DIE A LITTLE BIT

 

I've been walking for years to let go of the pain I gave birth to, and I feel that everything still hurts me, everything and nothing, the grief and the battles, completely. As if the monster created to hold me, tied my arms, blindfolded me, left me in shrapnel, that's how I feel. I look at my body, my flabby belly, my faint and dull eyes, yes, I don't own myself when I try this exercise. I wonder where I am, in a foreign body, I don't recognize myself, I'm half of myself, inside out, on the other side, and this one that appearances say is me, I don't know.

Dad, you always accompany me in the monologues, you are in me and so many times it is me, that I give up and feel myself being lifted up by your faithful, constant love and you call me a warrior and you want me whole, but father, where am I? This is not me! I'm a spark next to the fire you left here, less than that, I'm the piece of earth and trunk that any stray dog voluntarily dumps its waters, where is your daughter? You promised me so much strength, what is hers, father? So many sunsets in nature, in detachment, why do I continue to peek at them inside the jail, the village, the prison of this land?

Father, that's the outline of the end. Deny it if you can. Deny it, tell me no, father, tell me that the last image of me will be free, flying, father, where are my brothers, father? Father, make the journey light, I'm so tired, Dad, I'm really defeated.  I hear them whisper about me, about my life, what is hers? Where's my life, Dad, it's all about this window?

I inject into this cold body, the strange fire, that of passion for life and creation, for him, for that he who makes me still live, dream, only he can lift me up and take me to heaven, father, because I am inside this cramped cubicle, this ill-kempt body and I want so much to leave, father, to leave, and I dream of the unwinding of the clouds,  With rainbows and butterflies, take me father, just this evening, father, make me see the hills and the mountains, father, the forest full of pine needles and sanchas, father, please, take me again, listen to the music, the angelic hail Marys, at the top of the head.

Father, set me free, even if only for a day, an hour, a few minutes. The veil tears. The nightmare ends, the body is freed and I, in your wing, temporarily return home. And when the sky dawns, I'm just the memory of an inconvenient name. So be it.