A blog by Amanda Alcantara

Thursday, January 12, 2017

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It’s only week two and already I’ve got a bit of writer’s block.


I drink my shot of liquor that la señora from Dajabon gave me, and get to writing. Vocal chords dripping from the side of my lips as I try to manifest words unto the page, speaking them out loud, I wanna sound like a poet but what does a poet sound like?


Black keys on the keyboard staring back at me.
White words on them. Just like they try to paint on us. Paint their words on us. Descriptions on us.


I just wrote a line and erased it cuz he would've known I was talking about him.


This is what pain sounds like. Trying to fit a sentence into a breath as if it was the last one. I’ve never had a writing ritual before. I write on trains and as I'm falling asleep before going to bed. But tonight feels different. Cuz the moon is full and for the first time in a long time I'm writing for me.


This is my gift. To my skin. Take back those words and make them black, like ink.


Speak through me I ask.
But I'm only speaking to myself, because I am them and they are me.


I wonder if I’ll erase this after I post it. I wonder if it’s making sense.


I stop myself to think instead of letting it just come out. Did u know that I wanted to write about Barack Obama and the bullshit that it is that I cried during his bullshit speech cuz his charisma is so strong and our hearts are so weak right now desperately searching for a way out?


I think about Cuba and news around Cuba and how somehow my family ended up here through a Cuban connection. And that means I'm antillana. And I'm negra. And I'm dominicana. And I'm not negra enough. And I'm not dominicana enough. And I'm just Amanda. And I have to write this year. I said I was gonna write, dammit.


Do I really want the world to know I'm a pendeja? That’s what I asked myself before writing a story last week precisely about how pendeja I was, and now hundreds of reads later, my small world knows it and it feels like a revelation. Like a release. Para tener coraje primero hay que tenerle miedo a algo. Let me translate. To have courage you must first have fear of something.


I wanna write more. More. moor. Myrrh. I heard that’s what the three Kings brought Mary after she gave birth to what many considered the greatest story ever told.

I wanna show y’all this trick I’ve been learning but it’s not coming through right now. My magic is failing me right now. My magic is words. And y’all haven’t even seen everything I can do yet.



1 comments :

jomary ortega rivera said...

Gracias mujer porque me has dao ese sentimiento rico que da la poesia/prosa poética, declamada en persona con coraje, ritmo, beat, attitude y un lenguaje que tambien pulsa en mis venas de antillana poscolonial.
🐚

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