my life isn't over

it's just different.
i didn't have very many years on this earth without a child.

my son, who's now 13, and i were talking about planned pregnancy and he, smiled, shrugged and with a bit of a question mark insinuated that he was "a mistake." i was taken aback, hurt for him, but so pleased to have the opportunity to tell him that he was indeed, a welcomed gift in my life. i knew that he thought this because when young women become pregnant people say that their lives are over but for me it was a new beginning. i didn't agonize over my decision to have him. in fact, i was elated from the moment that i knew. not for one instant did i consider abortion, never did i ever wish i had not given birth to my 5 lb. 10oz. fireball of energy and hugs. i was happy, enjoyed my pregnancy and every step of the way because i was sure that God would provide everything that we needed and our life would be wonderful. and i was right. we all have rough patches in life but he was not one of them. would i have had an easier life without him? maybe, but not likely because he gave me a sense of purpose when i cared about nothing, not even myself.

as all very young moms do, i yearned to go out and spend time just being myself. once my relationship with his father was over i did. we took turns taking care of him and i spent my alone time figuring out the next step to take for myself, for us. i struggled with work and school, having to drop the latter in order to have a tiny apartment, clothing and food. we spent our afternoons in museums, central park and barnes and noble, where it cost us nothing to look but our time. it was so simple.

did i wrestle with the responsibility? yes i did, but no more than my friends and family who have children in their 20s and 30s. it's a relief to know that, it's always hard and it's always wonderful.

when you're a young mom, if you love your child. if you have a passion for living. if you see the world through their eyes and learn with them, with innocence and zest and excitement. if you're flexible and patient. if you're open to the possibilities of having your child as your best friend. you life is far from over. it's just different.

the sun is brighter today

all the curtains are thrown back, the shades are up
my hair is wrapped into a high ponytail
i'm walking taller today
the sun feels warm on my face as i wipe away the grime,
the grit that collected there from early spring til now is gone
the room smells crisply of vinegar and lemons
glowing of blue light filtered through my yellow awning
soft and green like new beginnings

~written in august when the cobwebs were swept away and began writing in earnest again

abstract by derek santiago

Le Chat Noir

One of my favorite posters... I love when art imitates life!



This is my annual halloween card featuring my cat Goonie.

A Letter to the Men in My Life

Even though you set fire to the house forever altering the family’s ability to communicate and be vulnerable with one another I forgive you Abuelo, Alcohol and the Korean war stunted you, I understand.
Even though you left me before I got a chance to know what really having a father was, I have loved you and understand that your complete inability to be a parent wasn’t due a lack of love, but because you were a dysfunctional eternal child, confused and burdened by life, Papi. I forgive you.
Even though you tried not to tear my new flesh, babysitter’s son of black hair, crystal blue eyes and lovely pink lips who I thought was my boyfriend; You thoroughly ripped away the essence of innocence that a child has the right to glow with. But I no longer harbor sorrow or anger.
Even though you leered, winked, stroked my arms, stole kisses and petted my hair pedophiles of the world. I have been cleansed of the insidious poison that you injected into my sexuality. I release you.
Even though you claimed to love me handsome college-jock –boyfriend-I-thought-was-too-good-for-me I absorbed every beating and in my brilliance became resilient and more powerful than you could bear to witness. I conquered the pain and no longer feel like a victim.
Even though you tried to make me feel that I was “nothing special” broke-ass-turned-millionaire-on-the-sweat –of-my-back, I am held in a place of honor by the husband you said you would never be. I no longer remember what it was like to love you.
Even though you stated under no uncertain terms that the indias were so beautiful, my hair glimmers in the sun and my eyes sparkle when I laugh, making me feel radiant. I embrace them and rejoice in our sisterhood.
Even though you made me feel insane when I vibrated with anger, frustration and defeat while waiting until 5am for you to arrive, I am proud of myself for knowing that I deserved better and left all of your shit on your cousin’s stoop at 12pm when you were still nowhere to be found.
Even though you yelled, threatened, cursed and berated me in to a small box of regrets, Baby Daddy, my son is a gift that I can thank you for forever.
Even though you used, you underestimated, stripped me of my worth and made me have to start all over again.
Even though you wrapped my mind into an endless bundle of question marks
I wake daily to create a new world for myself in which I rise free from the burdens of my past.
I rise meeting the new day proudly
My heart is full, beating powerfully, loving wholeheartedly
My back is strong from the weight that it has carried
My hands build homes of purity and innocence
My smile is true and my words ring with honesty
My spirit soars, buoyed by the knowledge that I am all of the things that I should not be
Even though you are all still a part of me.

