Miami

Bello. No hace frío parece como se estuviera viviendo en Rep. Dom. en una isla del Caribe. Sus palmeras me recocijan. Cuando salgo y siento el tibio calor, no ese infierno sofocante y húmedo de los veranos aquí ni el frío chocante de SF or congelador de NYC. Estoy en un sitio donde la soledad no es tan espeluznante, ni triste, ni suicida. Porque estar sola en SF es deprimente y en NYC es para pegarse un tiro. Y eso que no estoy sola físicamente porque vivo con alguien que casi nunca esta. Yo era la que casi nunca estaba en SF. Siempre estaba en la calle o metida en casa de una mujer. Es triste el mirar atrás pero necesario. Y en mi vida siempre he mirado mucho atrás pero ahora no. Ahora estoy mirando el aquí. El ahora. Tengo que trabajar para mejorar mi situación. Y no habló solo de la economía, hablo también de miii. Mi persona. Mi caracter y mi actitud. Ta cabrón. No es una resolución de año nuevo. Es una decision que viene germinando dentro de mi desde hace mucho meses atrás. He aprendido la lección. Ahora a poner en practica ese aprendizaje. Ya viene la navidad. A mi me encanta esta fecha del año. Estas no estan muy buenas. Pero la estoy celebrando. No voy a pasarla amargada. A lo hecho pecho. Al mal tiempo buena cara. Y vivir para aprender. Feliz navidad si alguna persona me lee.

De Regreso a Miami

Si estas entradas no la ve nadie. :-( bueno regreso a Miami. Aqui no hay trabajo en San Franciso. Además la renta es muy cara. No quiero volver a estudiar para ser maestra tampoco y si me quedo aquí tengo que estudiar. Lo único que yo quiero estudiar es para escribir. Aunque nadie me lee. Ni en Inglés ni en Español.
I guess I am going to have to write about fucking and killing that's what peole seem to be interested.
The other day I got into a back and forth argument with a Conservative Republican. I don't get along with conservatives. Not that I am such a liberal. I guess in a way I am. DOne so many crazy shit in my life. But their mentality is so narrow that I can't standed. And she said that I was not American. Ha ha ha I wish she could read my poem True American to know what I think of that. Of course I let the bitch have it. Oh man she almost had a hard attack. And I did not call her name neither did I insult her, but she went off the roof when I gaver her some historical fact. he he

This is what the bitch wrote:
"All I know is I'm an American - I don't have to hyphenate my heritage - not sure what you call yourself - but it couldn't be "American""

This was my response:
Excuse me? What gives you the right to say that? Because I don't agree with your disparities? You talk about Native Americans as your friends just right before you wrote such a racist coment as "give the land back to the Indians." Of cours...e, I am American. Not only because I was born in this country, which I was, but because my heritage is from this continent; for America is a CONTINENT and not a COUNTRY, hence the name United States OF America. The United States is part of America, but it is NOT AMERICA, a continent name after Americo Vespucio, a cartographer. Canadians are Americans. Mexicans are Americans. Salvadorians are Americans and any other person who was born in this continent is an American.
I am US citizen by birth and not only do I claim my citizenship but I served and defended my country, four years in US Army, 95 Bravo Military Police. Earned an Army Achievement Medal to prove it. So watch what your saying."

After that I dropped it. She went on to say that I took things out of context and that she prayed "to God to curb the despicable vial coming out of my mouth."
Ha ha ha Despicable vial to state HISTORICAL FACTS!!!

Bisexual

Si la muerte viniese por mi hoy
de frente le diría aquí estoy
Pues mi vida la he vivido a mi antojo
con risas, alegrías, llanto y al despojo

libre de todo lo que la sociedad me imponía
sin tomar en cuenta lo que yo quería
libre de ser una más de la manada
como las vacas por el camino ser arriada

Por eso pagué el precio de no ser aceptada
y al margen de la sociedad vivir desechada
Pero libre de donde yo quería caminar
y aquien yo quería poder amar

Pretendiendo ser lo que no soy
viviendo como muchas todavía viven hoy
sin las comodidades de la mujer casada
que al que dirán todavía viven atada

Son muchas las que en el closet estan
sufriendo noche a noche manos no deseadas
sintiendo asalto de vómitos, asqueadas
padeciendo poco a poco por el que diran

