Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
Since the day I could count, my brother and I battled dozens of times in family tournaments of Monopoly. Before each match, he would confront me with his antagonizing, big-brother, I-am-the-boss-of-you tone. “Ready to lose another game of MO-NOP-O-LY, Dave-IT?” Expecting an inescapable wrestling hold if I refused, I gave Read more
A story of grief, healing and hope. The essay traces a woman’s trip to her hometown after the death of her husband. The traditions that aid the process of grieving and a daughter’s realization about her mother’s resilience and watching her claim herself back. “She has a pacemaker; you cannot Read more
I admit it; it’s true. I’m far too sensitive for a grown man. At any given moment, I could easily find myself whimpering, sniffling or flat-out weeping about something emotional. Besides experiencing unexpected emo-break downs, I often self-induce my emotional triggers, just for fun. To get my fix, I fanatically Read more
when the death call came your confederate ideas and vile vernacular came swinging back at me like a bloody noose from our haunted family tree there will be no wails of grief from me for you as they bury you in your proud white sheets all I have for your Read more
Trudging up the stairs to my grandmother’s third-floor walkup in Manhattan we finally arrive at our destination, tired and panting from carrying our bags, the stroller, and Haven, our two-year-old daughter. We knock once, and my mother opens the door immediately. “Hey, everyone. Happy you made it down safe,” she Read more
My mother comes to pick me up from kindergarten and is pulled aside by the teacher. “Your daughter doesn’t color between the lines.” “She knows how she just doesn’t want to.” One week later, the same conversation repeats. So, my mother chooses another school for me—my mother, who dropped out Read more
The question I dread the most as a grieving mother is; “How many children do you have?” It’s not that I don’t know how to answer, it is all the questions that follow. I’m immediately forced to decide whether or not I want to reveal more intimate information than the Read more
I have written a million poems about my body. How she couldn’t stay in her lane, fit in her assigned container, listen to directions. How she never did what was expected, lived in the fray, wandered endlessly from ship to ship.