The brave are in the cemeteries, and we, the cowards, are here – Kristal Uribe-Cifuentes

April 7, 2026

I tried to write my own biography and instead of composing a woman I ended up with a
myth.
This game I play with myself
two cowboys aiming at each other with a peashooter
it gets older and older
I yearn a lot but I never seem to learn,
I want less severity in that rigid ceiling of love.
I want.
I know no one has a pact with time or with oblivion or with pain
But we do have it all on this sometimes barren earth,
even a science called violentology,
and politics of sadness,
loads and loads of it,
enough to fill up the abandoned shipyards of the mind
as though we were a drowning.
If we do not see the violence we do not see the rebellion,
What says this of the rogue child?