy
Wishing his arms could hold
Her until they grew old
©Esther Valencia

Static Routine

1. Wake up and stretch
2. Drink room temperature water with lemon
3. Open Instagram and marvel at the glam lives of strangers
4. Shower while daydreaming of luxury vacations with random celebrities
5. Notice that time is slipping away and jump out
6. Get dressed and check Snapchat for new filters
7. Grab lunch and head out the door
8. Stand too close to strangers on the train daydreaming of a chauffeur
9. Smell a breakfast sandwich as the conductor yells”train traffic ahead”
10. Walk into work and hope the hands soon read closing time

©Esther Valencia

Flower Sessions

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Let’s go get
Garlic bread and barbecue.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I made some bread
Just to share with you.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Let’s cuddle in bed
And eat some fondue.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
This waterbed is perfect
For a screw.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Your skin is so fresh
Like morning dew.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
We’re newlyweds
Time to bugaboo.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
On my deathbed
We’ll share a brew.

©Esther Valencia