It was no longer cold, the tea covered my mouth and I could pronounce the words out loud.

I LOVE BEING ALONE. How would you call me?
Lonely? Selfish? Egocentric? Cold? Fearful? Sensitive? Short fuse?

Yes, I'm a bit of all of that, but the point here is that I love being alone and I had forgotten about that an hour ago.

How difficult it was to find silence amidst so much stimulation; the candle was falling and my mouth remained half-open. I don't know if it was the effect of smoking or if I had something to say.

I could reveal everything, but I like it when the reader is left with the internal details: the half-extinguished candle, the cigarette butts, and the tea bag resting on the cup.

The night was made for the writer, to deal with insomnia and the hidden words of the day.
And silence? Silence was also made for the writer.
And chaos? Chaos as well.

Everything was made so that I could write.

The thing is, I hadn't put on any cream.

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada Lo que escribo en mi ventana se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.

It makes me bleed to see them bleeding.

My head is held high and my chest faces forward.

Two lips meant not to kiss.

Your gaze: violent, enraging, piercing.

I am ready.

They can’t find their voice and cry softly,

while I scream for those who do not scream.

I cry for those who cry.

I bow my head and ask myself:

when does machismo end in this society?

Photography by Martina Madero.

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada Ocho de marzo se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.

I have five vegetables in the rice and a strong desire to see you.
Four garments to hang, and I’m picky.
Too much common sense in this society.
I force myself to drink water like a camel by a heater, I listen to Sandro seven times a month.
My eyes shine when I want to cry, and my myopia blurs my view.
I touch my heart whenever I can’t find myself.

Simplicity seems boring to me, yet I love staying silent.
I ask too many questions, but say very little.
At chin-chon I lose myself, I play competitively.
I make a fuss in the café; I’ve always been my best actress.
I like the sweet, and also the savory.
I get angry at tactlessness, overwhelmed by others’ lack of it.
If I close my eyes, I always think of fantasies.
I could move houses once a month.
My mom says I’m cold, but I’d call myself reversible.

I must admit I’m drawn to her legs, as much as I am to falling asleep next to her again.
Anyway, I’m leaving; the microwave is cooling down.

Photography by Monica Ochoa.

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada A tres cuadras se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.

What does she want from me?
I wonder, when she looks at me so closely.

She knows nothing about me.
So, what does she want from me?
I need her to say it.

Does she want it?
What does she want?
And what do I want from her?
I want her to tell me what she wants.

Bite me slowly, hold me tight.
Caress me, write on my skin.
What is it? What is it that you want?

Does she want it?
I need her to say it.

Photography by Mónica Ochoa.

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada Todo lo negro se vuelve azul  se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.

I barely knew you, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off you.

You seemed friendly, funny, cheerful, and speculative all at once.

It was impossible for us to feel cold.

The sea, the one that made me cry on winter nights, now mirrored the erotic movement of your hands.

We melted away between the sand and the footprints of strangers.

Photography by Nicholas Dominguez Gallegos

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada Berceloneta se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.

I do a half turn on my back, cigarette in hand, dropping the butts on the floor. I suggest to the pretty girl at the café, with a casual, steady glance, pretending not to miss you and wanting you every three or four days.

My fingers keep typing on a keyboard that desperately needs cleaning. Anyone else would tell me it's Sunday, but my mind has already switched off the workweek.

When I get home, I think about the object I chose for my enjoyment, even though the battery has been dead for a while; I haven't even used it for three days since I bought it. Sexuality and self-exploration are rituals I don't want to let fall into decline.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed for my gamble and the investment of my time. I've always dared to dream big and believe I'm invincible. I develop a thousand projects in my head and jot them down in my phone's notes; I go to bed thinking, "I hope I leave my mark."

I wake up thinking about everything I have to do. Sick with exhaustion, I recharge by being an entity in society.

Every now and then I wonder if everyone works like this or if I'm the only individual with some kind of rechargeable battery.

The girl greets me casually and without any expression, as if we have fewer and fewer traces of spontaneity. I'm bored by her lack of friendliness.

I'm sitting on my bed and I'm not going anywhere; at another time I would have dissociated and said it's a waste of time.

I respond with limited messages to two or three friends; I let the others understand my limited availability.

I regain the luxury of breathing in the tiredness that hides between my legs.

I'm not offering promotional hairstyles today.

I might like fuchsia-colored kisses a little.

Photography by Nicholas Dominguez Gallegos

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada Era domingo se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.

Mi pecho: dos fracciones de ansiedad.
Me río con la necesidad de acogerme en una manta de peluche.
Difumino la fragilidad adentro del bolsillo y lavo mi ropa.

Su rebeldía, involucrada en mi pelo corto,
mi camisa blanca de puntilla.
Me acomodo la corbata y sonrío,
así como quien le sonríe a un infeliz.

No siento pena, porque me bajaría la frecuencia.
Recoge sus migas de pan de centeno en los escotes ajenos.
No siento asco, porque me revuelve el estómago.

Mi mamá tenía miedo: que me estrujen la garganta,
que me aprieten el corazón,
que me cierren las puertas del tren,
y que me chisten por lesbiana.

Fotografía por Abel Ibáñez G.

Delfina Cuevas

Actress and poet from Buenos Aires. Lesbian and feminist, she writes from personal experience, sensitivity, and a critical perspective on contemporary life.

www.instagram.com/delficuevas_/

La entrada Me chistan por lesbiana se publicó primero en ERRR MAGAZINE.