I had a body
before it rained at night.
It was a house of meat
with windows lit,
a small temple
where the soul rested its forehead
on the skin.
Then someone came in
in my most sacred darkness
and broke the bread of my light.
He arrived with stones thrown
from absent hands,
with sentences born in the dark,
with the hatred of those who hurt from afar
and leave it to others
the weight of blood.
The bruises went away
with the pity of color.
The bites left the skin
with a tired gait
of the beasts now satiated.
Since then
I learned that the bodyit can become a foreign room,
a bed full of nails,
a rose closed by frost
in the wrong month.
I learned
that a word can cause a hematoma,
that a sentence can leave a scar,
that a derision can chew
longer.
But inside it remained
a nave of shadow,
hidden in a wounded church.
The skin knows anguish
before the mouth,
before thought,
before forgiveness.
He knows the smell of fear,
that cold iron
that enters the mind
and stay seated
like a sick king.
He knows the poison of the voice,
the blow of the sentence,
the blade of someone else's laughter,
the anonymous bite
that throws mud
and calls truth
one's hunger.
I brought the silence
on the shoulders
like a black cloak.
People saw my face
and he said: you are safe.But salvation
sometimes
it's just a closed door
behind which it still burns
the room.
Then came the perfume.
It came without noise,
how certain graces come
after the ruin.
He entered the wound
with air hands,
with a blood of light,
with a dark patience.
He told me:
your skin is yours.
He told me:
your soul still has
a name.
And then I got up
with the iron on,
the smoke,
the leather,
the ash,
the burnt rose,
the bitter resin
which only consoles
who walked through the fire.
I got up
with black ink
of the words received
became a seal
on the skin.
I got up
with the collected stones
one by one
and fused into a crown.
Wound.
So I called
my wound
when it stopped being a shame
and became power.
So I called
my name
when he came out of the mud
with a sharper light.
So I called
my body
when he returned to occupy the air
with his strength.
So I called
the beauty
born from my abyss:
a liquid armor,
a fierce light,
a perfume
that rises from the ashes
and says to the world:
I am mine. I am still mine.
I lost blood,
but I found gold.I met the shadow,
but now I'm in government
my night.