I trench myself behind these words:
they have a violent echo.
The one you defend
doesn’t love you,
he’s not capable of it.
Your aim is wrong:
he vilifies you,
he gossips behind you,
he talks shit about you.
He is revolted by you,
averse of you,
you make him sick.
He would kill you
if he could,
he’s your rival.
He doesn’t need you.
The man haters
want you to denigrate
the fruit of your womb,
they want you to curse it,
they want you to drink the poison
and kill your unborn son,
they want to cut his penis off,
so that he won’t grow up to want.
Only then will they
be satisfied.
They will continue to be born,
the men
will continue to come,
will continue to love.
They can’t kill them all,
they can’t anihilate desire.
I desire that what I envy,
that what I want.
But they hate to want
and want to hate:
they are the violent echo.
A Brief Life 