I am a woman, I'm working,
Although I do not know how far I care,
To be held the day of the Working Women
And with that I do not detract from, not to
fighters of the past, Ni
present nor the future.
But I recognize that on 8 March, I left
now so indifferent,
As Valentine's or Christmas spirit.
I want to love and be loved.
I want to play, laugh, mourn, dream,
fucking, drinking, singing, dancing,
feel, float, fly, walk, eat, share,
talk, meditate, pumping, stomping, jumping, screaming
, writing, wander, swim ...
I want to kiss and kiss me.
I want to create, vibrate, learn,
write, enjoy running, remember ...
I feel alive, every day,
And lost in my pursuit of happiness.
If I could choose a day for women,
It would be a day to infect us, all our good things,
And forget the silly masks,
that society imposes.
A day to embrace, praise,
spoil us and feel our heat, melt the asphalt,
and chains still enslave us.
A day to show the world our sex,
Without guilt, fear or shame.
without consent, without cause, without expecting anything in return.
A day when all women walking around naked.
Proud and Free.
And the whores who work in front of this lot,
or anywhere in the world, Could tell
customers,
They no longer need them, we
That among all manage somehow ...
And it was for real.