And I wish it wasn’t.

But it is.

Anger is what I feel when you ignore my words and make me born mute. Hate. I wish it was not disdain when I want to love and you dont let me.

When I knock down a few bricks of the wall you had built, and when your response is to make it stronger, deeper. I wish I could silence my rage.

I wish it wasn’t sorrow, when you don’t let me be.

But it is.


[Against the gender violence, in All its ways; here, there and everywhere.]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Te Libro De Todo Mal utiliza WordPress
Tema inspirado en Esquire por M.Buchanan