.
i’m scared of talking
i’m scared of writing
everything i want to say
is bizarre
.

Advertisements

gesso

 

my sunflower
i am vincent
you were bright
my happy pill

my lily
i am claude
you were calm
my silent storm

my ballerina
i am edgar
you were music
my favorite rhythm

i paint you
over and over and over
but no canvas
can ever
capture you

bittersweet

 

you are bittersweet
like the apple piece stuck
in snow white’s throat
like an unopened
goodbye note

everything looks gray
and feels bland
everything is watered down
like the memory of remembering
that old street in your hometown 

there is no fire
there is no snow
it’s all 25
degrees
it’s all comfortable

the switch is off
the switch is off
you were too late
i hate i hate i hate
fate

Blue Noise

 

My days, long and holey
my nights, severed and hot
I miss your presence beside me
I miss my coffee pot

Slumping and in shady streets,
I walk ten kilometers a day
It’ll take me a couple weeks
to finally walk away

Deluded, I remember your face
climbing a mountain of dreams,
I fall over a cliff shaped
so much like reality

Confusing, this whole ordeal
like an old noisy TV
that can’t find a channel
or turn itself off
to end its fucking misery.

sillage

 

while i have run out of faith
i somehow believe that
you were hiding
somewhere
in my childhood

because you taste like
friday mornings and
honey
i ate with a spoon

you feel like
my school stockings
and my velvet black skirt
you feel like every turtleneck
i hated
and now i miss

you remind me of the darkness
i welcomed
when the power went off
had to sit beside a lamp
and listen to stories
about ghosts
they sounded
so much like you

you smell like
all the trees i climbed
and each one i fell
from

we must have switched bodies
must have had the same hurt
anything to explain
why we are a coin

you look familiar
you look like
every single memory
i want to keep

Who are we?

 

we’re swearers
comparers
suicidal
independence declarers

we are told
that we’re not real
by people unaware of
their own history
but still
we go to their country
and we drink from their brewery
we’ve wrapped their hands around our necks
we’ve marched them to victory
yet still
our flutes weep and
we sing of misery
our tongues click
and say their names
bitterly

oh we know
it’s all a fad
patriotism, partisanship, national pride
we know, we know
politics is a game
controlled by “them”
it’s all dirty lies
but when we have to
and when we want to
we still
take sides

we’re surrounded
by enemies
we speak their languages
and wear their jackets
we hate those enemies
yet we bury their hatchets
we’ve been told we had suffered
we’re aware of the story
and we’ve let our suffering
define us
we’re divided
and we’re delighted to
erase our identity
to believe in gods
born in deserts
we believe in a diviner
that has never seen our mountains
or tasted our fire
we are stitched together
forcefully
we’re oranges and apples
ready to fall apart
as soon as we’re out of our shackles

we praise dead artists
and complain about not having enough
yet we grab the living by the scruff
and silence them
we hate constitutes
and prostitutes
but that doesn’t stop us from using them
we criticize society and fascist leaders
but do nothing to change them
we glorify past revolutions
yet we muffle the sounds of any
emerging ones
we mock and call
our cousins brainwashed
we throw words around
words like: backwards
hateful
misogynistic
we nod at each other
and agree
all the while
forgetting to see
that so are we, so are we.

reflections

 

would you look at me
I am the distraught juggler
the chameleon
I am the keeper with my head
between the jaws of the lion

I’m the surgeon with
a butcher knife clutched to my neck
the cursed child
the crazy woman
I am the abandoned brother

I’m the prophet god lied to
the crucifix turned into a dagger
the impenitent thief
I am the last supper

I’m the wrong timing
the rain cancelling a festival
I am a ladder
I’m the lottery ticket lying in the gutter

I’m the pianist with Parkinson’s
the limping knight
the dancer bleeding on stage
I am the painter running out of color

I’m a missed shot
the alluring toxic couple
a collection of dismantled almosts
I am a series of unfortunate events

I’m the unanswered question
the underwhelming first kiss
the useless invention
I am a musical joke

go ahead and read
what the pretentious nihilist in
a pit of darkness
writes as she attempts
to tell you what she cannot tell herself