~Jani Rosado

I'm a Barbie girl...

I have always been a makeup loving girly-girl. At an early age I was producing runway shows starring me and my cousins all done up and wearing my aunt's lingeries. We put baby oil in our hair, my cousin's was all cool and Jheri curly, while mine consfusingly hung in a limp straight wall over the white satin ribbon I had tied across my forehead. Why didn't mine look like the pretty girl in the Thriller video?
If it weren't for the ugly people in the world I could post pics and we'd all have a laugh at the silly, innocent postulating of little girls who could have penned the Pussycat Dolls' "When I Grow Up", which I sternly disapprove of for anyone under the age of 16. So, back then there were two things that rocked my universe...
(Well, 3. Let's not forget Menudo. sigh.)

Barbie and makeup... Win-win. The geniuses at Stila and Barbie came together to thrill those same little girls strutting to what was most likely Hall and Oate's Maneater.

I'm a little heart broken like when I was little and watched the commercials unsure if I was actually going to get it or not. We'll see if I can manage to swing myself a little treat.


Barbie Loves Stila Paint Can - 1959 #1 Ponytail Doll

What it is:
A can packed with all you need to get a Barbie-full look.

What it does:
Stila Barbie Loves Stila Paint Can - 1959 #1 Ponytail Doll is modeled after the first Barbie doll—with striking red lips and black-rimmed cat eyes, this doll is the epitome of 1950s glamour. The three-pan palette contains eyeshadows, a cheek color, and matte red lipstick so you can create the iconic look with just one kit at your fingertips.

What else you need to know:
In this collection, created to celebrate Barbie's 50th birthday, each paint can features the look of an iconic Barbie doll from the past five decades. Inside each can is everything you need to get that beautiful Barbie doll's signature look. The Barbie Loves Stila paint can also includes a "Barbie Look Book" that includes a history of each top-selling Barbie doll over the last five decades.

This set contains:
- 3 Pan Palette with a deep blue eyeshadow with white shimmer, a matte black eyeshadow, and a luminous coral cheek color
- Lip Color in Ponytail (matte cherry red)
- Liquid Eye Liner in Black

What's in a Name?

It is the sound of our identity
The auditory virtual self
That is spoken into the universe
And when written on the page
It means “ME”

And I was given
Iraida -mi Papi me llamo, with tears in his eyes and love blooming in his heart
Playa playa though he was, I was the sparkle in his winking eye.
And like many ghetto youngins,
He created my name from the name of his wife
Aida and Iris
Iraida - mami me llamo, longing and aching for a little girl who would receive all the pure and she thought,
untainted love that she had to give
Off to school I went into a world with English speaking teachers,
With little or no patience for ethnicity
It was enough that they had to learn all our names, but to say them correctly?
File under: not important
And so the name that Papi proudly crowned me with became
Eye-ray-duh
I raid her
I ate her
I hate her
Uh-rye-duh
I ride her
It sounded like paper tearing
It was ugly, it was ordinary
And...it …was… me

As I grew
Iraida curled up into a ball and sat in my chest happily raising her head when she was called
But otherwise, Jani answered all the questions
Can you say that right?
“Jani?”, they’d ask
“Yeah, like Johnny be good?”equals
“Since I have to remind myself, please don't mess with me”
That’s not your real name though, your real name is…
“Iraida”
“Well, how do you say that in English?”
“You don’t"

