Bonita Mente

Internal Throughts, external words, and a Latina girl

She sits on a sandy shore in Jersey. Her hair is wild with wind and humidity. Hasn’t eaten today but her hunger stretches far beyond food. She’s flailing right now, and she doesn’t like it. She doesn’t know her direction and doesn’t fully understand her desires. It was an average morning, until she got to the shore.

 

The ships on the horizon seem to be heading straight for each other. If there is to be a collision, she hopes the explosion will move her. She’s grows tired of the sand in her shoes.

 

She’s pulls out guitar and starts to sing to the harbor, “¿Donde’ es el mar?”. It’s a song she wrote. It’s about how you don’t see the things right in front of you. A bastion of obvious statements and paradoxical insights. She loves inside herself far too often.

 

Now the world is presenting her an opportunity.   Love, outside of her protective shell. A man that loves her mind, heritage, and to a certain degree, her accent. A man that drifts from one page to the next without any sort of satisfactory punctuation. The artist’s mind is something she shares. There is a laugh inside her but the world won’t get to see it right now.

 

“Oh,” she frets as she bags up her guitar and stands. She’s been everywhere. She’s met all kinds of people. Yet she has never felt more foreign, then she does right now.   Love is another country. It has a language that is either understood or is ignored completely. The pressure is that of a hundred questions. Love is river and she is not sure she is ready for the rapids. "They say it's quite rocky," she says as she turns and walks toward home.

 

But with all missiles that her mind is shooting at her, she knows she still must go. This city has lost its fervor. Her favor is heading west and she aims to follow.