Chameleon women

I am a chameleon woman. It would make a great story if I could say that I perfectly remember how it all happened, but I don't.

Ever since I can remember, I was never able to communicate in a traditional way, it was as if I had many voices and the message always took hold of me.

Many times it came out in the form of tears, music, drawings or poems.

Everything I touched turned into me, me into that, and in the end it always ended up in lyrics.

Inevitably, I fell in love with the idea of ​​communicating, and it turns out that messages like to be revealed. Little by little I discovered that by allowing things to enter into "symbiosis" with me, we could materialize a message in such a beautiful way that it touches many.

Once I had the opportunity to touch a flower, I noticed how for a second I transformed into it and something like this came out of that encounter:

“Sometimes I take for being a flower.

Of those that grow in the cracks of the asphalt

would have orange leaves

And on a gray day

When you walk with a downcast gaze

would make you smile

not from small

But from simplicity”

The flower thanked me and a few meters further on I helped an old woman to build a garden. We talked about the concept of naming seeds after emotions, so that everyone who passes by now can sow happiness.

Then dark days come.

And when it rains outside, I turn into rain.

From a day like this, I can write texts like:

“It's going to rain inside, and I know it because the asphalt on my sidewalk is starting to get wet.

Right at the same moment my blood starts to get wet and my fingers get cold.

Inside it was spring a few seconds ago and I'm worried about drowning my flowers.

I have to write, taking care that the leaks from my eyes do not ruin the paper”

In fact, that day it rained. And the leaks from my eyes ruined the paper but not the message.

With all my flowers and accumulated storms, I began to understand how to elevate communication to the level of beauty and empathy. The practice of transforming everything into a message made me become a text, everything was security. But questions like to break down the door and invade…. How do I hold on to the art of writing? How to communicate that a talent is what I have to offer?