I’ve got tattoos painted by the needles of experience;

some slowly fade away to become part of the vast universe of my skin…

and sometimes, I look at my body and wonder

how many lives have you lived

to arrive to this?—

this strong woman still standing

after the hurricane. 


I thought I was a predator,
before I saw how small I am.
I am only a prey, afraid
of my own haunting shadows.

I thought I was a conqueror,
until I saw my many failures;
I am a casualty of defeat…
flag’s a tattered piece of sheet.

But the hunting has just begun,
and the battle has not been won;
I can still stand up again.
I am alive, I am not done.

* * *