what really happened is that i burned bridges. I leave so many boats at the other side of the island. I stop what i have begun before.
i sold phones. Keep the money for my needed silence.
i put all the books inside a box and i sealed all of them.
There is no more air.
I refuse appearances. They are too deceiving. Myself deceived included.
The news that they receive is that i got sick, but they refuse to
believe it.
I keep my old room. Dust my personal computer. Check the old wires.
And i start thinking my own personal thoughts. I am reinventing
a self, reconstructing what i do not believe.
I blast my own port. Leave the house built by Papa.
And here i am. I write only for myself.
I ask more questions now, and I am different, I expect no answers.
Because the world does not have them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem