Sabi nila di ka tunay na manunula kung ang sulat mo'y di tugma
Kaya napatingin ako sa aking mga tula
At nagtanong sa aking sarili kung ang aking iniisip ay tama
O tunay nga ba ang aking duda
Hindi nga ako isang makata
Marahil ang gawa ko'y di makatutugma
Dito ay kalungkutan ang aking nadama
Dahil sa kasinungalingan ng aking paniniwala
Di tugma ang aking kinurbang salita
Gamit ang makabagong pluma
Luha't dugo ko'y na baliwala
Dahil lang sa sinabi ng isang makata
Kaya't gumuho ang aking mundo't pag-asa
Galit at pighati ang gumising sa aking gabi, mulat ang parehas na mata
At ako'y umiyak at lalong nagduda
Sa aking talento't kakayahang tumula

"You're no stray feline,
you're a lady," they will say.
As I trim myself to the pattern they made,
adjure me to learn the dance of their stick.
Turn a blind-knowing stare in a contrivance
of my tragedies, war, and my five inches feet.

"You're no stray feline,
you're a lady," they say.
Fettering my hopes to brew lies in my entrails,
for I have no value without a bind on my step.
Endowed with no shield nor shaft for fight that I was trained,
must cower behind closed doors with a conflict in my chest.

I am no stray feline,
I am a lady, they told me.
Churning and wobbling under their commanding breathe
to flaunt I am more than a dancing bone in a vessel.
But why would they bury my lust for helm and sword away,
and exhort me to put these 3-inch shoes of hell?