An Oyá Soul

According to Junot Díaz, an Oyá soul is someone who's allergic to tranquility.

Did my momma lie to me? Am I secretly Latina? How is it that there's only one description for what I've been trying to verbalize for YEARS and it's in Spanish? Hmmm...people DO assume I'm Puerto Rican.

Any who, back to my allergy! I'm not a fan of silence. I grew up in a family of 5. I lived in dorms for two years, then I lived with two cool chicks who liked to talk and laugh and teach me how to sign sex and gonorrhea in sign language. Even when I lived by myself I always seemed to be throwing a party or studying with folks (Strategic Com peeps in the house!) life was never getting the award for being nice and quiet.

Then I moved out to LA. It was here that my noisy pool of pals dropped dramatically and I LOST.MY.DAMN.MIND.

For many moons I hid the fact that the silence drove me batty, but then a wise soul told me it's totally natural for someone such as myself, who had a family such as mine, would go a little stir crazy in a house of tranquil hell.

Most of the time I only get a couple hours here and there and I can deal with that. I use those moments to write, read...worry about how I'm going to fix that camel toe know, the usual. Then Jersey left for a month and some change and I LOST.MY.DAMN.MIND.AGAIN.

You don't believe me?! I wrote this poem during that blue period:

you know my friend lonely?
do you really know lonely?
not quiet time but lonely?
do you know her friends tick tock and drop?
have you ever waited for the hush to stop?
do your eyes play tricks on you?
seeing flickered lights and human hue...
do you talk to bugs before you smash
and pray small prayers, wish on a lash
for someone to show up at your door
do you yearn to laugh
or do you scrub tables and floor?
do you worry that the smells that rot
are parts of you that have been lost and forgot?
have you filled time up, buckets deep
but find they're cramming space and then you weep
i really know lonely.
she won't leave me be
she teases and taunts, even flips me the b.

Silence does THAT to me...makes me write REALLY sad, bad poetry...It's really a tragic ordeal y'all. Really. And get this...Jersey has left once again. This time he's in Vegas for a Man Retreat Extravaganza with the fellas. I feel a new poem coming on...

Jersey is a clever man...He created these sweet (but seriously scary) bumps to help


  1. People always think I'm Puerto Rican. Especially when I'm in New York. Not that there is anything wrong with being Puerto Rican. It's just that I'm not.

  2. Same lol...and I always have that conversation: "There's nothing wrong with being Puerto Rican..just not"


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