Tammy Lopez explores struggle and gratitude through poetry

Written by Khatia Mikadze

Image via Chanté Delong

“Dear younger me,

Sometimes I wish I could have saved you from the horrors you have lived through. Most times I don’t. These experiences did not just make you stronger, but they made you me.

Love,

Older you”

—Tammy Lopez in Rain for Under Watered Roses like You and I

Tammy Lopez, a 23-year-old, Brooklyn-based, second generation immigrant woman, is making herself heard through poetry. In the preface of her debut book of poetry Rain for Under Watered Roses like You and I, published in January, she says her poems are for “people who have been broken once before. It is a book of poems and prose with a diary-like twist that allows you […] to free yourself, in hopes that the pieces of you will come together once again.”

In the book, Lopez talks about her personal struggles as a young girl, growing up in a family of Dominican immigrants, and shares how issues like family, relationships, sex, depression and globalization have shaped her into the person she is today.

But it’s not just a collection of the poems she has been working on for years — it’s also interactive. Lopez purposefully included blank pages that are meant for readers to fill in with the reflections of their pasts and feelings.

“I know poetry is not appreciated by a majority of people because they think it is outdated,” says Lopez. “But by publishing this book, I wanted to pull people in, share my feelings in hopes that others can relate and in turn write out their own emotions and experiences to further free themselves.”

With this book of poetry, Lopez also wants to express gratitude to her mother, who, despite limited resources, has supported her every ambition.

So far, she has sold more than 200 copies of the book, which she wrote, published, and marketed herself, in addition to teaching early childhood education full time.

Looking for inspiration from her past

An immigrant from the Dominican Republic, Lopez’s mother dedicated her life to raising her three children as a single mother in New York City after her father left. By getting a teaching job at a local kindergarten, she managed to provide her kids with just enough food so that they would not go hungry. It was especially challenging with a bipolar son.

“Her determination and perseverance made everything happen,” says Lopez. “She had to put a lot of things back in her head to push three kids forward. I did not appreciate that up until now.”

As a child, Lopez faced challenges growing up in a New York City Housing Authority project in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. Her parents spoke very little English, so Lopez translated during hospital visits, grocery shopping, bank visits, and on phone calls. This role as a child taught her how to be creative and expressive with her words. She says it was difficult to learn and adjust to two distinct cultures at the same time.

“When asked where I am from, I still say I am Dominican, not American,” Lopez says. “Being home, you fall in love with experiences and treats of the outside world, but being outside you realize you do not quite belong there. Being Dominican to me always meant having mixed racial identity. For Latinos, I am too black, for Blacks I am too white, and for Whites I am too Latino. I am in this limbo racial group that belongs to no specific group.”

Black, Brown, Caramel, Olive, White

I like to tell myself I’m olive,
A wicked reminder that somewhere in the world Spaniards conquered the islands of my ancestors.
Brainwashing them to believe that their black was not beautiful,
That when they became brown it was not good enough
And once they became olive, they were almost,
But still not quite white enough
To erase the fact that they were here first.
—Excerpt from Rain for Under Watered Roses like You and I

She also recalls her experiences of living in the housing projects: “We never lived in luxury. Growing up in the projects taught me many life lessons. I have seen women sitting on the bench doing drugs with a baby carriage. Weed, roaches, the smell of urine in the elevator and sleeping through gunshots was part of my everyday life.”

The absence of her father also had a long-lasting impact on Lopez’s life. She says it affected her relationships with men and contributed to her severe depression. But her love of poetry — and her mother — helped her find her voice and acknowledge those deep-rooted feelings.

“I found what was missing,” she says. “I acknowledged the fact that my depression was caused not from who I am, but what I had experienced and what I had seen in my life.”

This Apartment ain’t ever been a Home

After years of tip toeing over broken glass and
Busted crack pipes my father has birthed
I look at the ground behind me unearthed,
Pools of red dried down
I look down to see my toes have calloused
Similar to my heart
To all the men that ever wanted me to love and wondered why I never knew how
Or even where to start.
—Excerpt from Rain for Under Watered Roses like You and I

Since then, Lopez has found ways to make herself feel powerful and emanate confidence.

“If you walk into the room and feel and realize that you are amazing, people around you will feel the same,” she says. “If you feel powerful, you become powerful. Struggle only makes you stronger. We constantly have doubts about ourselves, but you have to turn that ‘what if’ into ‘let’s do it.’ No one tells you to love yourself but this it the most important aspect of our lives.”

Lopez also plans to publish a children’s book soon.