She was one of those wild girls
wearing cactus leaves in her hair
flames burning in her eyes.
She did not care about the hair under her armpits
nor that pedicure many months too old.
She did not correct her posture
while sitting down and revealing belly rolls
as a testimony to her passionate love story
with French croissants.
She was not scared to laugh too loud
when everyone else was choking in their own words.
She danced and moved her hips
like making love to the Universe
seeing others strangled by shame.
She was not afraid of the rage
bleeding out of her body
when just another love of her life
had been dancing on her grave.
She did not close down her heart
even when it was having its last breaths.
She was not afraid to call out bullsh*t
that was so visible from miles away
leaving the truth itself standing frozen in fear.
She was wearing cleavage
touching the edges of her belly button
and used bras as a toy
for her yellow-eyed cat.
She did not prostitute her heart
as a way of pleasing a man
or making others shine brighter
at the expense of her own light.
She was standing firmly
bare feet on the muddy ground
when everyone else was
unbalanced on their heels
trying to grasp the concepts of eternal beauty.
She lived fully
ready to be cracked
by a man too small
to grasp her greatness.