Photo by mododeolhar from Pexels

Should I say it?
If I write it
Once I do it
No turning back

It will be there
Carved forever
A clear window
Into my soul

They may see me
Deep inside me
They might know me
The covers off

Once I tell it
I won’t own it
We will share it
And disagree

Will they love me
Or abhor me
Does it matter
When I can sing?

The worst story
Would be knowing
That they saw me
And looked away

Photo by Nashua Volquez-Young from Pexels

If you look closely
At the sharp angles
They tell the story
Down to the abyss

The grey erupted
It started showing
The brewing storm clouds
Predicting the blast

I tried to tame it
To keep it flowing
High heat and pressure
Still willful unbent

So long and shaggy
Begging to escape
My knife cut through it
And I owned it then

Now we are able
To show our colors
Run wild together
And disrupt the flow

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

The part in my sister’s hair came out crooked, no matter how many times I redid it. One braid was fatter than the other.

Her hair was so long and so thin that each braid ended up like a wispy feather. If I braided down to where it was too thin, the ribbon slid off. If the three sections were not equal enough at the top of the braid, at the bottom, one would run out of hair. The dry, crunchy ends were lighter colored than the rest.

She cried, said I pulled her hair, and looked shabby every day.

We had to be waiting out front by the garage by the time the Ford Galaxie pulled up, or else we would be late for school. I made sure we were there.

Our school pictures said it all.

The part in my hair was crooked too.

When I write about human failings, my intent is not to beat you up — my intent is to plant a seed of thought in a deep part of you. My grandest hope is that you will hear and feel my words and make them part of you. I want…

Photo by Erik Mclean from Pexels

Chalk it up to my innocence. I couldn’t imagine what went on in this place. I couldn’t understand why I should be interested in what other people ate for lunch. I couldn’t figure out what kept people obligated to check in and see what is new.

So I stayed away…

The hummingbirds, bees and rabbits that inhabit my backyard are not aware the world has changed for us humans. It means nothing to them that we are having a difficult time staying home every day, or that we are afraid of something that is in our world that we cannot…

Photo by Elina Fairytale from Pexels

Since childhood I have been terrified of the Walt Disney movie Pinocchio. No, it’s not fear of growing a giant nose due to telling lies, but the fear of turning myself into a donkey from amusing myself too much at this carnival. …

Filomena is seated second from right. Family photo from the 1960’s includes five of her sons in the back row.

In the 1930’s, an illiterate midwife and mother in rural Mexico invested a significant portion of her family’s resources in a risky venture. She brought a literate relative to live in her home to teach her six sons to read and write. They lived in such poverty that an additional…

Grounded! Photo by Author

Can you imagine how it would feel to be a woman that supports her family for years with a government job she hates? Add that likely few imagine she is the primary breadwinner. Don’t forget to add that the job requires overnight travel averaging 120 nights a year. …

Maria Luisa Palma

Contrarian, Critic, Disruptor. All my edges are sharp but I love a good laugh. Advocate for independent thought and tough love.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store