math

13/09/2017

our love lasted
for two hundred
and forty five
text messages,
fifty-four
traded pictures,
endless pining
on dark nights
and thirty-nine
undercover kisses.

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long distance

28/08/2017

you just keep saying
“as soon as I’m back,
I’ll come and see you”,
but what’s the good
in visiting
if you are never staying?

how long must a lover
make a bed
if no one’s ever laying in it?

how long must a lover
live alone;
always a one,
never a two?

tell me: how is it good
to live a fairy tale
of messages on your timeline,
and never – ever –
hold you in my arms
nor call you mine?

knuckles

25/08/2017

after a long while
of tranquil nights
i dreamed of you again.

i dreamed i kissed
the column of your neck,
and later,
your supple lips.

i didn’t wake up startled,
nor shaking;
not even angry.

i just rose from the bed
and started the coffee maker.
then i got dressed,
got on the bus to work etc.

however, throughout
the day
i couldn’t shake off
one single thing:
a phantom feeling
of your hand
holding mine.

(did you dream of me?
did you feel it too?)

weight in gold

24/08/2017

i am sorry if it seems
like i never listen
or start conversations,
or if you feel my gifts
are consolations
for my absence.

i am bad at saying
what I mean;
baring my soul
and revealing my words
was never really my thing.

it’s all family heritage,
as are the rings
that adorn your fingers.
(as are the silent gestures
that you can’t seem to hear.)

i’ll cover your collarbones
in necklaces though,
as if you are goddess –
i’ll stud them with stones
for every word i keep in,
i promise.

i am sorry if i am a show-er
not a say-er.

you want love notes
and adoring quotes,
but i’ll give you platinum
until you look like an actress.

sorry
for i can’t help it
if i like how the silver
shines against your skin:

the image is akin
to the sliver
of light that enters our bedroom

when the night is quiet
and the air feels right,
in the rite of silence
that blesses our affair.

a note from the author

27/07/2017

hi guys.

first, I want to thank you all for reading and liking the posts that I create and share here. the content is not always good, but it’s from the heart. so thanks a lot for the support.

second, I’d like to ask you guys to, if possible, drop a comment with the link to your blog/projects. I love reading your stuff and debating subjects… however, I find wordpress’ reader downright HORRIBLE, as well as its subscription feed.

thus, it would be AMAZING to collect everyone’s link to update my blog roll here, so I can visit your site, read it thoroughly, and maybe get a dialogue between us flowing.

so, if you are interested, drop a line.

thank you!

best,
F.

how soon is now?

27/07/2017

to me,
the future
is in equal measurements
close
and far away.

others tell me
I’m too young
to be wise
but also too old
to be naive.

I don’t know how old
“perfect” will be, though.

all I know is
that I’m scared
of what I can
and should do,
but also afraid
that what I’ve already done
is not enough.

I have anxiety
that I am not living
to my fullest,
afraid of wasting potential,
yet highly unmotivated
to start new things.

being an adult
is not easy.
no one told me it would be,
but still…

I’m struggling.

it’s bittersweet,
really.

I dreamed of being an artist,
a poet,
an unsigned hype,
had dreams
of achieving a great legacy.

I worked for that,
got me a ton of jobs,
roles and loans
to live the life
I wanted to live.

but now, I am stalled,
afraid
that my adult responsibilities
are slowly
killing my dreams.

it’s a cycle,
a push and pull,
where I embrace things full force
and repel them
at the same speed.

what’s here today,
is actually gone tomorrow,
for
I’m too afraid to really commit
to projects,
to people,
because why invest
time and love in things
that may never flourish
into something big?

I conceal my fleeing
under the premise
that “this is my style,
I’m a free spirit”,
but truth is I am scared
of being dumped, mediocre
and left alone.

I am addicted
to constant validation
and instant gratification
that’s never enough.
I am constantly tired,
unsatisfied,
and often on drugs:
new ways to escape
old things.

thus,
I navigate a fine line
between being neurotic
and grade-a
legal narcotics,
being bad
and being good,
full of excuses.

all I wanted was someone to tell me
how the future will come.

