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“One day I’ll be an expert lovemaker/in your bed, between the sheets.”

March 14, 2012

Scintilla Prompt #1 Who Are You?

I’m a girl named after a goddess, the goddess, the all-mother – of creation and destruction. Daughter of a tecato, Spanish for junkie, waiting for the powder coating his fingertips to work its way into my blood forty years later and leave my inner workings fried, frayed, failing. I’m a lover and a fighter, both, at the same time, stumbling out of a stranger’s arms with bruised thighs, bags under my eyes. I’m a poet, a would-be revolutionary aching for evolution, resolution, and I’m going to drag you out of hell kicking (and screaming) right along with me.

I’m a Mean Girl, Charlie Brown. Apt to call you out on your mistakes in the hopes that you don’t notice my own. I’m sassy, I’m spirited, I’m just looking for a man to shut me up for awhile because I’m so tired so tired of the sound of my own voice. I’m a wanderer looking for a way out of this mess, looking for streets off the grid, that don’t match up, that go nowhere in numerical order-disorder.

I’m a “fox terrier bitch ready to fight the whole world”, so you’d better rein me in. A Wise Latina with the best ass above 125th street. I’m a sensitive soul too afraid to let people know what they mean to me, because the minute you tell anyone anything, you start missing everybody (thanks, Holden).

A sucker for words and hidden glances. A scholar. A “Rocinante, corriendo desbocado”, getting skittish at every turn. Ready to outrun the powder, the marks slashing his skin and mine, ready to do my duty because I’ve got several-thousand-generations-of-defeat-dying-to-finally-fucking-win.

I’m a sniffling, snuffling, fucking mess writing to you with my mascara running down my face because it took three hours to get home from 59th street because someone saw something, someone said something, and it’s a rare cabbie willing to trek to The Bronx with a crying girl in his backseat. I’m a sourpuss, a sad sedate, because I needed someone to feed me a valium tonight just to keep me from running into walls for six hours straight.

But I’m here. Pushing at the gate. Waiting for the gunshot. After your own heart.

I’m Shakti Iris Castro. And I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

11 Comments leave one →
  1. March 15, 2012 12:05 am

    I love your name!


  2. March 15, 2012 12:10 am

    Thank you! šŸ™‚

  3. jasonsbrain permalink
    March 15, 2012 12:26 am

    I share in your loneliness, your desperation. I too am a mess, and your words sing out with a beauty that speak to the man I am. They haunt me.

  4. March 15, 2012 12:39 am

    Thank you, Jason. As horrible as the feeling is, it’s comforting to know others have it inside of them. ā¤ ā¤

  5. March 15, 2012 8:09 am


    In the short time I have known you, I have grown to love you and this: “a sucker for words and hidden glances” makes me love you all the more.

  6. InkyTwig permalink
    March 15, 2012 9:30 am

    “pushing the gate” LOVE that. LOVE it. so happy to learn more about you and read your writing!

  7. March 15, 2012 10:08 am

    oh my. i love all that you are, even with the flaws you sing about. i love your honesty, your humanity, your determination.

  8. March 15, 2012 10:18 am

    You have the greatest name. And the greatest voice. And the greatest passion. Damn, you’re good.

  9. March 15, 2012 1:55 pm

    This is really, really breathtaking work right here. Riveting. You are incredibly powerful.

  10. March 16, 2012 1:04 am

    Aah the taste of home, Native New Yorker here. I hear you, I feel you, your words resonate deeply.

  11. jasonsbrain permalink
    March 21, 2012 1:23 am

    I know why you picked this for your star in scintilla, it is my favorite of yours so far too. Really good piece.

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