Bubbles by Camila de la Parra



All my friends have grown up inside bubbles.

They float a few centimeters above the soil

And swear there’s dirt between their toes.Camila de la Para

It’s all lies of course,

I have seen how their momma’s servants

Clean under their nails when they sleep.

I’ve been inside the bubbles,

They’re nice and warm and fully furnished,

They’re clean and perfectly transparent.

The air is easier to breathe

And it’s fueled with vitamins

And brand-named antibiotics.


Parties of bubble-people form up from time to time,

And they surround the ugliest one

Or the fattest one

Or the slowest one

And burst their protection

With a fine, sharp needle.

Or sometimes lovers,

Rare lovers,

Shared-bubble type of lovers

Plan a secret conquest overnight

And push their lover out without saying goodbye.

And the polluted air

Makes their lips sore and red,

Their bodies, unused to gravity,

Spread along the mud like poached eggs.

And the dirt gets inside their nostrils,

And the water carves into their bones,

And they shiver from the cold, dark air,

And for once, they’re lost in the real world.


My father once cut his bubble open

And created a suit with it.

With microbes living in his teeth,

He found who he was meant to be

And managed, after all, to create great things.

And he traveled on and away

And even further away.

And when he came back

He tried to hide the dirt under his feet.

So he sat at the corner of his life

And waited for the protective plasma

To re-flourish around him again.

His eyes were tired of the little particles of dust.

His hands were tired from having clenched onto his goals for far too long.

And he was done.


Now I see him floating around the wine cellar

Wondering about prices

Figuring out how to make his kids

What he gave up on being.

And I can’t tell if he wants me to run,

On the floor

With aching lungs.

Because I sure know I want to.

But he seems to have forgotten what it’s like

To see the world without a veil between your eyes.

Camila de la Parra, born in Mexico City in 1995 and currently a senior at the American School Foundation, strongly dislikes wearing sandals. She started exploiting her passion for writing in the summer of 2011 when she took a creative writing course at Columbia University and interned at the Stowe Reporter. Once her romance with the written word started, she founded the international literary magazine Repentino at her high school. She does most of her writing during anatomy and history classes or at any point between midnight and three in the morning.



  1. Felicidades, profundo y al mismo tiempo descriptivo. Amo la capacidad de análisis de sentimientos y la forma de ponerlo por escrito, en poema.

  2. Me sentí aprisionado en una burbuja y a partir de ahí sus letras jugaron conmigo como el vaiven del viento. Las descripciones precisas, burlescas y despiadadas pasan de lo universal a lo personal, real e imaginario se funden con una originalidad que solo la honestidad puede dar.
    Crítica feroz y cariño eterno, expresión de una inmensa energía creativa.
    Un gran bravo para Camila!

  3. Emoé comenta o contesta o algo hace al escribir esto pero dejo la catalogación para quien pueda hacerla. Yo me sirvo de ella para comunicarme con mi adorada sobrina.
    Camoles burbuja: pues mira que tu universo boludito está bastante atractivo. Te pido de corazón que me formes una burbuja propia o compartida porque las aristas de la realidad a veces me pican las rodillas o me hacen llorar los ojos. Quiero estar prisionera en una burbuja- sueño y jugar contigo a dar de saltos en una atractiva coreografía.

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