I’m stuck

The threat of deportation appears in my life again, however, it brings up the distance it could create between me and my child.

I’m stuck, or at least I feel like my body is being sucked into a whirlpool and no matter how hard I attempt to swim away, I’m just not strong enough.

I want to live in a cottage, I want the sensation of living in the UK to be overwhelming. I’m residing in the UK, but when I look around, I feel like I’m back in the states. I feel like I’m not safe. I feel like a drone, marching through actions I don’t want to do.

A weighted blanket of expectations disallows me to get out of bed. If I want to stay with my child in this country, with my partner I need a job, not a part time minimum wage jobs. A, this is what I do for a living job. And I don’t want that.

I want to be a home maker. I want to kiss my baby’s cheeks every ten minutes. I want to hate doing laundry. Instead, I am fearing of deportation once again. However, this threat is more looming. This threat is more real. This threat has multiple casualties.

I want to live in the UK, with my new family. But now the UK feels like the US. And now, my partner can’t get a visa.

I want to escape - frolic in grass that makes my legs itch. I crave old architecture. Ages wood, chipping paint, spotty cell service. 

But I don’t get what I want. No one gets what they want, not if they are real.

Instead, I cannot afford the visa I need. Can’t prove to the country why they should keep me. I’m practicing my goodbyes to my five month old baby. 

I’m stuck in this gears of society

And I don’t think I’ll ever be free