The devil showed up today.
Begging for me to slip.
Begging for an invite to myyy show.
Then I thought well shiit
Maybe we should make friends with not only him but our skeletons as well!
You know….the ones inside our closet
We could dance with them, learn their names, perhaps become friends!?
Then we might build the courage
to ask them to leave But at that point
We can’t ignore the demons.
Yea the ones deep inside.
In Matter of fact
Let’s invite them to coffee or even cocktails. We can discuss hard questions
liike what keeps them here!?
In the mean time we can play hide n seek with the ghosts or jahooties that like to play supernatural jokes on us!?
We can’t let them miss out on the fun
Let’s not forget the boogie man cuz you know he’s probably the most well known
and he might be the one
to call out everyone’s insecurities
Fk it we gotta call up the monsters
whether they’re hiding under our bed
or in the depths of the shadows around you.
We can maybe admit our fears or possibly conquer them by convincing ourselves we aren’t even scared in the first place.
What does a monster look like to you ?!
Is it a thing or an illusion is it human form
or animal like or maybe it’s just a concept
or a feeling?
Sounds like We gonna have a whole damn party after all these invites.
The devil himself, the skeletons, the demons, the ghosts n jahooties and the boogie man pluuuus the monsters.
Or maybe….
that’s not even a party worth hosting.
I heard of a better party
it’s thrown by joy and happiness
and their friends cheer and bliss
I bet that party has better company
we better be cautious of what invites we send out and choose wisely to what party we gonna show up to and host!!

A NOTE FROM GRANDMA SOLETA
TO LUJUANA MY BEAUTIFUL GRANDDAUGHTER
This is a fictional story. Any representation of situations or real characters is unintentional. My grandma did visit me after her death. I have spoken with spirits and decided to dedicate this story to all grandmas, moms, and their granddaughters, and women everywhere. We are beautiful. Peace to all. To all my relations.

Dear Lujuana,
We are not promised roses without thorns nor rainbows without rainstorms.
I miss you so much. I am in the light now but was granted temporary leave to write you this letter. You are an incredibly talented and beautiful woman. You lost your creativity for a moment in time, but you will soon receive all the talent and creativity back that a few people who wished you back luck had put a spell on you wishing you homeless, and in dire poverty so they could convince everything and everyone that you are a bad hombre. They lied about you to your friends and acquaintances. The ex-lover wanted to destroy you as a human being out of revenge and hate. In his opinion if you did not want him then you were on drugs and seriously dumb to not have stayed with his lying narcissistic personality. The rejected lover wanted to hurt you and throw you into the dark night of the soul forever, but you, my beautiful granddaughter, did not succumb to their threats of hate and evil intentions to destroy you as a human being. Your ex-lover vowed to destroy you so you would never find love again. He and his cronies laughed at you throwing stones through words and gossip to anyone they encountered to hurt you so deeply hoping you would die or live in darkness, but you, Lujuana, are a child of the Universe. You are surrounded by light and angels.
However, my sweet Lujuana I was allowed to send you guides to watch over you and protect you from his evil intentions to destroy you as a human being.
I want to let you know I love you so much. I know you have had too many broken relationships by wrongdoing men. Even though you are old now, age 74, it is not too late to have a special relationship with an artistic, creative man. I know you say it must be a miracle music man to stroke your breasts and kiss your lips. So, my dear Lujuana you will meet your mystery man like a bump in the night.
I have permission to continue to watch over you by hiring your spirit guides to always be around you to keep you safe.
I am watching you write, create art, and grow into your peace and light and love position as a human being. There are many stories you can write to help others with your stories of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and photography. Even your little stick figure drawings and your flower drawings are a part of your many gifts given from the Universe.
I wanted to stop by to deliver this message of love, peace, and light. I wish we could text each other as you do your friends in 2024. Despite this I will always be by your side to guide you. Your pop says hi and to let you know that no matter how old you get you are still his baby girl. Your mom, my daughter, has gone into the light and moved on as a reincarnated soul to learn lessons. She loved you very much but died young at age 65 and must reincarnate with her soul into another human body.
I love you my dear Lujuana, and you are protected from all evil intentions of an ex-partner that wished you harm. I know you know that the ex-partner truly kept all your photos to create a dark aura around your life not wanting you to succeed in your career. They no longer have power over your life.
May God, the Universe guide you to be the strong warrior you are to fight for equality for all, LBGTQ rights, women’s rights, gun control, peace, love, light, and understanding.
Be thankful, pray, create roses with and without thorns.
Love,

Grandma Soleta
January 30, 2024
This is a fictional story. Any representation of situations or real characters is unintentional. My grandma did visit me after her death. I have spoken with spirits and decided to dedicate this story to all grandmas and their granddaughters. Peace to all. To all my relations.

