burden- the balance between infinity and ephemeral For me, art is poetry because I am a poet… sometimes I am a poet because it allows me to understand the context that I inhabit: rethink it, reconstruct it; I shout because I find myself and all the voices that were once silent; I write because I’m not afraid to denounce this reality in which day after day, another one of us goes missing; I am a poet… maybe... because I’ve not always felt this way teardrop- the maximum overflow of emotions When I was a toddler my father and I used to play this game, whoever can think of more synonyms for a random word will be crowned as “The master of words” Instead of reading bedtime stories, my father read me the dictionary Don't get me wrong, I loved it! We were pirates of words, instead of ruthless fights and swords, we conquered the most intricate essence of the Spanish language until we were drenched by words (-or my mom shouted that it was time to sleep, whatever happened first) My father passed away three years ago but words remain sacred to me poetry- the union of all colors and none Poetry and I have a complicated relationship I declared myself a poet when I was fifteen, Just like Sor Juana and Jorge Luis Borges I wanted to become someone important, an author that could resemble the infinite I thought that poetry was about long words and fluffy lines, about not understanding five out of the seven words in a verse wind- the part of me that comes and goes When I started writing I remember long hours sitting alongside a dictionary; trying to find the mystical words that would capture transcendence Looking for words that resembled -or not- my thoughts; I wrote because I needed to prove I was worth something many. times. not. even. understanding. my. own. words. maize- between each grain the words hide I was curious about indigenous literature, so I decided to learn Náhuatl My initial goal: to be able to read a poem of Atteri Miyawatl, one of my favorite authors, in its original language “Mit-zte-moa no-yo-llo” I was practicing pronunciation, when my mother overheard After explaining to her what I actually doing, my mom told me that my great-grandma was part of an indigenous community, where Náhuatl was their native language until she decided to end tradition with her in the face of marginalization, teaching the tongue of nature to her children was not an option with that, my family would not speak Náhuatl anymore until me fire- can you hear the butterflies sing? I’m ashamed that it took me so long to understand my roots Even though my initial goal was to have a deeper connection with indigenous literature, learning Náhuatl helped me unsilence my voice; It taught me to create meaning out of an impulse In Nahuatl literature, authors convey their identity: they share a small portion of their world I'm grateful to my father for cultivating my passion for learning, but today; I decide to follow my heart and explore the limitless possibilities of syntaxis I use the words that feel more comfortable, I create my own writing rules the ones that reflect my world: Spanish; English; and a sprinkle of Náhuatl I don't write next to a dictionary anymore I now write for myself, without trying to prove anything Chicomecóatl- women of maize Something of Chicomecóatl inhabits in me I’m like the seed, wherever I go, I carry words on my crust Because I am a poet… sometimes

Two years ago my middle school best friends' mother, Maria Martha, was raped and killed at her home, a place where we once celebrated holidays. Words like furious, indignant, heartbroken were not even close to describing my feelings. This picture shows me on the International Women's Day March 2018 in Mexico City, where I decided to make posters about her story and demand justice for her case. This moment is significant because I realize that I was not alone. Almost half a million women had the same purpose: to fight for our rights and freedom.