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domingo, 28 de agosto de 2016

I'm an ordinary woman, CR VocalesV



Some people when sensing they’re dying,
start yelling loud and obscene words at the people around them.
Some others die peacefully with possibly none
or just a few words to tell to those who loved them.

I fall into the first category.

One can’t stop the noise that produces
the force of a body that has leapt into the void
Just as one cannot mend a broken love or predict the next lover.

I’m an ordinary woman and I do not exist.

My life consists of imaginary conversations that never take place.
In them I sound smart, articulate and beautiful, and I seem to enjoy
the company of people…
those mysterious creatures that always keep me busy
thinking of the possibility of an escape.

I never meant to wound those I harmed,
I always meant to kill them;
but fell short of confidence to strike the last blow.
I regret nothing but that.

Sometimes I dream that I die and no one empties my closet,
my smell lingers in a place that is not inhabited
by my body anymore.
Everything looks the same: the books, the notebooks, the bottle of water,
my laptop, the cactus I bought at an old market in Everett Street for $15,
the photos of my life.

No one has touched anything, though I’m no longer there
and in the dream this pleases me.
Something tells me it’s just my ego dreaming.

My ego is something else I’ve had a hard time killing.
These days I go out wearing no bra underneath see-through blouses.
I want people to see my imperfections,
I want them to laugh at them, to smile at them, to scold them
(whatever)
and
I
 want
to
 feel
 nothing.

Nor the urge to cover, nor the impulse of showing even more,
just nothing, Zen-like,
like the grass after the storm.

You can’t break a body without
breaking its soul first.


Some other times I dream that you lick my hands
after sex
and you ask me to forgive you. 


CR - VocalesV


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