Dear Unsealers,

I wrote this poem as an homage to our ancestors, when spirituality came before organized religion, when we viewed the world with wonder, and when we longed for understanding of life and death:

Primitivo

I worship the Sun

And his daughter, the Moon

I pray to the sky; morn, evening, and noon

The stars I will use as my guide and my light

To honor my ancestors throughout the night

And I pray to the gods of the wind and the rain

For peace and strength and no more of the pain

For my mother, the Earth, and my father, the Sea

Gave life and birth for me to be

The son of comets and shooting stars

My brothers Venus, Earth, and Mars

Watch over me as I wake and rest

And live my life as I do best

For when my body returns to clay

The stars will cradle me, and there I’ll stay

Please bear with me as this is something that I’ve been wanting to do & finally got the courage to do so a freestyle fiction story that has been on my mind.

A child’s core memories develop at 5. Her core memories were not like others. Her core memory was waking up from her sleep as she was in the backseat of a car covered with her dad’s jacket while he was speeding on the freeway. She felt safe seeing her dad and went back to sleep as he told her to do.

She wasn’t going to school, but she went from home to home thinking about what a great time she was having with her dad. She went with the stepmom to be with her siblings. She doesn’t recall how she spent her time there but just the vhs movie that the stepmom threw away. Once dad picked her up, he noticed she was sad. Since her dad asked her what happened, she did just that. Dad said, “Wait in the car. I’ll be right back.” She just knew that her dad was going to take care of it. In her world full of chaos, all she can do was observe. When it felt like she was all, alone she realized that she was always guided and protected.

She went with another stepmom who was just a sweet and caring soul. She treated her right, and she knew, being in her presence, that everything would be just fine.

Dear Self,

As I look back into my past actions, I realize that there were things that I should have changed. It’s interesting how so many authors, politicians, philosophers have written about ‘the past’ in relation to our present selves, but we continue to belabor the point. McCarthy states in All the Pretty Horses, that “Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” Without this reminder, we won’t learn the lessons that the past has taught us, but rather repeat them mindlessly as if we don’t know any better. As I recall my worst mistake, I realize today, that it could have been circumvented by simply communicating clearly. However, if you’re like me, and the problem is within the family, you omit speaking in order to be respectful and not hurt the feelings of those you love.
I’ve also learned, that when you speak your mind and express yourself concisely, you get the result you need: understanding. Without talking, how can others know how you’re feeling, or even how you’re affected by a particular event? Added to that, by discussing the problem, calmly, you get to see the different perspectives that each individual is coming from, rather than assuming you already know. I’ve learned that assuming someone’s motives for an action may be wrong, and that is what leads to greater misunderstandings and conflict.
I think that Katherine Anne Porter says it best, as she expresses it best in saying: “The past is never where you think you left it.” By that she means that with the information, maturity you had at the time, you can grasp a part of the events that occurred. However, in retrospect, having changed, become wiser through various experiences, makes your perspective of the event change with time. Here I don’t mean the actions that took place, but rather the reactions and assumptions that you had made.
I’ll sum up with my poetic version of this:

Communication is a tool
You use to oppress the pool
Of depression, that spawns from regret
Over actions taken in past event.

Couch your speech,
Make it into a delicate flower to preach
Behaviors that promote, compassion,
Understanding, love, and devotion.

Best,
Your wiser self

©️ Malak kalmoni chehab ©️

Dear Me,

Thank you for taking the time to sit with yourself and process your thoughts and feelings. This year, you really took yourself & your ideas seriously. Your perseverance through rejection is admirable and I appreciate you, even when others don’t.

When you lost your job in January- you didn’t beat yourself up.

When the bank funds were low- you leaned on your family for support while pushing through to find a new job.

When you felt broke, busted, and disgusted- you sought wisdom in books, the Bible, and your family.

You manifested cool opportunities & got creative with the tools at your disposal.

