I am,
a woman.

To my surprise,

and that of my trivial breasts,

a boyish figure,

that stares back at me.

My dark,

disobedient hair,

and pores,

like small moons on my face.

I am,
ever slightly,
like the currents of the ocean,
zig zagging beneath the surface.

I wanted, to be beautiful.

I stared,

at my ruby colored nails,

and the cliffs, underneath my feet, coined as shoes by satan,

the smudge of black underneath my eyelids…

I recall now,

that I,


I detest,


{“Boys do like you,” she said, “despite your acne.”

“Don’t mess up our choreography” she said, with a group of happy girls behind her.

“I am the pretty one, not you” she said, as she stared at her face in the mirror.

“If you sprinkle blush in between your breasts, they may seem bigger,” she said.

“Just don’t wrinkle your face” she said,

acknowledging the nagging inability

of women to age }

I am indisputably,
a woman,

to my surprise,

and in between my legs,

the wide head of a child carving my flesh,

a monthly wave of blood,

sending me spinning into all,

that is,


The heaviness of the world in the lower half of my body.

I scream,

as if my cries,

could tilt the earth,

as I am also tilted.

“I am not one thing” I said.

Impressionism portrait of young woman -abstract gallery pop art deco face  Painting by David Padworny - Pixels

(pop art deco)

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me gustaria la traducción para disfrurtarlo más

Beautiful verses to start !
That statement is something so needed to remark nowadays.

I just love the whole poem. I just love to find women that feel themselves a woman in all the extent of the concept !

So good to read you !

Gracias por leerlo. Saludos! @lidiannymartin @AljndroPoetry

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