I’m from Uruguay and I don’t speak English, so I wrote the poem in Spanish.
A friend helped me translate it into English.
I hope you like it.
Sorry if it reads a bit weird.
Fragments of Freedom
When we are born,they raise a mold
and point to the hollow
where we are meant to fit.
A narrow hollow,
foreign,
a borrowed identity
designed to turn us into puppets.
They teach us early
to repeat the shape,
to copy the posture,
to imitate the gaze
of those who never doubted.
But in that training
we lose fragments of ourselves,
pieces that fall away
as if they were flaws.
Some survive the demand,
becoming
zombies incapable of their own judgment,
repeating the same words
until their days are done.
Others crumble in the attempt.
History is full of names
that never became names,
lives extinguished
for failing to become the expected copy,
for exhausting themselves trying to become the shadow that others,
without any right,
tried to steal by indoctrinating them.
When we refuse the mold,
they call us defects,
turn us into outcasts,
monsters for not repeating the figure we inherited.
And in that sentence,
the darkest question emerges:
How different can I think before I become a threat?
Because even behind the cleverest lie,
a borrowed identity saves no one.
It only empties us,
until we start to doubt
if anything remains inside
untouched by the mold.
But there is always a crack.
A tiny one,
almost invisible,
through which what we truly are
leaks out when we stop obeying.
And that crack
is the only thing that can give us back
the possibility of existing
with freedom.
Poetry by Brenda
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Written on 2025-12-08 at 19:00
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ken d williams |
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Griffonner |
