Little Letters : April 3, 2017

Ever feel like the world is too much. Just too damn much,always asking for your attention to this headline or that breaking news. Early morning routines,structured around social media check ins, as if our day will be predicted whether we saw that perfectly stylized picture of a succulent plant wall. How fast can our blood pressure rise knowing at 5 am that unkindness and loud mouthed brashness and brassiness is still the new law of the land? Could a revival of materialistic television shows like Dynasty, Dallas, or big loud porsches that talk to their entitled owners not be far behind, replacing Dragons that fly or Girls who dream? And then there are the fads and trends of whether to roll your jeans or not, rip them at the knees, trucker hat or not, diy or buy, boho or sleek, clutter or minimal, on and on and on, creating a community of unsatisfied but ever hip and with-it cool “misfits”. 

The above sentiment was the kind rolling in my head as I penned today’s selected poem sometime last year. 

Still the thoughts and questions that had me writing this poem invade my head space, today. Now, though my friend ‘why’ has gotten cozy with the ever bad influence of ‘fear’ and ‘complacency’ and her oft labeled slutty sister of ‘I don’t give a fuck anymore, think what you want, bastard.’  I sort of like the little sister way better than the other two. 

Yes, the sister and the sea, who with its unpredictable waves, love of the crash and burn, who beckons again and again to try, try, try, no matter the predictable outcome of its water spouts eventually crashing , with you sliding on the wet sand head first into a clump of flea infested seaweed, these two demand that you try again. Admidst those saying, ‘Don’t rock the boat’ , the sea and the sister says , ‘Try you! Try. You.’

Yes, ‘Try you’ she says to me. ‘Try. me.’ 

– Mona

Monday’s Little Letters

Hello. How are you? I hope you are well. Me? I’m doing alright. Neither here not there but still here and that’s good enough.

I usually post my daily poetry ramblings over on my Instagram page, which I will still do because I like that instant share of creative words and exchange with others. Here though on this blog, every Monday, I’m going to post one of my stitched together “Little Letters”, otherwise known as poems that I have written and the ones I re-wrote and re-worked for cadence and message.

In this Monday post, I’ll on occasion explain the process, the why behind my “little letters” because as we all know, nothing is really too small to be insignificant. Everything matters. Every action. Every thought. Every “little letter” thought up and stitched together, matters. If not to the world, then to yourself and that’s good enough.

So here is this week’s “Little Letters” pick:

Little Letters: 3/13/17

This poem started with this pic that I took during a yoga challenge I was participating in on Instagram a few years back as my now defunct Love2Bloom, crochet and craft persona since 2005.

After the pose of the day was struck and the pic snapped and posted onto my feed, I scrolled through the comments on my previous days posts. One caught my eye. It was a comment from a woman in England on a previous days video of me, asking me if I was alright because it looked like I was about to cry? I couldn’t figure out if she was being mean or concerned or funny. It puzzled me. I just didn’t get her. At the time, not getting her was grating. I’ve since figured it out that its not my job to get other people. I’m just here to live and be. But that is now.

And that was then….

The video was of me trying to get into a fold over flamingo pose with a bind. It was a hard pose for me back then and still is.  I made it though but I guess my face showed discomfort or sorrow. I couldn’t help but laugh finally after initial confusion at the comment because, yes, I was not comfortable and that’s what this woman was commenting on but in truth, I felt accomplished getting into that pose and afterwards the twisting that my internal organs received from that particular contortion was a  wonder.

I laughed out loud and snapped the pic. My face in the video was not the serene and yogic meditative portrait of so many other yogi’s on Instagram of ease and beauty.  It was my truth, my face made up of Picasso sharp angles and distortions, a funny face, a disjointed face, a crying face. Discomfort on the outside and shown to the outside as frail, sad, confused but in reality, in truth, a roar, a gurgle of the laughter of self-acceptance that is beyond decency. Pure Joy.

And then I wrote.

And shortly, thereafter, decided to shuttle Love2Bloom for good.

It was freeing and a good choice. I haven’t said that until today, but yes, it was a good choice.

I roared.


It is Enough

Writing poetry is a way for me to get the chitter chatter out from under my brain. To make sense of the emotions that I have over current events, family experiences, and memories. It’s such a relief for me as the words come out and are stitched together in rows of one, two, three, maybe even four word sentences. Get it all out and once that happens, it can be released. Those feelings of fear, anger, shame just gone, or at least lessened a bit.

Most of my weekly poetry I post onto my Instagram page, as it tumbles out of my head. Here is a more recent poetry post I composed as I sat under a rather large Eucalyptus tree at the park.

I love the way that parks sound, especially during the weekdays, early mornings. They have a particular silence to them that is mesmerizing, hypnotic, really. A silence that is so rare in today’s noisy world, it’s jolting to the senses at first but after a few seconds is so very healing. In that kind of silence, I can finally listen to what my brain is whispering and on that particular day this array of words came out and really spoke to and through my heart. I can only hope that my mind hears what my heart whispers, “It is enough”.


– Mona

P.S. Just in case, anyone is wondering, I write using my given name, Ramona and my married name, Reyes.  Ramona Reyes.  I blog using the more casual, Mona, which is a shortened derivative of Ramona.