(27 mar, 2017)
in another life, my parents never shared surnames; only wine bottles of olden days and sweaty nights of eventual regret. they never ruined each other’s hearts. i was born instead to a mexican psychiatrist father and black-american soul singer mother. i speak spanish and english fluently. i don’t bear any scars to gawk at.
in another life, i’m not so rugged. i am smooth, charming, and beautiful latin ebony clad in dark. romantic accolades spill from my mouth, along with wit and humor for dinner guests. i am loved underneath skyfall and embraced in a kiss for an extra hour during daylight savings.
in another life, i’m better with words. i tutor kids in english, i write poetry about my lover, i finish the novels i start. the vows i recite at my wedding move my wife and many attending to tears. i know how to say goodbye to those i don’t wish to let go. i speak korean and francais. i whisper endearments and sing arias so archaiac.
in another life, i never broke down. depression never came to me midday and hovered within me throughout adolescence and prison visits. only one person inhabits my body. just one voice inside my head, a comforting promise. no panic attacks late night in mom’s vehicle. no knives prodding at veins during prom season. i am balanced, with my self-appreciation solidified and my confidence unwavering.
in another life, i loved myself from the start. i adorn my skin. i build wreaths from flowers to caress my precious head. i take baths while meditating. i exercise and eradicate negativity from my social media feed. i dream only good things (most of the time). i laugh at my own mistakes. i don’t fake smiles; they come to me both naturally and genuinely. i share this love with my soul mate, and we bask in it until the sunset years.
these are my lives. yet the one i have right now will have to do.