March 2, 2017
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I walk to the bathroom, turn on the water and begin to wash myself
I begin to wash the parts of you, you left in me
I begin to wash off the words you said to me, the thing about being me is that, I could be in a room of people but I feel so alone, so I know I'll never forget the words you said to me
I scrub the times you made me feel guilty about things you’ve done wrong,
I begin to cry but not because the water is turning my skin red, I have spent years thinking that I was born broken, I'm beginning to see that is not the case, rather a product of two broken people, I came into this world a shattered vessel. Parts of me sprawled out on that delivery table like freshly broken glass,
I was set up
I was supposed to be reborn, a new soul not a product of the burdens of my ancestors, I can no longer let you walk on me as though the ground isn’t sufficient enough for you, I can not longer paint this smile on everyday when just under the surface is a shattered face, like a broken mirror, I am seven years of bad luck you can’t return, but lucky for you I am the world’s greatest magician, disappearing when I want to be seen and somehow appearing when I don’t
So when I was finally able to scrub the remains of you off of me i stood in front of the mirror and began to realize that there are going to be more
You are not the last
This scares me because I was born into generations of broken families, history seems to keep repeating itself over and over and over I came into this world a shattered vessel, and someday will I grow too old to scrub pieces of men off of my body. Some people get heirlooms from family when they’ve passed on but I fear that someday all they’ll have for me is boxes of broken hearts and soap,
To help scrub away pieces of men who leave themselves,
So don’t be mad if I don’t let you stay over for the night, hell sorry if I don’t let you feel too comfortable in my life and just know  if you refer to me as spicy don’t be mad if you can’t take the heat because I refuse to pack my heart in a box with some pretty scented soap for my child to scrub away pieces of someone,
I refuse to follow in my family's rut, i’d say footsteps but those footsteps have been walked in over so many times it created a rut, sunken in the wet earth which has been rid of poison. So tell mama i'm sorry tell dad to f*** off tell mi abuela thank you for everything in my life, I love you  tell mi abuelo yes, i am a woman and i will do something with my life.
Because I refuse to keep scrubbing my skin for anyone.

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