Some say I'm as empty as an urn
Because I am taciturn
I don't know why they say that
Am I that empty, like a worthless caveat?
It is true that when I lived in the convent
The sisters found me strange, like in torment
They said that my emotions were nonexistent
Besides, I am a non-believer, so for them very inconsistent.
When my mother died of fears,
I did not shed any tears
To the great despair of my father James,
Who then went into the flames.
I went from the convent, from one family to another
Without feeling yours, like earth mother.
Finally, I ask myself while looking at my hand
Like a strange reprimand.
Am I really empty, as they say?
Am I really useless, as they say?