The other- poem

Where’s the other?

Under the bed? In the wardrobe? In the interstices of your heart?

She comes when I lose sight of you,

She furrows into your skin.

Where is she? Let me see her? I’ll gouge her eyes and ruin her beauty,

so not even dogs will want her as companion.


There’s no other, but you, your anger,

Your sorrow, your ugliness.

Gouge your own eyes, ruin your own beauty,

So not even dogs will lick your wounds.

Meanwhile I’ll keep company with none of you.



I'm a writer born in Argentina, but currently living in Poland. I work as an English and French teacher, translator and copywriter.

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