Poetry

‘Mother Nature’ and other poems by Kenya Jimenez

By: Kenya Jimenez

Mother Nature

My eyes love watching the lavish pink sunsets with
patches of purple, but I truly fall in love at night
gazing at the bright stars and crescent white moon.
I listen to the sound of the ocean waves and the birds
singing hello to each other in the morning
that gives me a dose of inner peace.
The evocative fragrance of roses and
sweet petrichor after the roaring thunderstorm,
it is the best scent I know.
My hands and feet touch dirt and soil,
the ground that carries my body, which
experiences Mother Nature physically and spiritually.

###

Monstrous

Sometimes,
I want to crawl out of my skin,
wishing I lived near the ocean
where clear blue waters
will carry my burdens.
Feeling emotionally numb
but also panicking,
how is that possible?
I have no answer. Imagining
I could undergo a metamorphosis
from sad woman to free bird to
fly far away from this monstrous
anxiety and emptiness
that consumes me.

###

Cloudy Mornings

Cloudy mornings,
there is something so
comforting about them.
Sitting outside,
sipping a cup of hot coffee,
listening to the light thunderstorm,
I truly welcome this moment.

Cloudy mornings,
it is not always this way.
Feeling the emptiness,
drowning in sorrow,
trying not to cry out loud,
I truly despise this moment.

###

Falling in Love
It was a day filled with joy
wondering around the vineyard
holding your hand, drinking red wine,
feeling like the luckiest woman alive,
thinking we were made for each other
I was falling in love with you

###

Deep Wounds – About Eating Disorders

Childhood
Unaware of bad habits as a little girl,
the compulsive overeating,
the loneliness and self loathing,
eating lots and lots of food
hoping to fill the void
but always unsuccessful,
my figure, I found it repulsive,
I was a young child
desiring beauty, thinness.
It should have never been this way.

Adolescence
Caterpillar transforms into a butterfly,
achieved thinness through anorexia,
maintained desirable figure
binge eating, starving, over exercising,
what an addictive cycle.
This is not about beauty,
maybe it never was,
perhaps, I believed fixing the outside
would magically heal the inside.
No one taught me how
to heal my deep wounds.

Categories: Poetry

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