I wanted someone to tell me
how they made it:
how they enjoyed the small victories,
savored the moment
and didn’t get crushed
under the weight
of bills, family, friends…. things!

I feel like everything’s amazing
and yet, everyone’s unhappy
(me included).

i wanted happy people to tell me
how they got to be
really creative,
and not pressured to produce
this day and age’s masterpiece.

all I wanted was someone
to help me bridge
this no man’s land
between my hands
and where they reach.

old ways

22/07/2017

i was ready
not only to spill the beans
but to spew out bees,
or spoken bullets:

to all my enemies,
flower wreaths
for their early funerals.

I was angry at the world
(and at myself).
a mean thing I became;
a name
not to be called,
a friend
not to be trusted,
a cornered
feral animal
baring my teeth.

i bit the hand that fed me.
i also spit
on the plate while
i was at it.

but the words
i spoke
carried no truth
behind them.

(they were just heavy on my heart)

it was an ugly facade,
and just this:
a mask
to protect myself
from more pain.

i pricked
others’ skins
so no spear
could prick me:

built an armor
of thorns
to close guard
my heart,
my weary soul
so no foe
(and no friend, unfortunately)
could come near.

total disaster

21/07/2017

a blow
constricts the flow
of blood
to your heart.

martyr
among the heroes,
savior of us people.

(please lord,
don’t take her!)

a scream, sharp as needles
pierces
through the walls.

you fall.

tissue
black as coal
makes you hurt.

inert
we stand,
holding our breath.

(what should we do?
what can we do?)

but you tell death
not today! not today!
strong you stay…

(blessed be you, blessed be!)

 

 

stand by me

20/07/2017

we laughed in the face of danger,
we rioted,
young wild and free.
we lit our cigarettes
in Molotov cocktails,
we drank ’till the night was day,
the day was night,
the in was out
the end was another beginning.

we labeled this
our adventures,
our experiments.
we called it “living
like there was no tomorrow”,
“rebel yell”,
and excused ourselves
“’cause boys will be boys”.

we, middle children
of white, middle-class, bland parents,
wanted to have “our own story”.

we said that we
were just expressing our individuality,
that this was what molded us,
what made us unique.

thus, we romanticized
our suffering,
thought our mental illnesses,
our emotional traumas
were absolutely necessary:

that this would make us,
in the end,
stronger,
the next Kerouacs, Poes
and Baudelaires.

we were in the tortuous path
of “finding ourselves”.

we entered our adult lives
not with a foot on the world’s door,
but kamikazeing.

addicted to uppers
and downers,
things to make us,
casual alcoholics,
(not to mention chain-smokers,
pill-poppers and broke)
functional.

miserable,
but “having the time of our
amazing, blessed lives”
on social media,
while on slow-drips
of homeopathic detoxing
to bear the sheer pressure
of being
emotionally unbalanced,
frustrated,
dreamless, jobless,
frail.

frail as broken kids.

behind a facade
of cool wayfarer ray-bans,
we were cold-turkeying children,
ego-tripping and jet-setting
to fill bottomless holes
of pure insanity.

’till the first one of us
fell.
the one that least deserved,
the one that never asked for it,
the one that picked up our pieces
cleaned puddles of vomit,
took us home, bathed us:

among us,
the one true angel.

thus, we rebuilt.
among the ashes and the stones,
we gathered what we could
from the fire,
and we redid it.

***

(now is time to be strong
for the harsh times
that are coming.

it is time for me to be your rock
as you were mine)

standing in the way of control

19/07/2017

on a rare, dark moon,
you feel cold shoulders everywhere,
and shiver, scared, cornered,
like you were kicked in the teeth.

it’s like a world, too busy
staring at its own belly button,
ran over you.

used and discarded,
you – always so loyal,
a righteous knight, the protector –
feel like, in the exodus, were left behind.

thus,
you tether dangerously
on the edge of despair.
you think
you ought to give up,
before its too late,
you must run and hide.

but its a conundrum, really:
how will you fix your loneliness,
your crave for attention,
by isolating yourself even more?

so you stand frozen on the spot,
spiraling out of control,
socially anxious,
paranoid;

a mess inside your head!
you can only conclude:
loneliness is a lot worse
for those who always always smile.