Por eso no quiero que en mi velorio
hayan llantos ni rosario
Quiero que se toque música bien fuerte
y que fumen y beban aguardiente

y que a mí salud brinden para siempre
teniendo siempre bien presente
que fui una mujer fuerte
desde mi nacimiento hasta la muerte

Que para mi eterna siesta
hagan de colores y música una fiesta
Por haber vivido mi vida muy segura
de ser lo que soy y sin atadura

Una mujer que para el amor
no se detuvo ante el sexo ni el color
Una mujer que su bisexualidad
No la pudo detener la sociedad

Waiting for Super Man

It seems to me the Waiting for Super Man focused on the "bad teachers" and the evil union that protects them. Why don' we look at the other side of the coin? Teaching is not only a poorly paid career, but also one that can easily be lost. If teachers did not have ternure to proctec them many teachers and excellent teachers may lose their job in the blink of an eyes. With condescending parents who think that their child can not do any wrong going as far as calling the Superintendent to complain about a teacher "who is treating their child unfair" teachers could lose their jobs. Also, children lie. How many teachers have been falsely accused of doing or saying something they have not just because the student does not like her or him? How about parents who complain because the teacher is giving too much assignment or too much homework? That could get you in trouble now days not only to mention when a teacher wants to do her job and retain a student because s/he is not up to standard and will benefit to repeat the year until s/he is up to standard? What about the new fad that giviing "grades" is detrimental to students? Or that having kids sit quietly in a classroom with no talking aloud could be detriimental to the student? I had a assistan principle tell me that one time, in a classroom that when I began working was out of control because the previous teacher would allow them to talk, "hang out" and watch movies every day. How about that? If we did not have a contract, tenure and unions backing us up we would easily lose our jobs. What about the student who just does not want to learn? He she comes from a bad environment and the kid does not have the time to do work, does not have the initiative to improve his life because his living conditions at home are unbearable? Well, life is not fair. Most of us come from broken home where there was violence, alcoholism and unbearable living conditions but we still have to do our work if we wanted to get ahead. I come from that environment.

Los ignorantes

Esta bien que los Gringos no sepan distinguir entre una Dominicana y una Puerto Riqueña. Es casi aceptado que ellos no entiendan la diferencia de cultura, que no es mucha en si pero si son dos países diferentes bajo dos gobiernos diferentes. Pero cuando un Latino, cuando una persona de habla hispana, no sabe la diferencia ahí si que da miedo. Un Salvadoreño diciendome a mí que el tipo era de mí país. "Mira Kathy ahí esta ese chavo de tu país" y cuando me le acercó para preguntarle de que parte de República Dominicana era me sale con que era de Puerto Rico.
Es que eso es el colmo le dijé al Salvadoreño desde la tribuna. Es como que que yo te dijiera a ti que eres de Guatemala. Y eso que el Salvador y Guatemala no estan tan físicamente separado como República Dominicana y Puerto Rico. Si a nosotros nos separa el canal de la Mona, pero no la mona que esta entre tus piernas sino un cuerpo de agua salada que separa la dos islas. Mientras que el Salvador y Guatemala solo montañas los separa. A pies se puede llegar de Guatemala al Salvador. Mas sin embargo yo sé que son dos países diferentes. Bajo un gobierno diferentes aunque con culturas similares.
Es la ignorancia lo que lleva a nuestra gente a la dependencia completa. Y no es que me sienta ofendida. Sé que Puerto Rico y República Dominicana comparten mucho históricamente, culturalmente y aun que República DOminicana no le pertenece a Estados Unidos como Puerto Rico le pertenece finacialmente, pero son dos países diferentes. Yo no le diría a un Hondureño que el es de Nicaragua si sé que no lo es. El sabe que yo soy Dominicana así que como se le ocurre decirme que el vato era de mi país.

