Ceci est un poème que j’ai écrit sur la féminité et ce que cela peut signifier d’être « une femme ».
This is a poem I wrote about femininity and what it means to be a woman.
No French translation available
There is a strange girl in my body,
It’s not me, I swear, twirling around my gentle neck.
Brisk and discreet,
She whispers to my ear,
Alas my dear, it’s too late to disappear.
I am alone and perplex with this strange alien in me,
Is she a guest or a hateful enemy?
There is a strange girl in my body,
I catch her staring at me,
She commands the savage angels to collect my tears,
Savours my pain and feasts on my fears,
Flaunting her flesh to the celestial sphere.
My little blue dress is blaming me,
Why on earth would you abandon me?
It is heartbreaking really, what if I am not ready?
There is a strange girl in my body, It’s not me I swear,
Tell her to stop torturing me. I surrender with her, I become her, I let go in all her perfections, in all her imperfections.
She gathers the depth, the strength, the darkness, the sweet violence, singing the songs of the reckless lovers who speak of ecstasy beyond the most obscene fantasies and candid animosity. Love be revive with exaltation behind that mask that I can no longer carry.
Her beating heart slowly intoxicates me, something new has entered in me, Shy perplexity, naive bestiality, still, pure debauchery…
There is a strange girl in my body,
Her sweetness gently tickles my throat, my chest, my breast, down my stomach as I find her roaring in my wombs as I come with a taste exploding in my mouth like a fine fruit filling my tongue, gorging my mouth with a suave pure sensation of my own self. And she burns, she burns and burns so vividly that I cannot touch her scorching flesh anymore, she is on fire even in the midst of ice, rubbing her spirit against my Lolita lips.
She leaves me with the sweetest flesh of the rotten flower, the putrid smile on the decaying beauty, the ingenue memory of who I was and who I could be.
Who do you want to be? She asks me , A wife, a spouse, a tender lady lover, a beautiful bride, a dark sweet sugar? No. Can I be a gypsy, can I be a dandy, a dashing hard candy?
Harmonic mean submerged in gasoline, please, please for my sweet sixteen, can I be libertine, can I be the Queen ?
Who would love a fool, a lovely pretty fool, a disguised demoiselle behind a gentle veil.
A whore perhaps?
There is a strange girl in my body.
Camille Pellicer Avril 2022
