It is finally coming to me

Alright,

so I am a Masters student in college and it just all occurred to me is that I can do whatever I want. That is actually what most of these professors have been saying to me in indirect ---read this book---kinda ways. I just realized, however, right now at 4:37 am in the middle of a not so exciting but memorably inviting summer enveloped with love and friendly events concerning race, class, and sex... that I can really do whatever I want for my thesis project.  This was after having the privilege of editing a friends project as a last minute grammar check. So some of the books I want to draw from seeing as how I am doing the Mexican American Studies major are Tropic of Orange, Canicula, maybe an Ana Castillo book, and something off the wall like out of Hesse, and those will be my literary books I draw from, plus there are more comig in the mail... But the whole thesis will be on me and my experience... and so what I can do whatever I want!

Dreaded Dystopia

Sometimes when I close my eyes I seep into my own abyss of dissonance. My brain grows in the direction of a weary numbness… All of my insecurities and truths seem to be placed onto a sub-atomic net of disassociated knots… My level of comfort seems to decrease and my breath begins on its shallow way into a land of desperation.  Drowning in my own fears determined to relinquish all of my tears.  Disturbed into delight; it never changes… The its of my all come into contact with every discomforted feeling I can imagine all at once and immediately as well as dreadfully there is a distance from peace.  A distance far between “who I am meant to be” and what I seem to have become…

The inclination and struggle toward life initially and chaotically almost ironically drives me and sends me a little closer to death…

The absolute abundant truth… we seem to live until we die…

Autora Deborah Godinez 2011 ©

Death Obsessed

The truth hits so suddenly
                     so brutally
How could I have ever denied?
The hearts way of convincing me these feelings are not real!

Time and time again to let go of beauty
The beauty of this life and be this fucked up
inadamant object

This limpless lifeless form of existence without the empathy.