i want to be free
of this phantom body;
i want to be raw
for myself to show.
i am tired,
and i’m sick
and the snowball’s rolling.
i am scared –
let me be.
poetry
May 17th, Always
I say I’m good with words,
but my words will never
be able to paint
the endless warmth
You bring
into my small heart.
what’s in a month
the first smile
a friendly hug
a shy reaching hand
a kiss.
what’s in a month?
a heavy breath
a tear
a walk at the park
a breakdown.
a warm heart
a poem,
pairs of eyes talking
pairs of tangled feet.
what’s in a month?
it’s you.
filling my heart
day by day,
with sun.
#22
you may not realise
but my soul has become a vessel
for collecting all the hurtful things you say.
the moment you say them, it absorbs.
it takes them in and there is no way out.
they multiply.
they expand in volume and in time.
they stay there, and they rot.
they become heavy.
they smell bad, and they make me nauseous.
i am cursed to remember every word.
every sob.
every scream.
every pause.
you may think you are hurting
because i am destroying myself,
but you have been destroying me
bit by bit,
word by word,
breath by breath
since the moment you thought you wanted to help me
but forgot to ask me, how.
13/03/2018
your eyes under the sun
make my eyes shine.
offering the light –
a quest,
to make them mine .
(writing happy stuff again – what a life)
The Dream
my dreams manifest in layers:
the central narrative – the Dream,
and then waking up
again –
and again,
until i reach the bottom.
it happens when the dreams
are wishes,
and it happens when the dreams
are fears.
i wake up in a dream
a thousand times
only to realize later
that i am still dreaming,
still not knowing
whether the main narrative
is true,
or yet another dream
of you.
If you’d let me
If you’d let me,
I’d make a list of the things I see
and they remind me of you,
and I’d send you postcards with poems –
I’d get you flowers in colourful pots
for you to take care of,
and every Sunday I’d send you a picnic basket
– except for the times I’d bring it myself
If you’d let me,
I’d write mixtapes for you that you’d never listen to,
and I’d sing loudly in the car the songs that make me think of you –
I’d make you coffee and breakfast in the morning,
and I’d recite you pieces of my favourite books
until you’d shut me up by making desperate faces
If you’d let me
I’d be there for you, to listen about everything you’d want to say
I’d stroke your hair and boop your nose,
and I’d hold your hand and cuddle you in the dark,
and in the light
If you’d let me
I’d become anything, for you.
Only you didn’t,
So I became everything.
For myself.
