Deborah Portillo
Bio
I’m just an amateur writer, expressing my hopes, dreams, and nightmares for all to read. A lot of my short stories come from nightmares, while my poems are expressed from hopes, dreams, and feelings.
Stories (40/0)
The Warrior
Today is like any other ordinary morning. The same repeated pattern of hitting the snooze button, the same difficulty climbing out of bed. The same routine followed every day, and every dreadful Monday. As I lay here staring at the beautiful cursive words glued to my wall, I think of him; my beautiful husband. I think of the one man, and boy I have ever truly loved, as I lay here on his side of the bed. His smell is gone. All that's left are his personal belongings. Just like an ordinary bullshit weekday, I must get up and go to work. I must face the long commute, that at times will flow smoothly, while other times, tests my patience of stop and go every two seconds.
By Deborah Portillo5 years ago in Psyche
Unspoken Words
Tonight I gazed upon you and saw utter exhaustion. It may have been the guilt. It hurts me to see you this way. Yet no one can talk to you about it, about financial issues, or even hold conversation about life in general for more than five minutes. It's as though we're boring you. Maybe it's because we're interrupting whatever plans you're contemplating in your head. Most days, when I look at you I see a troubled man. A man that has dug himself in so deep. He doesn't know how to get out. However, he's afraid to admit that he needs help. The right help that is: Mental help. Before all of this exhaustion, I saw a handsome young man. A man with dreams and possibilities. A man that at the same time was afraid to move forward. If I wasn't there to do it for him, he would not budge. I wanted to hold your hand and guide you, but you just wanted me to do it all for you. I don't understand the physics of this way of thinking. The more I tried to push you to do it for yourself, it's as if it's the more you distance yourself. Then the sleep deprivation begins to produce unreal images of thoughts that you think are real. Now it's been so long, there's no way to start fresh—for you at a least. I understand it's a constant fight for you. That your own thoughts must be attacking you. But you are strong. You can do this. You can take the beast by the horns and flip it to the ground. But you must first truly want to win. I noticed you get discouraged easily. I also see how unmotivated you can be. It saddens me. I guess because my motivation comes from being told I can't do something. It comes from the words of others trying to bring me down, from trying to stop me, from trying to prevent me from succeeding my hopes and dreams. It may take me awhile to get where I want to go, but I know it takes time. It takes dedication, sweat, and sometimes even blood to reach those hopes and dreams. However, when those hopes and dreams come easy, we get cocky and greedy. That's when they can easily be taken away. It's almost like karma comes in and reminds us of how easy she can ruin us, or provide for our actions. If you're good to someone, it's returned; if your bad to someone, it's returned. Funny how it works that way. The past few days I wonder whatever happened to you? What in God's name led you down this path? It breaks my heart to know that something, someone once hurt you so bad. That this precious child of God has been corrupted by drugs and who knows what else. Wake up, my love, wake up from this terrible nightmare. Come into the light out of the darkness. Allow me to hold you and tell you I'm here. Allow me to love you and bring you up. Let me encourage you to rise. Let me be your guidance. As I watch you leave and as I hear you say, "I'll be back." I'm left here wondering. I pray for your safety. I pray for your return. I'm here waiting—that's all I can do. Only because I'm trying not to fail you. I know there's only so much I can do. How long before enough is enough. How long before I have to move on? Prayers and request, along with pleads and demands, can only go on for so long.
By Deborah Portillo5 years ago in Psyche