disarm and bleed

Disarms and bleeds Scars, marks and traces, everything is part of me and everything defines me, and everything says who I am and everything makes me see that I am part of myself and part of nothing.

People hide or barely exist. How should I see myself? Too thin, sometimes sick and other times like the least graceful in the room. Sometimes asking heaven to allow me to love myself more, to let me see that I’m beautiful and it’s so hard to believe that I can be, that I am.
Your body a needle, my mind a tapestry. Words leave their mark, actions too, and my story is not different from many: insecurities are everyone’s daily struggle; stretch marks, cellulite, prominent bones and small breasts… Everything defines me, everything is part of me and sometimes and almost always I wish it weren’t, but sometimes and almost always I tell myself that I’m fine like this and it couldn’t be any different.

There is no school that teaches how to live. The path of loving myself leads me to see how each bad gesture has made me lose love and that is that nothing forces me to be as they expect me to be. The music screams deep in my ear Take off your mask and bleed: be!
Mom music has helped me to walk, to breathe my magic, my alchemy to redefine the sense of beauty while I think that my delicacy can also be a bomb, that my femininity is not weakness and that my bones can be loved in the best way if seen through the right eyes. I look around, wounds that come, suspicions that go and here I am. Thinking of the soul that thinks and because it thinks it is not a soul, disarms and bleeds…