When I was eleven

I ate cold congealed oatmeal with soy sauce for breakfast. I could never finish it and my step dad would chant, ¨bite, chew, swallow¨. And I hated him for it.

I wasn’t allowed to touch the tv or the stereo in the living room, my mom sold some of my nonna´s jewelry to get me a cute colorful radio with a cassette player.

There was always a big bundle of gluten meat in the fridge. That stuff was gross.

I had onion and garlic syrup when I got a cold and cough. Disgusting yet it worked.

On Saturday mornings I would eat an entire loaf of bread with Philadelphia cream cheese.

I watched my mom sit in her studio without AC, in her tanktop, sweating in the Miami heat and working on a huge canvas with a pencil.

I would suffer with her when the white oil paint ran out.

I saw my mom ask her dad for help to get rid of her French genius artist asshole husband.