The ballad of the fool and the madwoman

The fool that has been fooled

Will fool you again

With a briefcase and a cheap suit

Ironed by an imprisoned mother who keeps needles between her teeth

And a cup of coffee on the stove

The fool will once hold the whole world

And will tell you what to do

Don’t pity him when he tries to be like you

And shares with you a story made out of hey

Don’t pity his tears

As fake as the concrete he walks upon

Dividing good from bad

Mixing them all

Leave the fool curse the mountain

Where you have to run to

If you have to choose always choose being the madwoman

Locked somewhere

The keys that once rest around your neck

Are now by the fool’s nightstand

It will hurt

They will hurt you

But it is better to die fighting

Than letting the flames get you

Be the madwoman

It’ll be dark

It’ll be cold

But you will remember the fire of your sisters

And let your heart get warm out of anger

Let fools be fools

You have learnt to keep learning and unlearning

Crazy woman

I love you

For you will never be fooled

No more

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Dancing like the devil

We fucked four times that morning

And still the cracks on the wall seemed like flowers blooming

I could look at the demons

Burning debris in your eyes

For ages

All the abyss I used to evade

Was then my bed

Now the same walls are turning yellow

Like the albumin of every morning

Bacon and eggs for two

When there’s only one to remember

The demons are still playing the fiddle

For someone new

But I’m telling you

She does not dance for you

The way I do

A simple story

This is a very simple story.

In my class I was bigger than most of the boys. Probably stronger than the majority of them. When the teacher asked for the helping hand of two strong boys, I looked around and found sweaty palms of half-boys half-fish too afraid to be in the ocean. The bravest two, like bold catfish, stood taller than they were and jumped to the front, but the box was heavier than they thought and ended up suffocating in the shore. The sardonic smile of the teacher hurt more than a harpoon. Looking at the crowd, her dead eyes stopped and looked upon me.

“Everything would have been easier if we had asked her to help us.”

Her pointing finger pierced my body. Silence fell on the crowd until the first laughter hit my back, like an angry mob carrying sticks and throwing stones. When I stood up, silence fell again like the first snow. I walked towards the box, a bold salmon jumping the waves of the river, challenging angry bears and ferocious fishermen. I took the box in my hands like an adolescent holds her first doll, and took it outside the classroom. I kept walking. I took the box downstairs. I took the big door and left the school. I past the grey dirty pavement. I could feel my firm and strong feet building flowers with each step, building the green pasture, knowing that the greener the meadow the closer to the water. I built bridges that I destroyed with the batting of my lashes. I set the whole town on fire, and when I looked back I was deep in the water, the box still in my hands, begging to let it go like a supplicant Ophelia. I lay my body and wet my gills and guts. The fire reflected upon the water as if the carnival had just arrived. I heard tambourines and the sad tune of a bandoneon. The box was drowning with me, still in my hands. It was filled with books spilling their stories like blood flowing. I smiled and jumped deeper, and the rainbow trout I had become defied the sun.

That song again

He hated King Harvest’s Dancing in the Moonlight

But he would hum it while brushing his teeth

Or changing his socks after jogging down on the pouring rain

Even shaking his hips while cooking

His hair moving

Stupidly senseless

At the rhythm of a song he detested

And yet loved

Like a boy privately loving a toy

He is too old to enjoy

He wanted so bad to be a mean man

After making love

He touched my sweaty hair and said

I love you

And then started humming that song again

I took my phone and searched the damn song for him

We stood there in bed

Smiling

Hating

Loving

With such passion the birds envied us

I am large

I am large

And so is the universe

The vast oceans, seas and rivers

Wetting the immeasurable planet

In which I live

I am large

And so is the boundless earth

The colossal desert

The prolonged meadow

That I have walked

I am large

And so is the eternal love

Of the women around me

Her bosoms

That protect their immense hearts

I am large

And so is my mind

With its infinite capacity

To tell me what is wrong

And what is right

I am large

And so is my head

My limitless hair

Hanging long

Covering my opulent breasts

I am large

And so is my body

With its incalculable strength

That takes me out of bed

Every morning

I am large

And yet sometimes

I am afraid

For I do not understand

Why they want me to be

Small

Where are you, my sweet wayward son?

I could have been a good mother

But instead

I covered every cock

That came closer enough to me

Turned them into plastic gods

So between us would be an invisible crystal

That kept me from creating little copies of me

For I am afraid enough to see them

Follow my steps

And tiptoe their way to failure

Like mother like daughter scribbled in their graves

But I could have been a good mother

For my love never ceases

But so does my misery