No debería publicarlo.

Lector: Le pido encarecidamente que se salte esta entrada y lea la siguiente, la que se llama "Puta", que quizá tiene algún valor literario y está en español. Gracias.

You told me to hit them

if they dared to cry.

You told me you hated

the way I write.

I hate the way I see you,

in the afternoon. In a dusty road.

I hate the fact that you never learnt

to say hello. Not even to say my name.

And I can't hit myself,

or learn to write better than this.

In a dusty road

we found a leaf

That dries and gets lost,

betrayed by a nail.

He is still alive,

older, drying,

I swear you keep singing his songs.

Why would you forsake him?

I try to make sense,

to take the perfect smile away.

You told me to burn you,

to bring you some beer.

You told me you hated

your name more than anything

I hate the tangos we never danced,

at night. We never knew how.

I hate your muse, the one you loved,

the one you killed. the one you took with you

among unicorn corpses.

And I, I can't even ride a horse.

Better if listening to: Ojalá - Silvio Rodríguez.