So many names I’ve been called:
witch, cow, slut, hottie,
whore, saint, queen, mater dolorosa.
Someone chose them for me.
Convenient, necessary
for all: family, society.
I agreed, always agreed,
jailer of my own will.
Ah! So many faces I’ve worn:
hare, snake, black widow, chameleon.
Perfect camouflage!
I mined the crevices,
slipped through the underground,
always alert, always lurking.
It was the dreadful way
I found to exist,
to keep my dream alive.
When they tried to strip pleasure
from between my legs, I disguised it.
False appearance.
With patience, I left the ember
hidden down below, ready to ignite.
I brought pleasure into my chest, into thought.
Perfect triangle: sex, heart, and mind.
When they locked me within walls
and made me queen of the home, I sought tenderness.
I did not let myself be crushed.
I balanced on a thin thread of hope
that stretched just beyond my backyard.
When I beat the cake with angelic air,
I smeared myself with crooked thoughts.
The convoy inside: thump, thump, thump.
Pure arrhythmia.
Thoughts that were mine alone, no one else knew.
When they burned me alive at the stake,
I screamed curses and damnations.
They lashed from my throat
and slipped through the cracks in the doors.
They whipped the villagers.
The words deep down:
“a new time… a new time…
without punishment or coercion…”
I became legend and myth.
I gained the sixth sense:
the five already known, and premonition.
The new time arrived.
After so many lashes, so many cries, I am here.
Saint? Whore? Queen?
It doesn’t matter—I broke it all, tore down altars and cathedrals.
I went in search of my pleasure, my dream, my being.
Today, I am here, I repeat.
Just the way I always wanted.
I am woman/character of my life: actress… ❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer