I think the woman is something far too resentful...
The poet is proud like a peacock, she knows she's...

I can't erase the
raised by women alone stain...

You'll never know
about picking apples...

Its going to be a dry night,
At least for me...

Take off your back
all the weight that comes along...

I have wrapped you so dearly
around my heart...

Everyone knew the things
you were doing to hurt me...

Its been seven days,
since my mother left on vacation...

That Friday, I walked
into the train station as lonely...

Perhaps the mother
that deals with back...

Sometimes, when no one
is watching. I let people...

If one day my shoelaces betray me,
and I fall down within the crowd...