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My lost valedictorian speech

This year I had to tell a lot of people,
Please do not mistake my smile for niceness.
Sometimes, I am offensive purposefully, but always respectfully.
You see at one point in my life I forgot my name and I lost my human form .
I had transformed into an empty, reused pill bottle- shuffled from different pockets to night stands-there I stood on display-
burdened with layers upon layers of handwritten labels glued to my skin-
like the stickers that I studied on the walls of after-hours hole in the wall bathroom stalls- while trying to regain my balance from deliberate intoxication –
I digress-
My labels read-
“angry, emotional, ashamed, lost, vulnerable, victim, lonely, broken.”
I was a walking billboard.
And if you took the time to look close-
My small print read “do not leave out in direct sunlight – if exposed too long to peoples bullshit- may exhibit moments of irrational thinking and her verbal outbursts may cause permanent brain damage to others”.
So beware, my words are weapons that I wield well.
I suffered from untreated mental lordosis, hell bent on trying to navigate the uneven, concrete sidewalks of my life with my head in the clouds-
I was destined for damage because I tripped and fell a lot.
I’m warning you.
I am not nice.
I haven’t been nice since I was in utero, cushioned from this cold world by amniotic fluid which thankfully blurred my vision at birth-
Because my recycled soul was gifted to a baby born in a Brooklyn gutter –
Never swaddled by a loving mother.
Nature nurtured me.
I had to learn how to walk by holding on to the devil’s pinky finger-
So you can imagine my trust issues.
And my godmother was fate.
She lovingly nicknamed me little 80/20 because she knew the odds were not supposed to be in my favor.
Please forgive my bluntness.
You see where I’m from, being nice made you a bleeding target for famished wolves and fresh meat for the butcher- blocks of predators forced me to learn to be a hunter because I was tired of being preyed upon.
And praying only took the edge off and helped a little.
What a rat race that I ran well.
My faith was displaced into extracurricular activities which awarded me medals for first place in the category of heartache.
My headaches were endless.
I suffered from severe congestion-leading to perpetual mental infections- as I was desperately trying to heal the spiritual abscesses left from untreated metaphysical trauma- that caused wounds to fester until I almost became a victim of self inflicted sepsis.
It’s a miracle I survived.
A wise man once told me to always pronounce your s’s and your t’s.
and that is some Shit that I try to live by daily.
Enunciate, enunciate ,enunciate.
Paint pictures with your words.
This world is a canvas that needs our graffiti desperately.
Illicit art that helps elicit the emotions of the soul.
I wanted to share a great recipe that everyone should try for the new year.
All you need is two middle fingers and then you blend them in with a lot of fuck being nice spice.

I humbly accept this award.

Thank you.

Solitude

I walk alone.

My footsteps are my own.

My choice.

My path.

My love.

My pain.

I don’t remember the street names.

I don’t remember their names.

Sometimes I ran.

I needed to feel alive, so I ran as fast as I could.

I needed to feel the fresh air.

I needed to remember that my heart was still there.

Even though I’m out of breath, the pounding in my chest vibrated my soul and kept me alive.

I ran for days.

I ran for weeks.

I ran for months.

Stopping gave me time to remember the things that hurt.

So I ran for years.

I won alot of races.

My trophies are invisible, only mines to see.

You get the end product.

Me.

Simplicity

On a cold day, I watched the sun’s rays reach its arms out from the sky.

Its fingers danced over the calm surface of a half frozen lake.

The sun gazed down and stared at its glorious reflection.

It glowed with satisfaction at the beauty surrounding all it touched.

On a cold day, I felt the wind awaken from its slumber.

It graciously asked the barren trees to dance.

It didn’t care if they were tired and worn.

I watched them sway and bow, to the music of the birds.

In unison the forest became alive right in front of me.

I closed my eyes and listened to its symphony.

The sounds of the leaves whispering love songs and lullabies.

I inhaled the crisp, fresh air and it engulfed my soul.

Isn’t life enchanting?

Lost

I have to go.

I have to go.

I have to get off this road.

This path does not lead home.

Every road I have traveled, led me to the same place.

At the crossroads I stand, tired from trying to walk at everyone else’s pace.

I have to go.

I have to go.

I have to get off this road.

The up and down hills.

The flooded roads that I am forced to swim. 

