I am an Ego
whose heart is revolting,
who with the poetry is flirting,
who knew in this life the pain,
but never lost the power of her brain.

I am an Ego
like anyone else who has complexes,
who dreams at perfect morning’s reflexes,
who breaths deeply and tries to sing dearly,
but knows both sides of her life’s story, clearly.

I am an Ego
who likes the good evenings in two,
who no longer wants rain, that’s true,
who left on life’s trip with a single backpack,
but has not allowed her soul to become insomniac.

I am an Ego
waiting on the platform for destiny’s train,
who no longer wants illusions in vain,
who does not live listening to the rumours,
but wants, by poetry, to get rid of life’s tumours.

I am an Ego
who thinks that still has a chance to complete,
who, after falling, is getting back on her feet,
who is the observer of the world’s fuss and art,
but still hopes for the calm of her restless heart.

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