“Yo escribo porque pienso que me lees. Y eso es algo terrible.”— Ben Clark.
About
If you must die, sweetheart
die knowing your life was my life's best part...
Hoy no soy yo la que claudica,
no me verán tirarme de rodillas,
no seré la mártir que aborrecí de niña,
hoy no seré esclava de mi patria.
No esperen que acalle mis palabras,
he conjugado el verbo ciudadano,
ya reclamé las calles con mis pasos,
yo, mujer, ya dije lo que pienso y soy.
Hoy no seré la hembra que soporta
ni la Eva culpable del pecado,
comeré la manzana en vez de darla,
cometeré el pecado de ser franca.
Navegaré mi barco sin fronteras,
volaré con las alas de mi sexo,
verteré mi intelecto en otras mentes,
me perderé en la noche de los miedos.
No temeré al Adán que me sojuzga
ni dejaré que el puño me amedrente,
no seré las mujeres que abyectas callan,
seré las mujeres que interceden.
Seré yo quien me salve al fin, de los prejuicios,
seré yo la mujer liberta del hastío,
seré estratega valiente, intrépida y astuta,
seré todo, empero jamás la que claudica.
-Muérdele el corazón, Lydia Cacho.
No lo salves de la tristeza, soledad,
no lo cures de la ternura que lo enferma.
Dale dolor, apriétalo en tus manos,
muérdele el corazón hasta que aprenda.
No lo consueles, déjalo tirado
sobre su lecho como un haz de yerba.Jaime Sabines
De «La señal» (1950)Imagen: Francesco giullare di Dio (1950) - Dir. Roberto Rossellini
“Me encanta dormir. Mi vida tiene la tendencia a derrumbarse cuando estoy despierto, ¿sabes?”— Ernest Hemingway
(via marycielo25)
flor-del-infierno-deactivated20:
Claro cariño, yo te quiero, pero tú nunca estás.
rue-cimon-deactivated20220311:
complicated relationships with parents be like
you sacrificed so much for me but i sacrificed so much for you and i wish you’d just go away and leave me alone. don’t leave me; i’m scared when you’re not there with me. can you give me this? i don’t want anything from you. i can never forgive you. do you forgive me? i don’t care for what you have to say to me or what you think of me. are you proud of me? i am free. let me in. i’m not your therapist. it’s ok, i’m here to listen. did you ever love me? i love you so much that it hurts and i hate you so much that it might just make me bleed. give me a hug? i can never not love you. do you feel the same way? do you even know i feel this way? do even know what i feel? did you ever care?
complicated relationships with your parents are like. you cut up fruit and bring it to my room without me asking. i can’t remember the last time you told me that you were proud of me. you told me i wasn’t good enough for you but i’m not even good enough for myself. your hugs feel like coming home. i can’t tell you anything that happens in my life. i doubt myself every day because of something you said to me when i was eight. would you like to hear about my day? please don’t ask me about my day. i miss you even though you’re in the next room. i wish we didn’t live together. i’ve never loved or resented anyone as much as i’ve loved and resented you. are you okay? are we okay? are we ever going to be okay?
I know you don’t love me, but can you at least pretend?…
el impulso femenino de pensar que si fueras mas linda la vida te trataria mejor
