from the past

04/04/2017

my father was a funny man.

so unlike me:
with no affinity for
Tennessee whiskey,
cured meat,
cigarettes
nor knives.

a soft-spoken,
well-humored little man,
that never got into a fight.

so unlike me:
a gentle man.

a.m.

03/04/2017

i like the early morning,
when there are no people talking;

the only sounds that break the silence
are the ones that tend to lull
us back to sleep, in a slow rhythm:
white noise from the fan,
breaths, hot and soft, on the pillow.

i like that, when the first rays
light up the bedroom,
usually there is only
content quietness.

I am reassured
by early mornings,
by the simple routine of
hot water flowing to the ground coffee,
the clinking of the mugs on the table.

i like the brief moments
when my body is still infused
with the confusion of dreams:
consciousness still seeping into reality.

I am comforted by
the smell and warmth of the sheets,
of the shampoo and soap you wash with,
the brewing coffee,
the sizzling waffles.

it’s one of the very few moments
when I get to just be.

private

22/03/2017

you are not entitled
to my name
until I decide
that you are invited in.

strangethings

13/03/2017

let’s measure
your loneliness
by how many likes
you get in social media
versus
how many people
like you
in real life.

below the mouth

10/03/2017

harsh, like being run over by a train, is the realization that i haven’t felt good in a while. that none of us have. that the world is hard, that society is mean, and that we are crumbling under the pressure of what others want and expect from us, in places and stances that are both amazing and miserable.

it’s hard to acknowledge that we are the adults we dreaded becoming, our parents, our authority figures: empty, cold and emotionally exhausted from running drastic scenarios over and over in our heads, for eating and drinking paranoia, fears and anguish, due bills and other responsibilities that stop us from sleeping. but, either way, we don’t mind insomnia, for sleeping is the cousin of death and i am not ready to die.

i am not. i cannot. i should not. or should i? maybe there is no point in existing, one may conclude – and, just as easily discard, because one must live, for one has hopes and dreams. one has roles to play, no time to rest. i should spark, i should be rich. i just cannot be. i must excel, and achieve. or so i was told by my mother, father, my church and my state. and by my self, really, in a stern convincing voice in front of the office mirror while i have cold sweats in the middle of the day.

maybe i am not mediocre, just stupid. maybe it is the lack of sleep, it probably is. maybe it’s the drugs, i should do a cleanse. maybe it is normal and i am just tired of having no clarity, or no answers. maybe i am thinking too much and can’t rest this thick muscle inside my head, can’t shut up the tiny voice that just tells me “there is no escape, this is it”. maybe i am doomed to be weak and never have the strength to get better.

i don’t know. how one can know? who has these answers? what is the path?

mine is apparently down, for my steps are tumbling down a slope. me, that was forever strong, a staple of sanity and solidity for others – i am going down with the whole bunch of my generation, and i don’t even know if i should fight this or just be glad. if i should prepare to vanish, to be gone, forgotten… just accept the fall and, as i go, say all the things that i have always wanted to say but never did. (never had the guts, never had the need).

maybe i won’t fall, but have to try something else. 180º turn, mix and mismatch. deny destiny, never drink the fate. maybe i should fight this all with my bravest arm, for i never waited for things to fall from the sky. “it is not who you are” i can hear them saying. at the moment, i think i can’t, but maybe i do. maybe i should rely on others, i don’t know. would you be willing to listen? to talk to me? i feel that you won’t, and that i will feel bad in your presence. i feel bad in other people’s presence: i don’t know if i should offer sorries, or if i should pretend i am well.

the question is: why is no one asking, really, if i am ok? I’ve given plenty clues that we are not ok. i get angry because of that. i feel like no one ever wants to talk about those things, no one wants to dry their tears. i feel like we aren’t allowed to cry, that it’d be shameful. is it? i have no etiquette.

truth is i don’t know if i want to speak the words either, to open up. if i have the will in me. i paradoxically want both the silence and the chaos, to be alone deep down a dark whole and a party and to be surrounded, be enlightened. i want it all and i want nothing, that’s it. maybe i just want a hug that i don’t know how to ask for. will you hug me if i ever stand up to the way to your arms?

all i know is that i don’t want to die alone. i am an ok person, i don’t deserve this. aren’t i? adulting is hard. self-esteem is hard. being abandoned is hard, and leads to more abandoning. things are turbid, the future is blemished, murky: i can’t see a single feet in front of me, so maybe i should stay put. or maybe i should walk until i find someone.

so what can i do?

for now, sit down and cry.

i wonder when this will go away

10/03/2017

you don’t know
how it goes
on the other side.
how your smiles
are ropes
that tie tight
around my heart:

when you talk,
the strings tauten
compressing, and clenching
until my breath leaves me.

sweet, delicious
pain
in my chest.

and, when you speak
I am reminded
of past scenes
between you and me
(and the phantoms of the kisses
we traded in a time far, far away).

in a mix of memory and dream
I am once again
pulled in.

these memories are
like a tide
that carry my body
into the water.

how did the kissing feel to you?

to me, it felt wet
and warm
and everywhere:
like drowning in the sea
while it rains.

new age

09/03/2017

sorry
i don’t have the words to say
the things I want to say;
so have a playlist then.

walking backwards

08/03/2017

good
old times
when my heart
wasn’t hardened
by the foulness
and i wasn’t
afraid to say
i am sorry
or coy
to tell you
that i miss you.

inhospitably mine

03/03/2017

behind the eclipse
of my feelings and
thoughts,
there it was:

my prose
and my poetry,
a push and pull
of words,
a tug of war
between all those things
that I had to
that I needed to say
and
all the things I didn’t want you to read.

that you could never know.

zenith

16/02/2017

what a riot
is the fire
of our desires
and all the ways
we seek
to ride them.