Tilt my throat to the sky
As if I belong to the sun
Not to be chosen
Not to be touched
But to be taken
By something
That does not ask
My name
But here
Light arrives
Like a blade
I do not flinch
I let it see me
And my pulse that has carried
Too many unsaid things
I have been quiet
In rooms
That did not deserve me
I have folded myself
Into smaller weather
I do not lower my face
I do not hide
The tender architecture
Of being alive
Mari Sánchez Cayuso 
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