I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind.
YO HE SIDO ASI TAMBIEN. Siento este poema en lo más profundo de mi estómago, y es que ¿qué significa ser una mujer? ¿qué me hace mujer? ¿y quién tiene el poder de decir que lo soy? Simplemente cuando alguien no se ajusta a las normas es betado, marginado, censurado. En este caso deja de ser mujer para ser algo más, sujeto descoporeizado que encuentra la libertad sólo dejando de ser una mujer.
I'VE BEEN HER KIND TOO. I feel this poem deep in my stomach, what is to be a woman?, what makes you a woman? and whom has the power to tell that I am a woman? Simply when somebody doesn't fit into the stablishment is condemned, excluded, marginalized. In this case the woman became something else, a non corporeal subject who finds freedom only by stop being a woman.