How do I explain?
My name, filled with joyful rainbows and 85 degree sun showers, became a mis-shapen abstract loop of auditory nonsense
Frustration bubbles up as I ask you not to call me Eye-ray-duh and you insist that it’s my proper name and that you will refer to me as such.
That is not my name!
You will not rename me!
I will not shout Toby!
It is MY name

Historically it meant our pride, it meant our family, it meant our culture
By the time I was 9 I wanted a new identity… I wanted to be Melinda or Linda. Or Barbie.
There were no toothbrushes, key chains, bicycle plates, or t-shirts with my name
That Lady on Romper Room never ever ever EVER said Happy Birthday to me.
Determined to change it at 18 legally,
But needing a quick fix Nina and then Jani became my alter-egos
There’s even a girl in Puerto Rico who wrote pen-pal letters to a Brenda.
At 18, I would be reborn… the possibilities were endless
And then Papi died, at 40 years old he died… succumbing to poison from another time another place
(There’s an entirely different poem about militaries and agent orange right here)
Crept up on me just when I thought I would get to know him and by the time it was time
To change my name, I couldn’t because it was all he had ever given me

And one day, someone said it right…
in my mind
in my heart
someone said right
And I fell in love
In my name the coqui chants
And the flamboyan leans
Depositing flowers onto the veranda
Sprinkling the ground around tia’s rocking chair
Where it smells of flowers and a cafesito.
If you say it right
Turquoise oceans, sparkling in the sun like liquid antique glass bathe your tongue
It is mine… very few have it… it’s special
When people see my fair skin and eyes
There is no doubt… that Iraida Janina Perez de Rosado es Boricua
And if you say it right
if you say it all
It’s a balm to my spirit.
A gift to my soul.
Iraidita – Papi me llamo y Mami me canto
Y es mi nombre

~jani rosado

art by santiago

mmmmm, guayaba on a saturday morning

it was sitting there for a week
i wanted to share with my sister
she wanted to know it's magic
as i had described it
but this saturday morning
i knew today was the day
i needed something sweet
something tart
something rare

the apples
the oranges
all sat there
boring
ordinary
it's green rind subtly glossy
would be smooth and bumpy to the touch
i scratched it and inhaled it's tropical perfume
inside of my me the child that basked in the sun awoke
curious and anticipating

cut in half
pulpy fresh and promising
i excitedly grabbed the spoon
this would be good, i mused
this would be all that it was supposed to be
and dug a little circle out of the aromatic flesh
which my teeth sank into until they met with
the crunch crunch crunch of hard little seeds
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
so wonderful when the reality
fulfills expectation with such precision
the little puerto rican girl in me yelled
did a little jig and waved her hands,
"THANK YOU! THANK YOU!!!"

~jani rosado

justice and tears... for oscar grant

The young man lay on his belly, prostrate and helpless
The officer stood, tall, white, and powerful
Living out the precise moment that would define both of their lives
The beginning for one and the end for the other.
It was no accident, as we knew it would be claimed
It was pure energized adrenaline evil
There is a mother mourning her son
There is a nation of people continuing about their day
Just another black boy dead
At the hands of white cops in Oakland
While people bristle at songs like "F*#k the Police"
This man stood for tyranny and destruction
To black youth everywhere he has refreshed the face of the enemy
He is the symbol of white male police officers everywhere
And now, even those of the same skin color are separated by the blue
To those of us who have had the opportunity to live adults lives
We witness the tragedy once again.
That boy lay on the ground on his belly
Vulnerable, someone's child
My child. Our child. Our youth.
Our future, shot point blank in the back
He stood there, and erased that boy
THIS TIME people can't wag their fingers and say,
"He led a life of crime and had it coming"
He was born and sucked his fingers, giggled and wailed
Was kissed and held.
He laughed, he cried. He loved
He played baseball, chess and dominoes.
He sang in the church choir
He led the family in prayer
He had no police record.
He took care of his daughter
He wondered at what his future would be
He prayed and hoped
I often wonder about our ends even as our lives begin
Just two weeks ago, how many times did he say, "Happy New Year"
How many people said it to him?
On the cold concrete his New Year would end, his new life would end.


