English, and other magic tricks

A foreign language is the invisibility cloak I need to battle my own ghosts because my mess is in Spanish. My head is neat and tidy in English, words have clear-cut ends, no attached smells.   

When I was a girl crying at night estaba Triste, never this ridiculous three-lettered word you use. So close to ‘give’ if you turn it up-side down, never cold, never wet, it doesn’t hurt. So unaware of me and my tears I can strike a blow without being seen and make it tell me what the hell was wrong back then.

Fear is not covered in cold sweat, no heart is pounding. Shame? I can even spell the word out loud without feeling the urge to fade into the walls being naked and screaming and so scary because who the hell is making all that noise? ohh… it’s just the wind.