Posts Tagged ‘poem’

it’s my birthday today

25/05/2017

I am, at last, 30 years old.

A day I never envisioned
coming
but always hoped to get to.

Isn’t life a hoot?
I like think so.

***
as a gift
I dedicate to myself
part of my very favorite poem:

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
– e. e. cummings

 

thirties

21/05/2017

as my biological age
catches up fast
with my mental age,
people ask me
what fortunes I wish
life reserves me
in the future.

long gone are my desires
to be worshiped
as the best,
the shiniest,
the most
p-r-o-m-i-n-e-n-t.

all those who shine too bright
are flashes only:
burn without substance,
leaving nothing to be
remembered by,
nothing solid to be touched.

I want to go
deep
below the surface.

I want quiet
and calm conversations
into the night –
purposeful!
I want honest
and earnest;
not ahead,
but side by side.

all gold that is here today
for show
will probably be gone tomorrow.

living your life to please others
is not worthy:
the best is to please yourself.

forgiving oneself
is always the hardest
for you are
your hardest judge and jury,
the pickiest to please.

so I want to love myself
to the fullest,
this way, I am not that person
that everybody loves,
but nobody likes.

as I blow
birthday candles,
I want the heart of gold:
to adore
and be adored purely,
lovingly, not smarmy.

so my biggest wish
as I grow older
is not to vapid fortunes,
but to constantly
grow more and more humble.

the part of the story no one wants to hear

16/05/2017

is that, in the end,
you’re not really better
than him.

that she indeed could find
someone finer than you.

that you are not the greatest,
not irreplaceable.

not someone
special, one of a kind,
as you thought yourself
to be.

all in all,
you are just a person,
– neither good nor bad –
just one
that wasn’t right
for someone else.

(and that yes, she got over you
and, surely, found
somebody just as good,
if not worthier)

***

however,
the good part
that I personally think you should hear
is
that you’re no one’s second choice,
no one’s leftovers,

and that you do have value,
maybe not for this one person,
nor that other,
but you’ll be a good fit
(someday!)
for somebody new.

smoking

07/05/2017

i never think
about you
when i am sober…
but the moment
i get intoxicated,
you are all i want
in my mouth.

senses #5 – sight

15/04/2017

when the night heats up
in the city,
the water from days,
from puddles,
from cups,
from the air
evaporates
and sticks to the bodies,
a condensed humidity,
mixed
to a salty sweat
that never goes away.

it makes bodies shine
under neon lights
of  damp alleys
and stuffy dance clubs;
it’s so pretty.

it’s in a heat wave
that cuts through my body
and lights up my nerves
like thunder,
that my skin tingles,
inside out,
and everything
flares up:

goosebumps are a photo
of desire
when my thighs
touches your thighs
as we cross each other’s steps
in the ballroom,
my pupils dilate
as a chopped-up picture of you
flashes, on and off,
under stroboscopic lights,
and fingers glide
through arms
in barely-there touches.

senses #4 – taste

14/04/2017

don’t tell me what I like
or dislike.

it’s my tongue:
i’ll put it
wherever I want.

senses #2 – hearing

12/04/2017

it’s in the loudest part
of the day-
midday-
that the demons come out of their boxes
in my mind to play,
and the plagues destroy,
as an old psalm 91 sheet
that hanged from my nana’s wall
used to say.

paradoxically,
I get a moment of stress, and quiet
when the clock strikes
the exact 12th hour,
when suits from offices rush out to lunch,
that I have this moment of silence
amidst this wall of sound.

(overwhelmed.)
it’s too much,
it’s so much that
I go deaf:

all I hear is
my own blood rushing in my ears,
trudging through, thick like syrup,
my skull’s bones
pulsing
in the chaos
of an hour that passes me by.

in the contemplative angst
of the rush that passes me by,
of the hustle and bustle of people,
of the buzzing of legs of people,
of this drowning in a sea of people
stepping hard
that pass me by,
that time,
goes by at the speed of sound.

senses #1 – smell

11/04/2017

i remember you
distinctively by your smell:
skin
and your earthly sweat,
the tangy cleanness
of generic white soap
on your neck
and clove cigarette smoke
mixed with aftershave
below your mouth.

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.