and there will be those who remember me with grudge. It's not contradictory, it's coherent.
Every one woke up in me
the exact reflection of what you sowed.
I wasn't the same for everyone,
because not everyone came the same way.
I am neither a temple of patience nor an inexhaustible source of sweetness.
I am a woman. Complete.
Full of moons, storms, harvests and droughts.
With those who came with love, I went coat.
To those who came with lies, I became a mirror.
With those who came with tenderness, I went hot bread.
With those who came to use me, I was filo.
And I don't regret it.
At this age I don't take the blame of others,
I don't apologize for standing up for myself.
I don't care if everyone talks good about me,
For I did not come into this world to please,
I came to live in honesty,
that's uncomfortable though.
The memory of others doesn't belong to me.
If anyone remembers me fondly,
it's because he knew how to touch my soul with respect.
And if anyone remembers me with resentment,
Let him check what he delivered,
because what he received was the echo of his own gesture.
This is how I am:
Neither a saint, nor a martyr,
not a fairy tale heroine.
I am a real woman.
And what I said, I said from my truth.
And what I denied, too.
And if one day my steps are erased,
that the lesson is not deleted:
a free woman is not for every public.
Only for those who know how to deal with the soul
and not with ego.
Milka MagTorre
the exact reflection of what you sowed.
I wasn't the same for everyone,
because not everyone came the same way.
I am neither a temple of patience nor an inexhaustible source of sweetness.
I am a woman. Complete.
Full of moons, storms, harvests and droughts.
With those who came with love, I went coat.
To those who came with lies, I became a mirror.
With those who came with tenderness, I went hot bread.
With those who came to use me, I was filo.
And I don't regret it.
At this age I don't take the blame of others,
I don't apologize for standing up for myself.
I don't care if everyone talks good about me,
For I did not come into this world to please,
I came to live in honesty,
that's uncomfortable though.
The memory of others doesn't belong to me.
If anyone remembers me fondly,
it's because he knew how to touch my soul with respect.
And if anyone remembers me with resentment,
Let him check what he delivered,
because what he received was the echo of his own gesture.
This is how I am:
Neither a saint, nor a martyr,
not a fairy tale heroine.
I am a real woman.
And what I said, I said from my truth.
And what I denied, too.
And if one day my steps are erased,
that the lesson is not deleted:
a free woman is not for every public.
Only for those who know how to deal with the soul
and not with ego.
Milka MagTorre
