Monday, 19 November 2012

It's being quite difficult to define myself, to find the silence between so much caffeine, so much noise, and so many people. So many love texts on my phone which mean loneliness or waste or games or what.

I stopped believing in the salvation which would come from out there. I was raised in this thought, in this belief. They said, "Pray." They said, "Be good and you will be rewarded." They said, "All will be given to you; you are blessed."

But it was a lie because my mom's God was a little and arrogant gold one that only blessed virgins. And I ceased being a virgin very young. Even so, I prayed every night. Even so, I knelt in the church, and I promised him that I would not do it anymore.

What.

Lie.

What.

Cum thinking of men using me.

What.

Fuck.

And later, in the night, when my lover (of course much older than me) caressed me, I felt ashamed. I didn't want to remove my clothes because my mom said that God watched. Because my mom said that my grandma who was in heaven (to God's right because she was pure) watched also.

And who wants her grandma watching her saying: "Fuck me," or "I love you, I will always love you" (when "always" means "until I cum and you cum and I recover my common sense").

My mom taught me the weight of the flesh. The sin. The dirty. Because God was golden, and I could see myself reflected in his majesty like a deformed girl with a deformed soul.

However, my daddy said to me that God was not good for me, because gold sinks in the sea. He said gold was not good; it was better to be made of wood. Like himself.

And I believed him. And I wanted him as my raft, but he drifted away, driving by internal waves, pushed by winds. And I realized that he was happy in different lands, and I realized that he knew the world, and I realized that over the years he became weak and the sea splintered his strength. I tried to fix him with my hands, but they were too small. And my dad crumbled between my fingers.

I closed my eyes and forgot his remains on the shore. I closed my eyes and got rid of my mom's shame. Undressing. Saying to this one and to that one, "Touch me, I don't mind." Look at me, God; they are touching me, but I no longer belong to you; I'm not your daughter anymore, because I no longer pray. Because I don't expect anything from you, neither from the gold nor from the wood.

1 comment:

  1. E X T R A O R D I N A R I O.

    Si tuviese un nombre esta peculiar…este raro…esto…

    Oh, Eme…

    Receptora de este hilo de plata que vibra, vibra, vibra…

    ReplyDelete