The contradiction

I am not attractive but I am beautiful, in the way that when the world is blind I untie myself from my problems. Thus dancing the distance with the same four-year-old sneakers. And I get lost in the corridors of my house humming a song that I have never heard.

Nor am I tempting, although, I am captivating in that my smile can make my eyes shine when tears are a tornado threat. My clothes are the neglect of my life, as they have the holes of the moths that I set free through the window but salute at the door.

I am not at all the paintings of my ancestors with their fixed postures and challenging eyes. I am of bloody knees and too clumsy to let wander alone. But you see, I have a deadly tongue that knows how to translate my thoughts into poems. I am not brilliant but I am an artist who wants to create a space for porcelain lungs.

It is okay that I’m not a goddess as long as I can be a mortal who can feel the cold of winter and the blood of summer. I am at peace with my life to continue in this existence of torments.

I am not a winner but I am a fighter and if you want to bet on the horse that does not compete but escapes here I’ll be contradicting.

 

Ta.