Here I stand at the crossroads again, forced to use my broken compass from within.

I have to go.

I have to go.

I have to get off this road.

I am the barren tree in the forest of evergreens.

I can’t offer shade, from the suns misery.

So what is my purpose, I ask you, tell me.

I have to go.

I have to go.

I have to get off this road.

By: Mariana Golphin

Reflection

I had to take a few days to reflect on my past, present and future. I had to ask myself,”At what point am I going to stop living life like a victim?” My past haunts me. I am still angry. I never got the heartfelt apology that I thought I deserved from the person that I just wanted to love me. A motherless child I am. All people have the capabilities of being Toxic. Mother’s aren’t excluded. I hate when people say,”But it’s your mother, you have to love her.” I just want to scream! I was brutalized for years. A child broken down to the point of where I felt I didn’t exist. I was empty. I didn’t understand what I did to deserve this. Some bonds are meant to be broken. Sometimes you have to “STOP”. You have to cut off that person that brings you grief and heartache. Stopping isn’t just something you do when you are driving or walking. It’s something that you have to do mentally as well. Stop letting them control your greatness. You push forward and be the best you possible. That’s the greatest revenge in the world. Just when they thought they broke you, you stand up and say, “Not today, not now , not ever.”

Lost Kingdom

By: Mariana Golphin

King, how did you let your castle fall?
Queen without a castle looking beautiful in a crown thats made of thorns.
Blinded by the blood, I guess you didn’t see when your king started to fall?
Not only did you let him fall, but when he was down you took back your rib.
Leaving him without the balance he needs to stand and rule again.
When we are doing bad
they sing monkey see, monkey do.
But when we are on the come up, they say what the hell is wrong with you?

Memoir

Author: Mariana Golphin previously published in Pennsylvania Bards- Northeast Poetry Review

You said she wasn’t worth anything.
Making her feel smaller and smaller everyday.
Until she disappeared.
Little sad invisible girl she was.
An orphan with a mother.
Lights out! Click.
The pain hid in the dark of her eyes.
A prisoner of unchosen circumstance.
A victim.
A victim.
A victim.
Did they not see her scars?
How could they not see them?
Oh, I forgot she was invisible.
They only saw her when she smiled.
They only heard her when she laughed.
They turned their backs on her when they heard her crying.
They turned their backs on her when they heard the screaming.
She was invisible again, I guess?
So, what saved the invisible girl?
Her mind.
Her imagination.
She would transport herself to the stars every night and walked across the surface of the moon.
Sometimes she became a mermaid.
Swimming in the abyss.
Discovering sunken treasures, long forgotten by the world.
She transformed her pain into poems and her emotions into characters.
Even with broken bones, and open wounds her spirit perservered.
Soon she found herself enamored with a secret garden.
Overtime, she would constantly fall victim to the thorns of the roses.
Mesmerized by their warm smile, kind words, strong embrace.
Longing to be loved, she soon became numb to the weapons of the roses.
She bled internally.
She bled slowly.
She bled in silence.
She grew into a woman.
Well, she had the stature of a woman.
Inside, the sad little girl was still there.
Peeking from behind a torn curtain, in an abandoned apartment.
Scared to see the world.
Scared to walk to the door and open it and free herself.
The poor child.
She lived in the shadows and watched the world from the eyes of the adult women.
Until one day she awakens to the sounds of people calling her.
Telling her not to be afraid, not to hide anymore.
It was safe to come out.
Friends saved her.
Hope saved her.
Love found her.
Hands reached out of the darkness and tried to lead the scared, battered child to the door.
She was so heavy with burdens, she couldn’t lift her feet to move.
She began to cry.
All the pain and torment rolled freely down her pale cheeks onto the floor.
Soon she was drowning in it.
The poor child.
Struggling in the vicious, turbulent, tumultuous, viscous waves of dispair.
Forced to relive the pain, relive the beatings, relive the verbal attacks.
She almost succumbs , but then she remembers, she was a mermaid.
She remembers her adventures.
She swims towards the door, and grasps the handle.
She takes one last look at the long abandoned apartment.
This was not her home any longer.
It never was.
She opens the door and leaves.
I am a survivor.
I am real.
I am powerful.
I am what you said I couldn’t be.
I found my voice.
I found my strength.
You lost.
I won.