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Escrito: El polvo se esconde de mi / Written: The dust hides from me (ESP-ENG) by puertatres

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· @puertatres · (edited)
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Escrito: El polvo se esconde de mi / Written: The dust hides from me (ESP-ENG)
![ivanvranic_fZAxIR6u4cunsplash.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/puertatres/ASfwOX6z-ivan-vranic-_fZAxIR6u4c-unsplash.jpg)

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[Fuente de la foto / Photo source: @hvranic en unsplash](https://unsplash.com/photos/_fZAxIR6u4c)

_Éste escrito se me ocurrió justo antes de ponerme a limpiar mi cuarto._

_This writing occurred to me just before I started cleaning my room._


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En la mesa del computador,
dentro del monitor,
y en donde guardo todo 
lo que creo que tiene valor.

En mi ratón,
en mi teclado,
y atrás de mi colchón.

En mi cenicero,
en mis arterias,
encima de mi piel,
detrás de mis pupilas,
atrás de mi cerebelo,
dentro de mi nariz.

Se oculta en el ambiente,
reclama territorio en silencio,
aprovechando que tengo que dormir,
y me ahorca cada vez que me descuido.

Me mira riéndose,
porque sabe que está ganando.
Porque en polvo me voy a convertir,
al final del final,
cuando no me pueda mover.

Pero mira!
Un día me levanto,
alguien mas (o yo mismo) me atropella.
Me grita al alma,
y me dice: 
“Tu no eres así , puedes ser mejor”

Luego saco algodón, trapo y alcohol
y empiezo a estrujar,
con fuerza y de manera lenta,
hasta que el polvo se empieza a despegar
de mi y de mi alrededor
y empiezo a respirar
comienza a oler a mi.

Luego me voy a bañar
(cuando vuelva el agua, 
porque ahorita no hay).

La cárcel es de suciedad.
Lo acabo de descubrir.
Mejor empiezo a estornudar.
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In the computer table,
inside the monitor,
and where do I keep everything
what I think has value.

On my mouse
on my keyboard,
and behind my mattress.

In my ashtray,
in my arteries,
on top of my skin,
behind my pupils,
behind my cerebellum,
inside my nose.

It hides in the environment,
claim territory in silence,
taking advantage of the fact that I have to sleep,
and hangs me every time I'm careless.

He looks at me laughing
because he knows he are winning.
Because I'm going to turn to dust
at the end of the end,
when i can't move.

But look!
One day I wake up,
someone else (or myself) runs me over,
screams to my soul,
and tells me: 
"You are not like that, you can be better"

Then I take out cotton, cloth and alcohol,
and I start to squeeze,
hard and slow
until the dust starts to peel off,
of me and around me,
and I start to breathe,
start to smell like me.

Then I'm going to bathe
(when the water returns,
because right now there isn't).

The jail is made of dirt.
I just found out.
I better start sneezing.
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<sup>Cada escrito que voy a compartir simboliza algo que he sentido en un momento específico de mi historia, y es el proceso de poder explicarlo en palabras, para poder estudiarlo en un futuro y entenderme mejor.</sup>
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<sup>Each writing that I am going to share symbolizes something that I have felt at a specific moment in my history, and it is the process of being able to explain it in words, to be able to study it in the future and understand myself better.</sup>

<sup>Espero que éste texto les guste y les haga pensar en partes iguales.</sup>
---
<sup>I hope you like this text and make you think in equal parts.</sup>

<div class="text-center">
Texto escrito el 16 de septiembre de 2019 / Text written on September 16, 2019

Autor / Author: Nilson Andrade / **puerta3**
IG/Twitter: puerta3 [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/puerta3/) [Twitter](https://twitter.com/puerta3)
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