Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

xanlirium

24/01/2018

i am feeling very nostalgic today.
i haven’t really been sleeping well,
i know.
my brain waves
are on the fry.

i’m exhausted
but can’t close my eyes,
can’t sleep.

i’m restless.

and i can’t write, really.
all the words are stuck
in my throat,
sentences jumbled
and scattered around my brain.

temporary aphasia;
i open my mouth
but nothing comes out of it.

i just gasp,
and gasp,
blowing bubbles like a fish.

i stare at my pencil,
at my notebook,
and start to believe that
i no longer know how to write.

but here i am,
trying, at least,
staring at my cursor,
pressing down the keys
(backspace after backspace
after backspace).

so i look at old pictures
as a way to inspire me.
some are
old pictures from an old me
that i don’t recognize:

another person
that was not so bad,
and not so good,
but important to get to be
where and
who we are now.

and also old pictures
of beloved people
that i lost,
or that i had to leave behind.

this’ the greatest growing pain
of my life:
cutting ties
with great loves
that i protected
and never regretted
adoring,
but that i could
no longer live by
their side.

grief,
as usually,
was the price paid…

as sure as ice melts,
we all did,
at some point,
build things
only so they could fall apart,
kept people
in a glass
to protect them
only so they could flee
away, straight into harm.

never saying a single thanks,
but oh well.
they are not obliged to, really.

this is normal,
and healthy,
for no person is ours really,
truly,
to have
and to keep.

they are theirs
to make their own choices,
and it’s not your job
to try and live their lives for them.

i’m coming to peace with it.

and i am not sad,
about it,
about anything really.
i’m just mindful.

i can’t dream,
i can’t rest,
but i am alive,
i am here,
and will be
for another sunrise.

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one last sprint

29/12/2017

as the old year is about to end
and a new one is about to be born,
i’d like to reserve a minute
before my favorite moment of the yearly cycle
to reflect upon my life.

what a great year it was!
what a great thing it is
to be blessed
with good fortunes,
to have so many plates
on my table now:
i’m eating well and plenty.

so blessed, and not-so humbled:
i am fresh
and so spoiled now,
ready to start everything all over again.

however, although seeking
and getting
everything shiny, glossy and new is good,
after so many gained things,
though,
i forgot how to celebrate loss.

thus, at this final moment,
right before popping the champagne bottles,
i’d like to praise all the things i lost
this year.

from the kilos i shed
to the coins i tossed in fountains,
from the earrings that disappeared
to the keys forgotten,
i believe i lost everything i had to lose.

it wasn’t always enjoyable,
but it was
what it had to be.

sometimes, i lost good things
and valuable time,
but it all served as lessons.

i suffered, but learned
from the loss
of valuable things,
but also am very grateful
for the excesses i threw away
and the not-so good people
that i left behind for good.

so, goodbye, bad memories!
adieu, long lost lovers,
disconnected feelings,
painful reminders,
toxic companions,
midnight anxieties,
incomplete projects.

failures and more failures,
dreadful thoughts –
see you never!

all that had to go,
is now gone.
i lost what i had to lose
and am now better,
am now ready
to gain what’s good again.

so, thank you,
loss,
for a great 2017.

***

happy new year, everyone!
see you in january.
practice good over evil, and keep up the AMAZING work.

all best,
flavs

 

knuckles

25/08/2017

after a long period
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?)

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 i ate from 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)

triangulation of desire

11/07/2017

he had kind eyes,
a warm and kind sense
of justice
and a charming smile
that could get him out
of any trouble.

that was almost nothing
but just enough
to fine-tune
my appetite.

mermaid

03/07/2017

on nasty days,
I always thought of myself
as some scary
deep-sea creature
full of angry, sharp teeth.

when calmer,
i pictured myself, maybe, as
a rock from the bottom
of the oceans:
hard and mossy,
unlikeable, untouchable,
something
so cold no one
would ever wanna take home.

and no one could change
this image of myself,
no matter how many friends,
or how many hugs
I would get,
how many messages
or love gestures.

no mirror could display
any but hideous things.

I could only see
me
ten-thousand feet
below,
into the cold water.

I was always
alone in my thoughts.

***

and then,
in a rare moment
I surfaced,
up up up, until I was
close to the land.

up there,
you came along:
a flurry little creature,
swimming about.

you circled me once, and then again,
twirling the waters,
dancing
in a flow
full of power.

as you cut
the waters,
the scales on your tail sparkled.
when I touched them,
they were as hard and as colorful
as a thousand gems
under my fingertips.

I caressed you
over and over,
and as you laid your head on my shoulder,
your coal-black hair floated
and shone almost white
under the milky moonlight.

the refraction
under the water
made it all look
like fractals.

so pretty
were your pearly white teeth
when you smiled.

***

and you visited,
many times.
we danced,
and talked until the wee hours,
stopping only when the fishermen came along.
we were
as happy as we could
for that moment.

we played cards
on sunken ships,
and you’d always let me win.

“you clearly wanted the victory,
so I don’t see the point in winning
like this.”

on these moments,
I didn’t see myself
as distorted
anymore;
as you touched me,
as we kissed,
I felt things that I hadn’t in very, very long.

but the surface
was bright
and loud! too loud!
and I wanted silence.

yet the seafloor was too dark,
and too quiet for you,
the water murky,
the ambiance too chilly:
you wanted the moon
and the stars,
and the shells in the sand.

you wanted the world
above,
and try to, one day,
take the land.

***

so, I gave you what I could:
my name and a promise
that I’d answer
every time you called.

and a goodbye,
so you could go.

I gave you the victory
you yearned for:

there was no longer
a point in winning
if you could not have
the light that you needed.

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 to think so.

***
as a gift
I dedicate to myself
an itsy bitsy 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