Berlin Wall

I did not want to be there! I wanted to be on my date. I could feel his arms around me and his soft blue eyes looking into my brown eyes. But I was stuck! Sgt. Duval had allowed Pvt. Herring to go home, as we called the barracks, and now I had to stay there. I wished I would have been the one to leave early, but I couldn’t because Herring got ahead of me. And now it was too late. The crowd was getting bigger by the minute. They were expecting the first person to cross the border and I had to be there.
Maybe I was destined to be there. All the circumstances prior to and during that day pointed that on November 9, 1989 I was going to be standing at Checkpoint Charlie. I did not want to be there. I did not even wanted to be in Berlin. And when I signed up for the Army I definitely did not have Berlin in mind.
Berlin was a place where most soldiers who were serving overseas wanted to be stationed. You had to do time in the service before you could request to be stationed in Berlin. And after you requested such coveted destination, you were put on a waiting list.
I was never on such waiting list. I had not even requested Berlin nor had I done enough time in the service to be able to put in a request, much less to be on a waiting list. I was a Private First Class (E-3), who had just recently finished her AIT (Advanced Individual Training) and was serving her first assignment ever in Berlin. Even if I was at the time a typical New Yorker, who was not easily impressed, I had to recognize that Berlin was a beautiful cosmopolitan city with the uniqueness of being surrounded by a wall.
Every soldier has to go through two phases of training during his first year in the army: basic training and AIT. In the first one, civilians became soldiers and in the latter one, soldiers trained in their Military Occupational Service (MOS). This is the specific job that they will perform during their military service. Most soldiers have both training at separate locations. We, military police, were stuck at the same location for four months, boring and dull Ft. McClellan, Alabama.
During AIT, we had weekend’s passes which we could go outside of Ft. McClellan. The Army, a pioneer in the campaign against drugs, at least during peace time, prohibited new recruits to smoke. We were not allowed to drink, either. “Just say no to drugs” fell on deaf ear for most civilians as well as military personnel. We rented a motel room and partied every weekend. I was laying on the bed, enjoying a forbidden cigarette when my motel roommate walked in with three strangers. If someone were to ask me what they look like I could not remember for their faces became shadows in my memory. They were marines stationed in Alabama on a special project. And one of them, unbeknownst to him or me, was going to make me a part of history.
After we found out that they were marines we exchanged the usual marines vs. soldiers’ jokes. They had been in the military for a while. One of them asked me if I knew where I was going to be stationed. I told him that all I knew was that I was going to be stationed in Germany. I had specifically requested on my contract that my first duty was going to be overseas. As long as I was stationed in Europe I did not care in what country, but due to the occupational status that the United Stated still had over Germany there was a greater chance that I was going to be stationed in Deutschland.
“Not necessarily” – replied the marine – “overseas just means that you could be stationed anywhere in the world.” My heart sunk. I actually wanted to be stationed in Spain or Italy, but the army did not have bases in these countries. It had attachment to navy and air force bases only. Thus, there was not a great need for soldiers in these countries. The chances of me being station in Spain or Italy were slim to none. Korea and Germany were the countries were most soldiers were sent. I had already settled for Germany.
Though, I knew it, I hated to be reminded that the army had control over me. I regretted the fact that I did not have enough courage to pick up my bags and move to Spain on my own. My actions did not follow the image of the adventurous person that I thought I was. I had imagined leaving home in pursuit of an adventure, with a backpack crossing Europe.
Nevertheless, I did it the “safe way.” I joined the army, and by joining the Army, I had guaranteed a job, a roof over my head, clothing and regular meals. I was going to be surrounded by Americans and not feel alone in a different country. Besides, by joining the army I had also guaranteed money to return to college and finished my higher education. Also it would look good on my resume. I went after security instead of adventure. I did not think that actually I was going to have both.
He continued – “But chances are that you will be stationed in Germany like you said. The army has bases through the entire West Side of Germany and that’s where they are sending most soldiers.” -I also knew that. And, though, Germany was not my first choice it was much better than Korea. At least, I would be in Europe, the old continent full of history, castles, and cobbled stone roads. Still, I was going to be closed to Miguel Cervantes’ land.
-“You should go to Berlin”- he suggested excitedly as if I had a choice in the matter. –“You would love it.”- He said-“It’s a lot like New York and you will not have to go to the field (forest areas where soldiers train) as often as you will if you are station at some other place in Germany.”- I looked at my friend and rolled my eyes. I thought that the marine guy had a few too many drinks.
I did not like the field because there was no place to shower, or take care of personal needs. I did not like the soldiering part of being a soldier. I was city girl and sleeping on the dirt, under a wide-opened sky was not my cup of tea. But I had no choice in the matter. The army did not allow me to choose where I was going to be stationed.
And just as if he had read my mind, he added –“I can get you a slot in Berlin. Give me your full name and your social security number and I’ll see what I can do.” I hesitated. My mother told me never to give away my social security unless; I was applying for a job. People stole social security numbers and used them to get jobs or apply for credit cards. They could ruin a person’s credit history. It was something serious. I had to think about it. After a few seconds and couple of slugs from my beer I gave him my full name and social security number. And forgot about it.
