There is a reason why my story is not in books for me to sign,
why I have to carve out my own space through electric wires
and trasform actions into electrictrifies palabras,
why I spit on the ground and into teclado taps,
why I push my way in
and pull myself out.
There is reason
you don’t know who I am
and it is not because I am invisible
it is because you can’t be bothered
unless I am paired up with someone, something
that looks like your own privilege.
My life is not a template.
It cannot be copied and pasted,
followed like a guidebook
applied to children not yet in your wombs or delvered to your doorstep.
There is a reason you have nothing to add to the conversation
ask no questions
just watch and spy and shke your head and move on
como si nada.
There is a reason.
Why I exist
and it isn’t for your benefit.