I ask God to bring peace to his mother's heart
Her arms will ache at never holding him again
I ask God to give his daughter a strong surrogate father
To mold her developmental years
I pray for his family and friends
That they don't harm themselves trying to make sense of this
To ease the aching horror in their hearts and minds
And if you sent that up to God with me as you read this
Then you just prayed with me and I thank you.

~jani rosado

mi coqui

mi coqui me cantaba por la ventana
through my window at night he sang,
he sang a song to soothe me, to teach me
i was lonely and he sang
coqui coqui
dulce melodious
me cantaba de la noche
he sang the night into my room
he trilled bright soft braided songs of moonlight
through my window
a song about dewy plants that could refresh my feet
and the red earth that smelled of strength and history
he sang of plants that close when you touch them
mueren y viven, morimos, vivimos
and in the end there is nothing but the song
taking the smile from my pocket where it hid all day i smiled into the dark shadows where i lay listening to my otherworldly love sing songs that would haunt me someday

mi coqui me cantaba, de su soledad
time after time he broke my heart with the intense beauty and pain of his existence
he and i
he... and we would never be
as he was coqui
and i just a shadow
lying in the dark
time and again
waiting for my song
i lay
and wait
and wait and cry
and the sun is rising
and i am fading
and my smile is melting into the wall
there is no moon
there is no light
there is no love
there is just a song
coqui coqui
coqui coqui
coqui coqui

by jani

art by santiago

why do i feel this way?

there again neverending dizzying cycle of life has me twisted into yet another repetitive dysfunctional exhausting place feeling like too many things are happening and nothings changed and this day and the other day and the next day are blurring together and part of me is sick waiting for the water waiting for the pain to begin or to cease at this point there is nothing i need something something to take me in and turn me about and make me rise and laugh and high and higher my hair wants to fly and my eyes want to sparkle my stomach is drowning in morose twitches my back tired of the bricks that are crushing the air from my lungs my legs are soft my teeth are aching my where is the promise time is passing newtime is the same as old time i was told it would be happy and new stale hot air blows into the cavern in my chest reminding teasing memories promises the hope how many times have i waited big challenges small victories hold on breathe them in stop unwrap the wound and let them heal they're still there moist and decaying give them sunlight and let them dry fear is your friend it helps you grow jump off the precipice lick the toads back and see the colors there's no other choice but to do what it is that you want do or the saturated hues will never penetrate your vision will never focus finish one thing move on to the next why am i dizzy why is this so hard when did one thing become five and five gave birth to five and now the things i have to do have great grandchildren i want to sleep but i never do i want to eat but it wont fill the void i want to connect feel love grab on hold tight climb the mountain yell scream fight kick and be the best person that i can be but i wont let myself there's the gag there's the noose there's the blindfold be good behave be smart be sane take give step by step little by little foot in the crack fingers in the nook up and away i'll be able to see past the mess and the clutter once i'm up there it will be new it will be mine it will be i will be i can be i want to be who is me

~jani rosado

the good wife

cook
clean
smile
obey
soothe
support
this is your lot
grin and bear it
close your eyes
be satisfied with
the crumbs
this is your lot
lick your finger
dab dab dab
collect the crumbs
little teasing reminders
of what tasted so good once
the thick hunk of bread
that once filled your mouth
we smiled and chewed
laughing, talking
hearty and warm
fresh out the oven
con un cafe riquisimo
me lo papie, y me lambe los dedos
si, i licked the crumbs off of my fingers
savoring the fullness in my belly

and now they're all i have

~jani rosado

when the smoke clears

the eyes sting
the heart aches
everything is dirty
most of it destroyed
the body aches, lungs full
sooty blackened like the small
spotty segments of a wounded heart
playing with fire can be euphoric revelry
before the freezing cold bucket of water hits