To me, you may not be exactly where you want to be, however, you’ve come farther than you expected. You could’ve chosen to listen to well- meaning advice, but you listened to your gut & for that I respect you!

Thank you for being you- which is the hardest thing to do.

Love you for life,

Me (V) 🧡

A poetic/fictitious mixed short about greeting your melancholy with kindness and making your mind into a nice place to call home.
—–
The autumn flush bashfully comes in during this time of year. Traces of red and orange line the green just enough to give the sense that it might actually get colder than fifty, but it never does. Most of the homes in Tomales are farm-style. Less greek revival, more horse and buggy. Wrap around porches hug the treeline rooftops parallel to an unneeded chimney. Hummingbird feeders hang nectar on every doorstep like there might be a modern day Passover. I once even heard someone call their laundry closet an ‘alcove.’ The neighborhood is literally so pretentious and inviting that you can practically taste Grandma’s cookies underneath a family timeline of Stanford cap and gown photos.

Houses like that are meant to be shared. Mine is just for me.

There was a Victorian on the hill, half a mile south of the city limits. There were rumors about it. Ghost stories that were best left dismissed. With fresco painted ceilings and a view of the bay, I’d blindly bought in. The previous owner even left behind an old piano. I called it a steal.

Economically sound: the only type of echo I’d ever considered when buying the house. The first creaky floorboard fell through while I was carrying in the dishware. Termites. And if that wasn’t enough, the flip of the switch fried the chandelier’s circuit in one go. Ridiculous of me to expect the house to do more than look like the photos.

“Goddamnit.” I collapsed onto the piano bench for the first time. All of my boxes were just inside the hall. The air was stifled by thick humidity. I could feel myself getting sick in the first breath. Nobody had lived here in years. Perhaps no one was meant to.

I’d left the city to learn more about myself. My friends found it a bit extreme: “You’ll be all alone up there, away from the city.” Their voices carry through the thirty-two miles in between us. But, I’d never been alone before. Truly alone. There was always the buzz of life swarming me into a perpetual FOMO. And in some manic-state, I decided to discover the sensational melancholy that William Wordsworth wrote all of those poems about.

On the first night I’d been on the air mattress. That was when I decided that the air quality might be getting to me. Around one in the morning I woke up to the sound of my own floorboards giving in fours. The sounds of a horse. I thought myself to be crazy – exhausted from moving. But, when I peeked out the bedroom door into the hall – I saw it. A ghost-white Shire tiptoeing across the fragile wood.

The next morning, there were the slightest indentations in the floor. So faint, that suggesting a horse might be responsible was insane. Still, I called my mom to tell her the news. She suggested a hallucination remedy, a new brand of air filters, and sent over a list of psychologists – just in case.

Still, the horse visited me. New air filters and all. Nineteen hundred pounds creaking through the halls on four legs. Sometimes when we made late-night eye contact, the horse would spook and kick hind legs into the air. If it weren’t for all of the holes born in the walls – I’d pass it off as delirium. Too frightened to unpack and settle in, and more afraid to abandon the purchase: I’d tell myself one more day. I can do one more day here. And for days, the house remained as it was. Empty and unusable. Every night brought new holes in the hallway walls.

The ninth day, something changed. Call it boredom or insanity, but I went for a walk. The cookie cutter houses allured me in their simplicity. Transformation of a new perspective. With flower beds lining their white picket fences and patio furniture I felt a sense of inspiration to decorate my own lawn. Wandering down the street further, I found myself at the market.

“A single potted plant and a carrot?” The cashier chuckled briefly before a glance at the dark bags sunk under my eyes.

I set my plant up on the porch that day. The only unboxed item in two-thousand square feet. And while the house had a long way to go, it was something pleasant. Something small.

That night I set the single carrot outside my door, in hopes to soothe the fear of the Shire. And to my surprise, I slept through the night. Full of rest, my feet found the floor next to my air mattress and when I opened the bedroom door, the carrot was gone.

In a burst of unwearied energy, I unpacked the first box. Dishware. Some cups and plates chipped from the move, but the functionality remained in tact. I organized them neatly into the cupboard. At the bottom of the box was a glass vase, sized perfect for the window sill in the front hall. After placing it there, I left the house for another walk, this time hunting for the perfect flower.

There weren’t many wildflowers left, especially in such a domesticated area. But, I found one. Maybe nothing more than a weed. Yet, it looked like a daisy to me. It would do just fine.

