Wordz by Sofia Moreno
Princesses are told what to wear
And what to say
Who to like Who to hate
No freedom, in a cage
If she is qualified to be a princess
What is there to change
Shouldn’t you like for who she is
Not who she has to be
Couldn’t a princess be anybody
If all you have to do is
Force them to be you
Just put your work on display
And pretend that they act that way
Just mold them like clay.
Until they dry and break
And tell you what to shape.
My consciousness as I currently know it began when I was 10 years old, 1985, the same year I experienced my first hurricane. The chaotic energy uprooted trees that had been sturdy for decades and maybe even centuries. Air stirred up from the Caribbean waters of my Puerto Rican ancestors to my suburban Long Island world. For the first time, the silver screen reflected the scene outside my window.
My world was transforming. My power was increasing day by day after Gloria howled through, foreshadowing the uprooting of my Muladhara Chakra.
“Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” cries a little girl’s voice.
The door opens, still only showing the shiny shoes as they walk up the stairs. The girl wraps herself around the leg and sits on the shiny foot as he keeps walking.
“They canceled school today, daddy! They canceled school today, daddy! They canceled school today, daddy! Dad! Dad! Dad!”
The foot keeps walking with the daughter and passes a ceiling to floor mirror that reflects a TV blaring a weatherman reporting about Hurricane Gloria. The foot enters a kitchen with a 70s style linoleum floor. Camera pans up shapely legs, butt and breasts standing at a stove and focuses on the face of a beautiful wife. Daddy leans in to kiss her face. We only see the back of his head at this point.
“Did you tape up the windows?” asks daddy.
“Just the one in the living room,” sighs Mami, with a roll of her eyes as she bangs a serving spoon against the side of a pot full of rice and beans.
A teenaged girl wearing a purple band-aid on her chin enters from the back screen kitchen door with a box of candles, flashlights and tape, and sets it on the counter.
“I taped up the bedroom windows and the windows downstairs,” says the teenager, and then she walks back out the door in morose silence. The wind slams the door behind her.
“They canceled school, daddy! They canceled school, daddy!” cries the little girl again.
“I heard you!” balks Daddy as he lays his bag on the kitchen countertop.
Satisfied that her news report has been received, the little girl skips down a hallway to a bedroom and presses her face against the window. She is excited because for the very first time, the TV matches the scene outside her window. The trees are bending. The wind is howling. She turns on her radio. And runs to another window looking down at her swing set whipping around. Then she sits on the floor in the middle of her room and thumbs through teen magazines with boy Hollywood stars. She stops at Kirk Cameron and makes out with his picture.
“Come and eat! Dinner’s ready!” yells Mami.
The little girl drops the magazines and races back down the hallway, to the kitchen and sets the table with plates, silverware and napkins. Everyone sits down and one chair is empty.
“Where’s your brother?” asks daddy.
“He’s playing Pogo Joe,” says Mami. “He’s not coming up, he’s up to a million something. He says he’s gotta break a record.”
“Yeah, before the power goes out,” says the teenager.
Daddy shakes his head as he shovels a forkful of rice into his mouth.
“Anybody want more rice?” says Mami. “Rice? Arroz? Rice?”
“I do!” says the little girl.
“If you keep eating so much rice, you’re gonna turn Chinese!” Mami jokes.
The little girl laughs and throws her arms around.
“You have juice there, don’t spill it!”
BLACK OUT
The family stands around an uprooted tree at the end of the block.
“It’s this tree that cut the power to the entire street,” says daddy. “Get off the roots! You don’t want to get electrocuted!”
The little girl jumps off and stares down at the tree. Her face is serious. Camera zooms in to the furrow between her eyebrows and slowly down into her big, black left eye until it transforms into a three-story house with a pool in the backyard. A little boy and girl splash around in the pool.
“Kids! Come in for lunch!” yells a woman as she places peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the red picnic table.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” says the boy.
“No, you’re all wet,” says the woman.
“Go on the side of the house,” says the little girl.
The little boy walks with trepidation around the side of the house. There is a window next to him where he hears a creaking sound. He runs back to the table.
“What’s the matter?” says the woman.
“I heard a noise!” says the little boy.
The woman puts her hands on her hips and the little girl teases him for being a baby.
“I swear it was some kind of animal!”
The little girl walks around the side of the house and leans in to hear. Her face is sarcastic. Then she laughs.
“That’s just Princess doing her exercises in her crib.”
“It’s creepy.”
“She likes to rock back and forth on her knees,” says the little girl. “It’s funny!”
The video stops and Gysela finds herself doing a sun salutation and then dropping down to the ground and pushing her body back into child’s pose. She realizes that Sharky B has activated the Ashtanga Primary yoga series and she won’t be able to move her own parts until she completes all 60 poses. The light inside transforms from red to orange. She pulls herself into upward dog and another video shoots from her Boob Tube to TheFemmebots.com audience.
Click for Genesis of Change Chapter 2: Orange Gypsy Sex Sparks Creativity –>
