hear my thunder: a poetic medley

the answer

I am the builder of dreams that are not

my own

It is addicting to help others

see how I can offer light to ignite

their passions and I am never too

proud to lend away my pen but

if I give away my torch, how am I to see?

I will bring you into my home

teach you how to project your voice

orchestrate the lineup to keep your crowd wanting

I will plug in the microphone for you

And leave my craft backstage

tied up in muffled screaming

I have been running from freedom

by guiding others and while I know it is noble,

I serve myself an injustice

when I leave my journal on the shelf

and my voice coats with dust

a song lays to rest in the recesses

of my phone’s files

I am tired of lying brick by brick a foundation

I did not begin

I sigh at the pages to edit

I did not write

I am left wanting

after I have given it all away,

What happens to a dream deferred?

I do not want to be

so unloving,

so selfless,

so sacrificing

to find out

the answer

Hers & Mine

I look up at Sylvia’s green fig tree

branching out before me with

the little dreams I have yet to taste

Some have already shriveled, blackened

on the ground for the ants to devour like

At 18, I thought I would be married with a house at 25

At 19, I thought I would marry him

At 20, I wanted to die

At 21, I lost my mind freely and skinny-dipped

on a warm summer night when the moon was full

At 22, I knew what I wanted, but

the world didn’t give a damn and

I starved with the uncertainty

of my decision paralysis,

giving love and care until 23 when my

hair was long and reminded me

of when I was 20,

craving the 21-year-old girl with

a blue pixie and I killed my

time with too much wine and

getting too high until he fought

with everything I thought I wanted

and suddenly I was 24, my memory came back

in pieces in therapy

my mother told me even she was tired of my

back-and-forth but I look at the

woman who taught me to love until

I can’t anymore

But I am not her, nor am I

afraid of the tree I grow of possibilities

I am hungry and I will make

fig toast and jam and roasted figs and

slice figs to put them on my ice cream and share them with my friends—

I will write their sweetness into poetry

Relish in the crunch within my ears

I will cast away every person who has ever

told me there’s not enough

time, or money, or magic in the world

for me to get what I want

become who I love and I will love myself

until I stop breathing

until I have an orchard of every chance I

took with my life because

I am 25

And I’ve stopped growing but

that doesn’t mean I have to

stop living

So I will cut this fig in half

to share with you

this one is sun-dried

and it is delicious

Mei-Mei Mijares is a Vegas-based poet, singer-songwriter, artist, and educator. She hummingbirds her way through the art scene with The Love Yourself Foundation, where she currently works as a Mental Health Facilitator. From all she collects, she writes to spread awareness about mental health, healthy expression, and self-love practices so that others may find love in the midst of adversity. You may find her on social platforms @meirosesbloom.

photo credit: @jerry.i.h