That night I put the carrot further down from my room, closer to the front entrance and I went to bed, sleeping through another night peacefully. Many days went on like this – another box unpacked, a new plant adorning a canny corner, the horse reappearing at night to come and go. By what means – I do not know. Furniture was arriving. I was off the air mattress and into a real bed by the second week. The tent for the termites came and went – more affordable than I’d predicted. I wrote the check at my window, foliage draped over the glass in a perfect frame.

Yesterday on the phone with my mother, I accidentally called this place home.

It’s late October now. “Finally settling?” I read on the phone screen once more. I woke up early these days, in a routine to water my back porch plants. They’d become more like friends to me. And there the white Shire was, grazing through the green yard. My body paralyzed at first – remembering all of the fear caused. Besides, I’d almost finish patching the holes in the halls. Inching towards the creature, I held out my hand in a white flag.

I stroked the muzzle once. Then again.

***

You finally rested your head on my shoulder, and I named you Casper.

Our moments were never filled with fear again. We understood one another. You ruled acres of land and I had the Victorian. There were still the occasional spooks. Mangled hair and disagreements. But, I no longer lived alone.

Even if I never had to begin with.

***

A year has gone by now. It’s Halloween. And I’ve got Trick or Treaters. Football-sized ghosts and miniature princesses making the long haul up my driveway. The only monster in the house is inflatable, peering out the window next to the vase. The kids love it. So do I.

I baked for them this year, a recipe from Ms. Arnett. She lives in one of the homes off Kennedy – widowed at twenty-nine. We met through our gardens. Nicknamed ‘The Greenhouse’ my plant collection had grown into a jungle. Dutch bulbs lit up the yard in frenzied patterns. I coined myself Queen Wilhelmina, but the kids don’t quite get that one. Ms. Arnett stopped by to chat about an idea she’d had for her tulips. We forgot to finish that conversation, two pots of tea later. We’re always forgetting, it seems.

Casper’s dressed as a reindeer this year. The kids feed her carrots I picked up from the market and she takes them tamely. Gratefully even.

When the night grows late I find myself candle-lit at the piano. A new thing I’m learning. With my shadow dancing off-key to my chorus, I remind myself that I’m learning.

I really am.

Life didn’t work out the way you thought. 

Don’t get me wrong, your life is amazing now, and better than you could have imagined, but it is nowhere near the plan you had envisioned. To be fair, your ten-year plan was flawless; Everything so perfectly articulated and not a measure out of place. It truly was a sight to behold. A girl with her head on so straight that the odds couldn’t beat her. She’s a shoe-in for everything she could want out of life. Then, came the kicker. 

You didn’t get into your top school. You chose a major you didn’t even think of before. You moved farther away from home than you could have anticipated. And that’s okay.

 You had such high goals and ambitions for yourself.  You set your sights so high that along the way, it seems you lost yourself amongst the clouds. You roamed around the libraries in your head for too long, I’m afraid. You, my dear, filled your mind with every fact, tidbit, and file of information that nothing else had room to grow in such a vast, but crowded garden. You replaced your insecurities with flashcards, your worries with study guides, and your doubts with extracurriculars after school because being a robot could get you into a good school, but being real and being human could not. You misconstrued friendships for tutoring sessions and took your leadership as a means for control, not guidance. You traded the chance to be a kid for the hopes of being a successful adult.

And then this little thing called a pandemic happened. It was almost as if the world…stopped. Nothing in time mattered more than being present because being present meant that you were with the people you loved. You garnered the ability to love and be loved. You were in the present and realized that time is a present, a gift meant to be opened once and used wisely. 

Something changed for you. You learned to let in your emotions and experience life. Many doors closed, but so many gates opened. What you never thought could be attained came flooding to you in an instant.

So, from me to you, I want to say that we’re doing just fine. You prepared me for the ‘what-if’s’ and infinite and endless possibilities that could have arisen. So now, I can prepare for our future. The future where we pursue our goals, but we also make friends along the way. The future where we love and let go. The future where you grow, and I grow with you. I, in your place, will prepare us for the portion of life where we live, and live boundlessly and blissfully. The portion of life where you, my dear, live, and live a thousand lives after because to be alive and live your life is the best present of them all. I’ll do my best to make you the happiest you’ve been and the proudest you’ll be because whether you believed it or not, you deserved to live too. 

