Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

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?)

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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

 

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.