These poems carry some vulnerability. Could you talk more about writing poems that capture vulnerability?
Vulnerability can often be looked upon as a weakness, but I see it as a strength because it’s an act of bravery to be authentic, and in the case of these poems, to display your fear and truth on the page. When I write with an eye toward vulnerability, I think about what makes me uncomfortable, the things that are often left unsaid, and the conversations we’re taught to avoid. My job as a writer is to excavate what’s hidden beneath the surface, whether that’s naming the harm or illuminating the love, so that it compels the reader to reflect.
Could you explain a little bit of your writing process?
It’s less a process and more a practice of mindfulness. Given how my chronic illnesses (fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis) present, I can’t keep a rigid schedule and write every day at the same time because my health (and pain level), moods, and brain capacity are often unpredictable. But I do keep track in a doc of things I see that are inspiring or infuriating, fragments of works I’ve read that make me reflect, and lines that come to me. So when I do have “good” days, I mostly focus on putting my reality, my family’s, and my communities’ stories on the page, writing both poetry and creative nonfiction. I often will have a line or concept in mind, so I know where I want the piece to begin or end, and then fill it out from there. But overall, I start by writing what I’ve felt, experienced, and witnessed – getting the rawness of that down, then crafting it into something beautiful but accessible. I want everyone, regardless of whether they’ve studied literature, to understand my work and be able to access the power of poetry.
Logistically, I have a dedicated office/crafting space. I use my singing bowl to meditate and create the conditions for myself to write. I’m a super-organized “spreadsheet lady” so I have a master list of all my work (e.g., the stage it’s in, the themes it covers, links to each version, etc.), a detailed submission tracker, and even a reading/performance tracker so I know what I’ve read at each venue and the response to the work. The live-audience feedback really helps me in the revision process, as does being a part of several workshops. I firmly believe writing can happen and is made stronger in community.
In “Having Severe Generalized Anxiety Disorder is Crippling Me into Agoraphobia,” what stood out to me was the end lines about staring out of the front door and seeing an ordinary day. The next line, “it’s a mirage,” brings to mind not just the sunny day, but also all of the anxiety-inducing scenarios. Could you elaborate on your intentions for the poem?
I wanted to bring the reader inside the experience of having severe generalized anxiety disorder, to feel the fear, so they could, hopefully, better understand and empathize with those who suffer from this illness, which can be debilitating. We’re in the midst of a mental-health crisis in this country, and while we’ve made progress in recent years, there is still a lot of work to do to destigmatize mental illness. I hope that this poem sparks conversation and helps those with anxiety feel seen.
In “Invisible Illnesses,” you talk about a different kind of invisible health issue. The poem captures physical pain rather than anxiety, and the speakers’ reactions differ. Could you talk more about how you switched emotional reactions between these two poems?
In the first poem, the speaker was fearful of all the possible scenarios of harm running through their head, so they quarantined themselves. Both poems showcase a kind of pain, but in “Invisible Illnesses,” I wanted the speaker to have more agency. They may be afflicted with a debilitating condition they can’t control, but they do have control over who they allow into their lives. Living with chronic illness is isolating. If that condition is invisible, it’s often misunderstood and, in many cases, doubted and questioned because the person may look healthy. Isolation, or the “loneliness epidemic,” affects millions of people, and the disability community is particularly susceptible. Chronic loneliness is linked to an increased risk of heart disease and stroke, poor sleep and weaker immune function, and a higher risk of depression and anxiety. So being believed and having a supportive community is imperative to their mental and physical well-being. In this poem, the speaker stands up for themselves, acknowledges the community they need around them, and removes bad actors from their life.
In “An Abecedarian for My Multiple Diagnoses,” I love the lines “envision my genes streetfighting my gamma waves violently for control. But I survived the South Bronx, my warrior mentality kicks in.” The poem also mentions journaling. Could you speak to whether you see a connection between writing poetry and the “warrior mentality” or even preserving inner peace?
I think my warrior mentality requires me to write poetry. Historically, poets have used language to resist oppression, challenge power, and preserve identity. Poetry makes people feel and reflect. It challenges them to question what they thought they knew to be true. As a poet, I seek to capture moments, unearth truths, and create conversation. As Audre Lorde said, “Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence.” And June Jordan stated plainly, “Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.” So, for me, writing in any form (including journaling) is how I examine my thoughts and the world around me. It lets me put it all on the page and then parse through to what is true, even if that truth is complicated, as most things are. But to come to a level of understanding of yourself and the world, that definitely preserves my inner peace.
The poems have a running theme of finding security within a perceived dangerous world. How do you ground or protect yourself in a chaotic world?
Community. Fellowship. Chosen familia. Focusing on my locus of control. Writing it all down. Using cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) grounding techniques.
The poems address the awareness of threats beyond the speaker’s body, as well as others’ perceptions that the speaker’s body is a potential threat. Could you talk more about how your poems play with the idea of perceived and real threats by the speakers and others?
“Having Severe Generalized Anxiety Disorder is Crippling Me into Agoraphobia” speaks to anxieties many people have in passing, but that are amplified in the speaker’s experience – car accidents, robberies, shootings, stampedes. Others like “I Sit in Anxiety, Alarm Armed, Button Ready” or “Isolating When the World is a Dumpster Fire” illuminate the fear of living in a Black or Brown body in the U.S. Many of the threats are, unfortunately, very real, and the speakers in my poems, as am I, are very honest about that.
I can feel the emotion in these poems. I’m thinking of spoken word poetry. Did how these poems might sound aloud come into play when writing?
I was a spoken-word artist in my teens and 20s, so how a poem sounds is an important part of my writing process. I read everything aloud, even as I’m writing. Once I’m done drafting, I record myself reading so I can listen back to it for pacing/pauses/flow, rhythm, sound quality, and musicality. Each of these poems has a different manner of speaking – some are meant to be urgent, some quiet and reflective, some matter-of-fact. While they are meant to hold their own on the page, they’re also written to be heard, so when I can, I include audio along with the text.
Do you have ways readers can engage with your other work?
My website www.vallejolovelife.com has a “ready my work” section where you can experience more of my writing. I’m also very active on Instagram @CafecitoWithJas where I post about upcoming events (I do a lot of online readings), share videos, etc. I’d love for folks to engage with me via comments or DMs.
What poets are you currently reading?
Ooh, I’m always in the middle of about a dozen books. Top of mind are Yazmin Monet Watkins’ A Vessel Born to Float, Tiana Clark’s Scorched Earth, and Jericho Brown’s The Tradition. Staples are Alice Walker’s and Adrienne Rich’s work. I also read a lot of literary journals, such as Black Warrior Review, Poetry, Rattle, The Sun, and Kenyon Review. If you want to become a well-rounded writer, read as much as you can!