I never saw the marine again. I completed my Advanced Individual Training as a military police. After graduation I drove with a friend from Alabama to New York. A week later, I flew to Dominican Republic for a short vacation. And on October 17, 1989 (the day of the Loma Prieta Earthquake in the Bay Area of California) I arrived in Frankfurt, Germany. In less than five minutes after I arrived they pulled me out of formation to give me my new assignment: Berlin. Then I remembered the faceless marine and his promise. The faceless stranger kept his promise.
I arrived in Berlin at a time when people had to wait years to be assigned there. Everybody, from the Sergeant in Frankfurt who called my name to give me my new assignment to the Sergeant who received me in Berlin, were in shock that I, a new soldier, was given such coveted assignment. Honestly, I did not think much about it. I just put in the back of my memories were good luck happens. Somewhere in my mind I thanked that faceless marine for being able to pull some strings. That was only the beginning of a series of circumstances that would place me in the mist of history.
I liked Berlin, but I was not impressed. I had that cocky New York attitude that nothing impressed me because I had seen it all. I learned my way around Berlin and even met a hot German guy. We had been dating for a couple of days and were going to go out on that Saturday night of November 11, 1989.
That day I woke up in a good mood. I really liked this guy and was looking forward to go on my date. It never crossed my mind it was going to be a memorable day without the date. An hour before my shift started I was told to report to the office of the departing 1st Sergeant of the 287 M.P Co. I had only seen him once before, on the day I reported to work. It had been over a month.
He was about to leave Berlin and wanted to sell his car. He was only asking for six hundred dollars. That was a month worth of salary, but I had saved some money for the occasion and I had the six hundred. The active 1st Sergeant at the moment gave me permission to go and conduct the transaction with the departing 1st Sergeant. That Saturday was turning to be a good day. I bought my first car ever on that day. It was a four speed, silver in-color Mustang 1979.
I was now the proud owner of an old used car. But as I said before, it was my very first car. I was not a rich kid whose parents would buy her a car upon graduation. Though, lord knows I deserved it with the grade point average I graduated, not only from High School, but from college. I had to wait till I was 21 to purchase my first car. After shaking hands, exchanging money for keys I arrived to Checkpoint Charlie.
Checkpoint Charlie was a shack divided in three parts that were turned into offices: American, British and French office. There were no restrooms. Since that was my first and last time at Checkpoint Charlie I do not recall where we went when in need. Pvt. Herrin was inside talking with the Sergeant in charge of Checkpoint Charlie. As soon as he saw me he began to complain about my tardiness. He had to rain on my parade. He was upset that I was late. Nevertheless, I was not going to let him bust my bubble. I had not only bought my first car, but I had a date with Mr. Blue eyes to even worry about Herring and his animosity. I left him fuming about the fact that I was an hour and half late and walked outside into the cold afternoon.
It was a usual Berlin night. I had only been there a month, but l felt I had been there for years. Checkpoint Charlie was in the middle of the road of Friedrich Strasse (German for Street). There were people walking on the two paralleled sidewalks next to the concrete island where Checkpoint Charlie stood. The two paralleled sidewalks ran into the wall, leaving Checkpoint Charlie standing in front of an opened mouth, a space left in between the two walls. Checkpoint Charlie faced the East Side of Berlin. I let my thoughts wonder with the bustling city and daydream of what the night had in store for me.
The afternoon went on without further events and around 1800 hours the Duty Sergeant arrived. He asked which one of us wanted to be relieved. Before I could say anything, Pvt. Herring got up and said, as he pointed his finger first at him and then at me, “I am the one because she came late.”- I thought about telling him that technically speaking, I should leave early because I out ranked him. He was a private and I, thanks to two years of college, was a private first class. And being late was not reason enough for me to stay because I had permission from our first Sergeant. But again, why bother?
He had been bitching all afternoon. He just did not want to be there. I let him go. I did not realize what a huge favor he was actually doing to me. Herring left and the evening came down uneventfully until approximately 2100 hours
I was about to walk inside Checkpoint Charlie when a German lady asked me a question. I could not figure out what she was saying, but the sergeant, who was standing in front of the door at the time, understood because he said “oh God.” I felt a lump on my throat. Something was not right. All I wanted was to get off duty. One more hour and I was free for the night.
–“What’s going on, Sergeant?”- I asked following him inside the office. The phone rang. He made a gesture with his hand to silence me. I stopped. All of the sudden the phones started ringing in unison. The American, the British and the French’s phone lines were ringing like if all hell broke loose. We, the Americans, were the only one there. The British and the French always closed shop early. They did not feel the need to have a guard on duty because the Americans stayed all night long. So if anyone came from the East side after a certain time the Americans would take care of the person no matter his nationality. By the way the phones were ringing I knew something big was going on.
After the Sergeant hung up the phone he looked at me and said -“The wall came down.”- At first I thought he meant that a part of the wall had tumbled down. I could not grasp the exact meaning of his words “the wall came down” and it would be years later that I would understand the magnitude of those four words. He kept fuzzing over something on the desk. I heard him mumbled -“Twenty eight years! Twenty eight years and it had to happen tonight!”- The phones kept ringing.
I was glued to the floor. –“Twenty eight years… what? Sergeant, what are you talking about?”- He looked at me, he looked passed me and repeated that the wall came down. Gorbachev was going to withdraw his troops from East Germany and its borders were now opened. Five minutes later, the place was a complete chaos. People were running from all over the place. At first the Sergeant ordered me to stop anyone from trying to cross to the East Berlin side.
