Princesa

Not you, princess, not you. You are different. You are not like the other girls in the neighborhood. That's how men look at you. That's how the neighborhood murmurs enviously. Not you, princess, not you. You are the rose that was born among thorns as revenge to a ruthless suburb where the day is busy destroying all hope. You will not see consumed, how life passed by, mistreated and unloved, without a single promise fulfilled, he says while brushing his princess's hair. Not you, princess, not you. You were not born to endure the hardships that I endured, hemming a miserable salary that doesn't make ends meet. Not you, princess, not you. I swear to God: you will not walk on your knees scrubbing floors, you will not end up a mess like your mother, tired of cleaning shit and giving birth to children. You will leave this squalor of starving people. I can already imagine the faces of the neighbors when you show up in a limousine to pick up this old lady, he says while brushing his princess's hair. Not you, princess, not you: Come back early... And he follows her a step behind to the street, smoothing out a wrinkle in her waist with the palm of his hand. And, like someone watching the Virgin Mary ascend to heaven, he watches her walk away to her first casting for a TV commercial. The girl is worth it, the girl studies modern dance and declamation.