Rip the dust jacket

I've been through this so many times that
common place has been overcropp'd
and well worn out.

Feels like some days I am at the end of it all
even if still I should be nimble warrior, but yet
I am hardly finished with it.

I wonder how they do it.
What promises are they able to extract from faith?
They say they will understand,
but they are like socialite hermits,
ribcaged in their rotten belief systems.
Advocating for what the fuck exactly?

Hardly any logic system, the ones we build
hap-hazardly, resist any harsh light interrogation.
We seem conversant in our discourse,
but actually we stutter,
especially in those early morning moments.
When we see the fragile beauty
that we built in our self-appointed image.

Dare to rip the dust jacket in your life.
Don't get asked at the end that dreary tax
"what did you do with the days you were allotted?"

Shake and stir.
Twist at night, sweaty, if necessary.
By all means feel alive some times.
Look at the forlorn raindrops on the corporate glass.

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who fed you for those initial months,
clad you humbly, to the best of their resources,
wrapped you against the cold,
and then had to just leave you there?

Innocence crushed under an
incomprehension that cold.

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¿Qué habré de hacer
con las preguntas, las dudas,
las urgencias y las heridas
de mi corazón?

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The burning questions,
the urgent demands,
the wounds, open,
of my heart,
what shall I do with them?