
Perspectivas Literarias

CEBE
Escribe para crecer, sanar y encontrar otres con quienes resonar. Su crianza boricua en una escuela y comunidad católica le dejó con mucho por aprender. Con el pasar de los años, reconoció que personas como elle no eran bienvenidas en tales espacios y que debían vivir reprimides para ser aceptades. A sus veintiún años tomó la difícil decisión de salir de la pequeña burbuja que conocía. Esto creó espacio para mayor autoconocimiento, le permitió comenzar a reinventarse y le generó el deseo de conocer a más personas con vivencias similares. Eventualmente creó su cuenta de instagram llamada cebe.scribbler, donde une su amor por las artes visuales y la poesía. El uso de obras de arte como fondo de sus poemas sirve para acentuar el tema, ambiente o mensaje del escrito. Tópicos que le apasionan y aparecen en sus escritos son el escepticismo, introspección, asuntos cuir, amor y ciencias naturales. Conoció a escritores de distintas partes del mundo con el transcurso del tiempo, quienes mitigaron los efectos aisladores de la pandemia. Logró compartir y aprender de otras experiencias a través de videollamadas con elles. Gracias a esto, contribuyó al primer número del zine Dear ___, creado por S.M. Van de Kamp en colaboración con otres artistas y escritores. Tuvo también la oportunidad de participar de una entrevista para FENCast, podcast creado por el escritor Fernando E. E. Correa González. Actualmente cursa estudios posgraduados en salud pública con esperanzas de poder impactar positivamente la salud de su comunidad LGBTTIQ+ boricua. Su norte es continuar viviendo auténticamente y compartir su verdad con quienes le rodean.
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The Chore of Being a Girl
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I’d always known I had to hold up the round mirror to my face
Force my eyes to see an exact reflection where there only were blurred lines in space
The younger I was, the more I expected them all to feel the same
The older I got, I starved and raged for anything to blame
Annoyed at everyone’s comfort with their bodies and others’ perceptions
Thinking I was the only person to struggle with it was my deception
Passionately loathing what made girls feel like girls and not as lost as me
I had no idea I’d been brought up in an effort to end up like the ideal she
Every order, expectation, and submissive disposition felt like a suggestion
Though I participated in some due to Catholicism, I was accused of emasculation
The pinks, the blues, the skirts, and the working boots; all of that felt silly
At the time I couldn’t mock it, as people through it lived
That was the only form of existence that was accepted
I put on a subconscious performance to keep ‘em distracted
I told myself I couldn’t possibly love girls because I loved a boy
Under the weight of denial, my being had begun to shatter
In my mind amongst the flames, I was going to hell, I knew
I constantly told myself I was a girl and that it didn’t matter
Meant to be a wife dressed in white, why was I so lewd
Hung onto my boy friends because it didn’t matter
A bit longer and I’d surely fit in, a woman renewed
Hung onto Jesus because he’d make it matter
Don’t speak over him, maintain a pleasant mood
Being a girl didn’t matter
Then why did it for everyone else?
It didn’t matter till I realized I’d chosen my shackles
Called myself with terms that didn’t reflect a speck of me
To uncomplicate my existence, for others, make it easy
None of that belongs to me and for all of this I’m not sorry
I’ve loved men, I’ve loved women, and I’ve adored those out of the binary
To me, they are the epitome of free, souls in vessels, individual paths forging
A god didn’t lock me up in the wrong body, those of the world did
In the name of their god, my struggle was meant to last a lifetime
All of those people were fine with me having a constant inner war
All of those people failed to see I’d built a personal hell inside
Though I didn’t and I don’t expect them to read other’s minds
I do expect them to catch up with the histories they hid
Most have chosen comfort, pointing at us heathens from afar
I’ve [trans]cended the pink, the blues, the skirts, and the working boots
The meanings history has given those things bring no comfort to me
If unafraid, look, we are much more than we’ve painted ourselves to be
No old myths should dictate how we externalize what’s in our souls
Know that you don’t have to come out like me, alter your you
Neither man, nor woman, I present myself to you as human
I appear as I like, take it as you may, but I love being chimerical
I used to live theatrically, performed femininity to keep men close to me
It didn’t work out for me… I attracted those who existed differently
Those living outside the thin borders of christianese reality
I realized I had one foot in and the other ready to leave
I had no idea it was more like taking a leap
I am not sorry for performing, it was all I knew,
What I am sorry for is acting like I knew all there was to know
I once intended to uphold the division between men and women
I ignored how it implied me as well and… you reap what you sow
I’d crafted my inner world, one increasingly difficult to live in
I played the game, but never scored
Being a girl was one hell of a chore
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