Como Desaparecer Sem Deixar Vestígios

First, be born.

Into the world through a portal of broken ambition.

To a mother who never fully lived a free life—

Because the abuse began with her.

But not really.

There were centuries before her.

Of free-use women.

Subjugated women.

Next: be used.

Be abused.

By men in your family.

The ones who lock you in strange, dark places.

The ones who make you sleep

on hardwood floors

with only a layer of newspaper

and the echo of their rage.

Then: lose your virginity.

Without your consent.

For 28 bright red, hexagonal minutes

every month, bleed.

Let it pour out proof

that you are a woman.

Then endure.

The ridicule. The subtraction.

The heartbreak, the isolation,

the loneliness.

Then fall in love—

or so you think.

Time and time again.

Pick the one who vanishes

at the first sign of your tenderness.

He will not even flinch.

He’ll pass you on the street

and meet your eyes with

a blank stare.

Complete unknowing.

Not even detachment—

for that would require

he ever let you in.

The many moments?

Evaporated.

Disintegrated.

Gone.

That’s his method.

Easy come, easy ghost.

Repeat until you forget your own outline.

Until the girl you were

learns to fold in

like a letter never sent.

Like air.

Like nothing.