Day by Day

Day by day the sun rises
Day by day I go to school
Day by day I eat my breakfast
Everyday is day by day for me

~By Iraida Janina Perez (me)
my first poem, age 6

where were you?

when my heart broke into a million
jagged crumbled bleeding sighing aching moaning
sewn back sewn shut plastered and spackled and
the poor pulsating wound tumbled out of my screaming hole
where were you?
tiny outstretched hands slapped the walls
my hard little fists pounded the floor boards
heard hollow reverberations echoes of nothingness
the loneliness of my core spilled out onto the world
translation
a sick lolita sway
my eyes greener
my lips pinker
spiked with glistening fangs
my once innocent mouth
filled with
the warm liquor of
the hopeful
the eager
the adoring
the vipers became the hunted
the knowing closed their eyes willingly
and curled into precious bits of food
to try and quell my hunger
to try to fill the void
so, where were you?

~jani rosado

art by glenn arthur
http://www.myspace.com/glennarthurart

Speak to me...

Of fine music laced into the spirit with touches of sugar and cries of happiness.
Days filled will anticipation break years of solemnity
time time time ticking with endless painful memories knocking waiting to bombard
aching drums pound my stomach
bugles break my concentration
then the melody melts the shards of glass like flowing candied waves passing
a river flows passed the tall trees with creaking limbs and rustling leaves drip
with the affable dew sprayed upon them when i splash and tumble
it is mine this joy
it is mine this curious experience
lying satiated, weak with wonder, drops drip
i open my mouth and taste the lovely essence of my joy
in me around me the the grays become fiery crimsons and warm golden saffrons
my fingertips glow and touch my face
smiling into the orange sun i
thank you thank you thank you
love you love you love you
live you live you live you live
~jani rosado

art by derek santiago

half conscious musings

coming towards me, slowly and incessantly, the sleep that i've eluded for the sake of a few more words and few more laughs. foggily aware of my surroundings, the dreams and images that normally inundate me, kiss the backs of my eyelids but never engulf me. sound and light, bear down upon me like the light coming through the shutters in the morning after a late night of smiles and recognition ~jani rosado


art by Derek Santiago

one of my inspirations

Candles
by sylvia plath

They are the last romantics, these candles:
Upside-down hearts of light tipping wax fingers,
And the fingers, taken in by their own haloes,
Grown milky, almost clear, like the bodies of saints.
It is touching, the way they'll ignore

A whole family of prominent objects
Simply to plumb the deeps of an eye
In its hollow of shadows, its fringe of reeds,
And the owner past thirty, no beauty at all.
Daylight would be more judicious,

Giving everybody a fair hearing.
They should have gone out with the balloon flights and the stereopticon.
This is no time for the private point of view.
When I light them, my nostrils prickle.
Their pale, tentative yellows

Drag up false, Edwardian sentiments,
And I remember my maternal grandmother from Vienna.
As a schoolgirl she gave roses to Franz Josef.
The burghers sweated and wept. The children wore white.
And my grandfather moped in the Tyrol,

Imagining himself a headwaiter in America,
Floating in a high-church hush
Among ice buckets, frosty napkins.
These little globes of light are sweet as pears.
Kindly with invalids and mawkish women,

They mollify the bald moon.
Nun-souled, they burn heavenward and never marry.
The eyes of the child I nurse are scarcely open.
In twenty years I shall be retrograde
As these drafty ephemerids.

I watch their spilt tears cloud and dull to pearls.
How shall I tell anything at all
To this infant still in a birth-drowse?
Tonight, like a shawl, the mild light enfolds her,
The shadows stoop over the guests at a christening.