Stuck Struck

So I haven’t been able to write lately. I feel overwhelmed with much of life like I know 99.9999% of people do. Writing has always been my outlet though. When I was 5 I wrote short stories that oddly only my dad could read (you know the spelling and grammar wasn’t that great aft 5). I won many school and even community events for writing. My 2nd grade teacher even called my mom into her office (my mom worked at the school). She showed her a poem I wrote for an assignment because she was struck by it’s imagery on just one small topic we were supposed to writer about like “the spider makes a web. The dog barks late at night” etc… but instead I wrote a poem about some insect I can’t remember the name of. When I hit 6th grade I was great at storytelling and improv. My friends had me write short stories about the lives they wanted to live eventually. I was taking writing requests without realizing it. In 7th grade my English teacher saw me writing poems constantly. He never took them away from me or had me share it with the class. He opened a life life for me though, that if I wanted to share them I could. Eventually I did. I showed him notebooks filled with with my poetry and songs. One thing he noticed was how bad ass I was trying to be. He asked me “Do you really think you’re a thug just because your brothers are?” I shutdown after that question for a couple of weeks then started showing the legit side of me. He supported me for MANY years and came to my defense on SO MANY things. When I got sick and missed months of school he refused to give me anything less than a B my mom said because he told her “I know Krystal. I know she’s trying and I bet she is still writing.” When I did return my math teacher accused me of doing nothing for 4 months while everyone was learning (no consideration that I was being schooled by teachers who specialized in it). I started to write a poem, she came, and ripped it up. I was so upset, I went to my English teacher and he had a talk with her. The only way I found out he talked to her was her apologizing, (almost against her will), and said if writing helps you heal then I guess it’s okay as long as you know how to math (I did and if I didn’t, then I would raise my hand. So I wasn’t completely checked out by all means).

Anyway, I haven’t even touched my notebooks in months to put them in new notebooks that I can read instead of things being scattered about.


7 Siblings Together Again

For Lexi, Breydon, Gabe, Serenity, Zoey, Zane, and Zyla – Auntie loves you so much. I can’t explain how much you fill my heart with love and joy.

Tears rush down my face.
My pen continues to write
as tears drop onto the page.
I look up and see the apples of my eyes.
3 brothers brought together.
4 sisters reunited with their brother.
I wish I could hold onto this moment forever.
They patiently waited to be united with each other.
Brothers instantly form a bond.
Big sister make it clear she’s the boss
and I put my hand and thanks to God
the 7 siblings are no longer loss.
After so many years they’re together again.
My tears are from intense happiness.
So with this damped paper and pen
I can write down that this is what my happy is.

No Metaphor 

For my nephew Gabriel Isaiah Mattison. Auntie loves you so much.

My soul is torn
I try to use metaphors
to describe the hurt I feel
Sometimes I have to stand still
because my chest gets tight.
I have to bottle the pain inside
Once I cry I go from morning to midnight
I can’t breathe.
You’re my favorite person to see
but you don’t recognize me.
Tears stay still
I can’t breathe
from all the pain I feel
I miss my nephew.
That little boy that had to be with auntie.
From the moment of your birth you had me.
I was wrapped around your little fingers.
This is why this pain so intensely lingers.
I can’t think of any metaphor
to describe the pain anymore.
It just hurts so much to not see you.
For you not to remember you’re my nephew.
Seriously if I could just hold and protect you
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.
If I could take your pain away
I’d add it to my own
just so you could smile and feel safe
God the way things had to unfold
I’ll never understand.
Once upon a time you were my right had man
Really the only thing I had.
I can still feel your sticky little hand
wrapped in mine.
Passed has so much time
and she’s washed your mind.
She lost her mind.
Manipulative and using you as a little kid…
I just don’t get it.
I just don’t get it.
You deserved so much more…
I wish I could use a simple metaphor
but it’s all been used before.
There’s just no longer a metaphor.
I’m sorry I can’t say much more.

Hooves And Feet

Dedicated to my Unni G. Last night I was suicidal and she wouldn’t stop texting and calling me until I answered and could prove I hadn’t followed through with my plans. She’s an advocate, a hero, and so much more. I love her so much. She’s saved me from myself a few times but last night was intense. We talked about the earth and universe. Being connected to it. She then challenged me to think of the weakest animal. I said “me” and she told me to open my mind a bit and really think about what she’s asking me. So I sarcastically said “the ants that are sucking up poison in my traps and bringing it back to their queen.” She laughed and told me to next think of the strongest animal I could think of. I’ve always loved buffaloes. They represent so much. I have one tatted on my forearm. So she told me to think about buffaloes for the night and she wanted me to write a poem about them and post it to her FB wall. So I did. Here it is.

Hooves on the ground
Calvary all around
Not a warrior to be found
Just as policy planned out.
No more sacrifice for the hungry and cold
Piles of skulls photographed as proof to be shown
the Indians and buffaloes
will die together from genocide on land not sold
but stolen by treaties broken leading D.C. to now control
the land privatized and now own.
Hand and hoof travel forever over land covered in blood and gold.
However the strength of both
came back around to show
their survivors and descendants will always find a way back
No matter the railroad tracks
that plague the way they can’t cover the sacred.
The hooves cannot be exterminated
by any single nation.
To this day the buffalo is proof that we too can make it.

Afterward: GG – I love you for the countless times you’ve been there for me and making me answer my phone last night. You always make sure I’m okay even if it’s been months since we spoke you shoot me random texts checking on me and post jokes on FB for me to see to laugh at. A few years ago I realized you actually have the same initials as my brother, Gabe Gonzales. I think he made sure you got into my life. Before he was the only one who could ever talk me off the ledge and would drop whatever he was doing to make sure I’m okay. Neither of you can ever be replaced. I’m just very lucky when it comes to double Gs in my life. 

Old Rhymes


I have nothing to say what’s on my mind
So I connect the lines
of my old rhymes
previously pushed aside.
From politics to Korean pride
From Oppa Gabe to nephew Gabe
So many things before I wanted to say
but the rhyme scheme went away
so the old rhymes once pushed away
Come back to life
While I keep what’s on my mind
deep inside
and just write
feelings from the past
until my finger develops a callous
from love to malice
now passed.


Gift with the words
I got a gift with words
So when does pinpointing the right word occur?
I guess I’m not sure
but until I do my gift with words will be insecure
Wrap my mind around every thought
But it’s absurd
My mind gets obscured
waiting for the right word to occur
It’s as if my brain burns
waiting for that damn word…
I got a gift with words.
I got a gift with words.