Preciosa te llaman

but they don’t know the real you,

the sweet you,

the wonderful you,

the vulnerable you,

the warm you,

the simple you.

They only know the external you.

They don’t want to look past exteriors.

All they want is images, appearances, acquisitions.

All they want is to possess you,

to wear you,

to fuck you,

to show you off,

for it is too complicated

to see beyond the surface.

It requires too much effort.

Meanwhile the real you is

lost in the haze, lost in what they want you to be.

And this is a tragedy for someone as beautiful as you.

This would be a tragedy for anyone.

Preciosa te llaman,

yes, but only if they really knew you.

New York City, August 2004