Half an hour later, we were still alone. I was standing alone in the middle of the growing-by–the-minute crowd. The Sergeant was inside answering the phone. At the moment I was just controlling the growing crowd. So far no one had attempted to cross to East Berlin. People were just approaching and asking me what was going on, as if I had the answers. I was just as dumbfounded as they were. Therefore, I did not think much when a lady with a British accent, showed me her journalist badge and asked me questions such as what was the latest information, and had someone walked from the other side. I was about to give her the answer “no comments” when she side stepped me and ran to East Berlin. My first reaction was to chase her, when I heard the Sergeant yelled –“STOP.”-
I stopped on my tracks and return back to the island. –“You cannot cross to the East Side in uniform. We don’t know what is going on? They can shoot you. We have to wait for further orders. If anyone crosses just let them go”- I wanted to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of the moment. West Berlin was going crazy. Everybody wanted to see the first person to cross the border from the other side. We could not see anyone gathering on the other side. It was as if only the American sector had received the news that border was now open.
The other side was completely dead. The East Berlin Check Point Charlie was dead. No one. Not one single soldier. Not one single human being. I kept bitching about the fact that now I had to stay. It was now passed 2200 hours.
A Major was the first one to arrive. He saw me as I struggled to keep the gathering crowd under control. He stepped outside to help me until more soldiers arrived. Since I had been there all afternoon and evening I thought I was going to be relieved. They kept me. To my dismay, now I had to stand guard on the island, in front of Checkpoint Charlie. The arriving soldiers were handling the crowd.
I kept cursing that day. I knew my date was going to understand, by now it was world news: so he had to know that I was stuck. I howled and gazed at the horizon in front of me. The darkness from the East Side was a bleak contrast to the lights, noise and festivity on the West Side. People were celebrating the anticipation of the first East Berliner to cross Checkpoint Charlie. It was a moment everybody wanted to witness, except me.
Checkpoint Charlie was full of stories of people attempting to cross to the West Side. Some of the stories had sad ending, some had a happy ending, but all the stories demonstrated the persistency of humans to reach freedom. Across from Checkpoint Charlie, next to a parking lot, was a building with glass walls. Inside that building there was an exhibition of a small car. The car had a story of a woman who crossed to the other side, by hiding inside the passenger seat.
The owner of the car, who also helped her crossed, built the passenger seat to fit a small human being. The seat was removable and could be placed on top of the person who would be sitting in a very uncomfortable position inside the seat. The car was a symbol of the many stories of people searching for a life of freedom. Searching for a life where one can go when and where ever one wanted to go; unless, one was in the military. Unless, one was a Military Police working at Checkpoint Charlie.
-“Hey! Hey!” I looked to my left hand side and saw guy leaning over the rail. He was trying to get my attention. He seemed thrill to be there. I thought about ignoring him, but decided not to rain on his parade. Mine was already soaked and it was not his fault. –“What?”- I could not help it. I growled at him. –“Wao! What’s wrong with you?”- He asked me –“You should be happy to be here. Aren’t you happy? You are part of history.”- I looked at him askance. He must have been one of those “retro-spiritual guys” who found meaning in everything or a history freak. –“I don’t want to be a part of history. I wanted to go out on my date.”- He must have thought that my comment was hilarious because he busted out laughing showing me perfect set of white teeth. His sandy hair was standing up with the wind. He had a camera hanging from his neck. He look like Shawn Cassidy, but dressed like John Cougar Mellencamp.
-“Well, anyway, I am a photographer for (can’t remember the newspaper). Let me take a photo of you. I will bring you a copy. You might not appreciate it now, but you will later on.”- I thought about saying no, but also realized that capturing that moment for ever might not have been a bad idea. Also, he could have been all talked. He could just be a tourist wanting to take a picture to remember. Chances were he was not going to bring me any copy. Either way, I had nothing to lose.
He took the picture and was gone. I was finally released at approximately 2430 hours and at the time not one single person had yet crossed at Checkpoint Charlie. We did see one man sitting at the Checkpoint Charlie of East Berlin. People kept waving at him and telling him to come. You would think that after twenty eight years of repression they would be running in masses across the now opened border.
Someone drove me back to the barracks. As I was walking up the stairs to my room, Private Herring was coming down with his buddies. They were drinking and seem to be having a good time. He asked me what happened. I looked up at him and said –“Nothing. The wall came down”- Kept on walking to my room and cussing my luck. I was sulking because I had missed my date.
A week later I stopped at Checkpoint Charlie on a routine patrol. The Sergeant was still there. But he was not going to be there for long. Pretty soon they were going to close Checkpoint Charlie and turned it into a museum together with the hiding passenger-seat car. The Sergeant handed me a yellow envelope. –“Here. Someone left this for you.”-
I knew who it was from before I even opened it. I also knew what it was. Still I was pretty impressed when I saw my image in the army dressed uniform. The picture captured the street name: Friedrich Strasse. It also captured a young woman with a black baton longer than her, hanging from her waist. The young girl pleasantly smiled at the camera. Looking at that picture no one could tell that she had been moping all evening. My presence at Checkpoint Charlie the night of November 9th was forever captured in single unsolicited picture. Another stranger who kept his promise.
I placed the photo back in the envelope, got in the patrol car and drove away. Several months later I received one of the highest awards in the Army given to an enlisted during peace time, the Army Achievement Medal and along with it came my promotion to Specialist (E-4). The Major who saw me struggling with the crowd recommend me for the award. I guess Private Herring did not rain on my parade after all. He was just doing what the powers above wanted him to do; those same powers that released a series of “lucky chances” to place me at Check Point Charlie on November 9, 1989. Oh! And the date did not work-out after all.

