Through the Photo Album

June 8, 2008
The picture is on my wall. No, not that one. The one beside it.

The picture holds so many memories. It is too real.

The picture breathes in, out. I shout at the picture on my wall.

Resemble good, end disastrous as memories kick in.

I hate memories. The only memories I hold are hurting.

I want to grow as a person, but the picture on my wall holds me. I am small and shriveled.

Grew up with seizures. That's the picture. I shout because I'm a survivor. Take a look at me now.

Why do I hold such a picture? It empowers me. I defied the odds in a country where when something is wrong with you, you automatically have AIDS.

We moved here in search of medicine. My parents didn't take many pictures due to me being sick.

There's a picture of me in the photo album playing in the snow... in Washington D.C. I looked like a huge tomato in my snowsuit.

Gotten it at 3 months, ended at 11. Traveled until we heard about U.S.A.

So many things I missed as a child but regained. Everything was life threatening-going in water to swim, or falling.

The world was a whirlpool ready to swallow me into its unforgiving depth.

Walked when I was four, talked when I was six, always dragged my left foot behind me, started school late, in the U.S.A.

I was born the twelfth day of the eleventh month. I look at poetry more than my escape. I look at poetry with my life.

To this day I still can't pronounce words with the letter "S". Speech problems.

My second grade teacher introduced me to writing.

My brain works differently. It takes me a long time to process information. I didn't ask to be this way.

Everything I am today is through the photo album.

Take a look at me now.

I am alive and well. I stand on my own, company not needed. I get sick normally with the common cold and quiet at times. I prefer being alone, where I can sort out my thoughts peacefully... at least I'd like to.

I am growing as a person, take a look at me now.

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