With Love,

To My One True Love, 

Those words might sound weird or not make sense to you now, but if you start to refer to yourself as love, your true love, you will experience the magic inside of you, unfolding and taking you to all of the places you could ever want to go. You are the living love story of you. 

Your fear of surviving is merely an illusion, my love. I don’t mean to be blunt, as you sometimes tend to take things very personally, I simply mean to convey that when the lingering thoughts of quitting college commence, flow with them. As you begin thinking and feeling about how farming in Ireland is more appealing than your writing classes and literature studies, listen. You’ve only known the linear path that most are expected to live, but the world, and your human experience can be much more grand than that. Deep down, you know this already, but the attempted ingrained notion that has been passed down to you, is not yours. It’s the illusion given to you from your father, my love, and it does not belong to you. 

You tend to hide the essence of who you are from your mother, so that you can convince yourself she accepts you. My love, this too, has nothing to do with you. While you believe that you must prove you are worthy of respect and admiration, learn to discern, to understand, grapple with the perfection you already are. Your core ideologies are rooted in love. You don’t realize it, but you yearn to be a fierce woman. I validate you from the future; it is safe to allow yourself to be all that you are. Lose the people pleasing pattern of behavior, and you will be pleased with yourself. 

Everything you desire, desires you too. Go to Ireland, have lovers, get tattoos, go to Chicago and attempt a career in stand up comedy-go down the roads that call to you. You will know yourself in a different way than I have come to know us, but we will end up in the same place because the message we were born to share has never changed. I feel no shame in my choices, but I followed the linear path, the path led by outside forces to “success”. Chase what brings you joy from the beginning, that’s having it figured out, that’s why we’re here. Inevitably, you will experience loss, pain, disappointment, failure, but it feels so much better if it’s something your heart told you to do instead of your mind. I took an education course and hated it, but I knew I was here to teach. I taught in a public school during a pandemic and it took that experience to tell me, I can teach somewhere else, in a different place, in a way that suits me, us. 

You are a writer, you know this; this knowledge makes up the plasma, cells, and platelets in your blood. No professor, no parent, no person can tell you who or what you are. You decide what you are for yourself and since before you could even write, it was instinctual that you were born to tell stories. Go live the stories you dream of and go tell the people what you’ve learned. I’m doing it now, and perhaps maybe these are the stories I’m meant to be telling and teaching, but love, the thought of looking back and seeing smiles instead of anxieties brings peace to the soul. The world will wait for you, 

P.S. Just go ahead and get shaving your head over with instead of doing it when you’re 29.

Love, 

A closet full of skeletons

I’ve got them by the hanger

Do you wish to see my morgue?

Come close 

The stench will drive you away

My mind’s dark crevices whisper incessantly 

“Unlovable” they hiss

Insistent I stay silent to abuse because 

I deserve it

I’m sitting in a red sofa chair

My therapist eyes directed at mine; concerned

“People don’t stay” I say

She responds, “Why do you believe that?”

“Because no one ever has”

The skeletons live in my head 

My brain tries on a new one each day

A different tactic to keep me trapped within myself

Are you sure you want to see?

This dark space in my mind is even locked from me

To my younger self:

Yes, I want to see

I want to know every part

Hug each one bone by bone

And love you

Take off the hood from the grim reaper you call your past

And you’ll find a little girl that has only ever wanted to be loved.

Don’t be scared 

make eye contact

Do you see her?

You are the same

I want to embrace your pain

And tell you its beautiful 

Because you are loved

By me

Your bumps and bruises

Are not things to be ashamed of

You are a mosaic full of stories

People are too scared to even think to be a part of 

You have done more than survive

The little light in you has thrived

In the darkness, when no one knew

You graduated

You found a job

You found a home

Imperfection has blossomed you 

Into something beautifully impermanent

A never ending sculpture

That you get to mold

Your mind is your own

And yes you will make mistakes

Blotches in your canvas will appear

And make your life that much more clear

That blotch of paint

The drop you accidentally let leave your brush

Turned into a scenery 

One beyond your wildest dreams

A map that is guiding you

To becoming your best self

I know life is full of unknowns

Change

Moments of loneliness

Pain

But there is also

Joy

Love

Goodness

Kindness

Don’t be afraid

For these are the stepping stones 

That bring you home

To yourself

And I’ll be with you every step of the way