Calabozo 1106

Mi boca, esa cárcel a la cual
van a perecer mis pensamientos,
mis dientes, barras que aprisionan conceptos, 
librando, únicamente, los admisibles 

mi lengua es el azote que
castiga la pureza de mi mente,
poniéndole filtros
y restricciones

condenando mis ideas
a impetuosos movimientos,
que las desprestigian,
que las degeneran

mi boca, una prisión, una celda
mis labios dos guardianes
que imponen y disponen
de mis pautas

mis incisivos chuecos son la secuela
de mariposas en mi estómago
que cavando estas ranuras,
de cuando en vez, escapan

pues no hay reclutas
ni soldados tiesos
que retengan el vuelo
a palabras insensatas


Ps: Este poema es acerca de lo mucho que me cuesta costaba decir lo que pienso, solía evitarlo para no ofender a otros, eso esperaban de mí, al ser una “señorita” debía morderme la lengua y eso hice (traté) pero al final, las ideas propias se me salían de entre los dientes. Palabras insensatas les dicen algunos 😉 




(Abajo video con subtítulos)

Studies predict that if women stopped buying cosmetic products and services, every economy in the world would collapse overnight. This is a call to collapse the economy.

Let’s cover our scented tampons in hairspray, light them on fire,
and throw them at Maybelline’s headquarters.
Let’s take all our leftover lotions and soaps
and make the world’s largest slip -n- slide down Capitol Hill.
Weight Watchers will have a whole new meaning,
like, just wait and watch as I burn this motherfucker down.

Imagine — what could we do with all these Spanx?  
Probably make some sort of catapult to launch
our skin-softening bath bombs into enemy territory.
Victoria’s Secret? Is that she’s GOING OUT OF BUSINESS.
I have picked at my body like a scab.
I have squeezed at my face in the mirror
until no more me could come out of me.
I changed my outfit eight times before I got here.

Oh you thought we were gonna stop at burning bras?
Well then you shouldn’t have given us so much flammable shit.
Tampons, pads, even you Diva Cups, will be a thing
of the past. Tonight, we paint the town red.

I’m not bleaching my asshole,
I’ll bleach you, asshole.

Are you gonna put those fake eyelashes on for me?
No? Then I don’t fucking want them.
Does that shampoo also come with the photoshop
you used on the model? No? Then I don’t fucking want it.
Fuck you, Summer’s Eve.
I’d rather my vagina NOT smell
like Island Splash or Delicate Blossom
because what the fuck does that even smell like?
That’s not even a real scent.
My vagina is already vajazzled enough.

Let’s throw out our razors
and grow our hair as long as rivers.
How beautiful it will be to take the money I spend
to be pretty for you, make my hair soft for you,
my nails like candy for you, give myself
skin cancer for you,
go under the knife for you
and stop giving the 76 cents back.

There were days i spent hours crying
in the dressing room. Days I didn’t leave
the house in case someone had a camera
for fear of becoming another before picture.

So thank you, Cosmo for giving me
472 more sex tips to completely ignore.
Thank you for all of this lipstick
to write I AM FLAWLESS on the wall.
Thank you for the cover up,
the vanishing cream.
Thank you for making us invisible
that way, you’ll never see us coming.

Slampoetry de: Olivia Gatwood & Megan Falley

*Artículo & traducción: Ladies of the Road