No Nací Varón

No Nací Varón
by Zuleika Hiraldo

¡Señores no nací varón
Papi creyo que iba a cantar la canción
La canción de Oscar de León
“¡Nació varón señores nació varón!”

Señores, el quería que su primogénito fuera un varón
Un varón para continuar su lineaje
Como si su apellido fuera de alto voltaje

¡Señores no nací varón
El quería un macho
Para demostrar a lo bombacho
Que él era todo un macho

¡Señores no nací varón!
Fue tan grande su decepción
Que al primer vistazo
En la cuna me pegó un zurdazo

¡Señores no nací varón!
¡No la quiero fue su primera reación
Para luego cambiar de canción
Y decir que yo era su niña bonita
“(ES MI NIÑA BONITA
CON SU CARITA DE ROSA
ES MI NIÑA BONITA
CADA DIA MAS PRECIOSA)”
Así me la cantaba el maricón

¡Señores no nací varón!
A fuerza de golpes me educó
“La vida es muy díficil para un varón
Mucha más para las mujeres que carecen de valor”

Así su enseñanza me caducó
Para hacer de mi alguien
que a la vida se enfrentara sin temor

¡Señores no nací varón!
Como pueden ver soy toda una hembra
La cual lucha, piensa y da su corazón
Soy el desencanto de un padre que en su siembra
No queria una hembra
Sino un varón

¡Señores no nací varón!
Pero gracias a su golpes
Le salí peor que un cabrón
Para que ningún maricón
Me volviera a decir que como hembra
No tengo ningún valor!
¡Señores no nací varón!