The Furniture Poem by Ma Eugenia Carrasco

Saton my coach, I imagine what would happen if I took a knife and cut in two parts my heart.
Probably the pain I feel
Won’t be seen in it; however,
It will still beat in the deep of my feelings.

I cannot decipher my pain; I think nobody does when it is so much.
Who once felt like furniture can understand what I am saying,
A used furniture, just used for rest.

I am the instrument of a man who fears to grow old alone.
He does not care if I feel, live, if his indifference hurts me.

Now I want to spread my wings and fly where the wind takes me,
Among the life risks,
I want to feel alive and do what I want,
Without feign before the others,
Be happy with material stuffs life gives me,
Love palliative,
That doesn’t give my life a meaning.

I hear: “Nothing’s perfect in life”, we all present deficiencies,
Those that make the other miserable,
But without love nor passion,
How hard to stand up! And walk by myself through life.

A reject, an affair, so much frustration, that’s the sum of a price I do not want to pay,
This furniture does not feel, does not live, does not love.