Stop esperando me.
I feel smothered by the way
you put pronouns before verbs,
placing others on a pedestal.
Take your leech-like diminutives
to a motel, and live alone
until you can manage to say words
without a suffix.
Once I was fooled by the strength
of your accent, I said, “This language
is masculine, and can protect.”
Now I feel trapped
in your dollhouse.
Everything, not only adjectives,
but nouns have gender.
Loosen the grip of your hands
on my shoulders and remove them
like Band Aids;
let me walk alone in the rain.
Seventy-five percent of feminists
are or have been in abusive relationships.
I will not be another statistic;
I will not give in to this fantasy.
Te amo.
Now became
good-bye.