In style

 (Shoe by Christian Louboutin)

I want those glittery shoes 

with skyscraper heels 

and thick platforms.

 I also want to walk in them 

smoothly and gracefully, 

just like Jesus did

on wavy waters.

Amen.

The itch of exhaustion

Definition:

When you realise that still there are
so many great things to do,
but you're anxious and exhausted

and your inner flame is gradually fading
after spending too much time doing things
that made you itchy and feel not as great,

only if...


But if you happen to feel the itch of exhaustion,
grab the chance! let it pierce your heart
and be kind to it, don't fear it, listen to it

because it's telling you that it's time
to live again, to create a star from candlelight,
that same star you always wanted to become,

no matter how big or distant,
or simple and humble,
you'll always shine on,

but only if
you remain true
to your real passion.

So close to happiness (with very little effort)

If only we lived constantly
in the flow of this truth:
that we're far away from being perfect

and so close to happiness!

If only we could forgive 
without any doubt
everything can make sense 

with very little effort.

Funny little speech (reflection on the truth & written very, very humbly)

 What was that shit-whole something all about?

What’s the purpose of it if not to honour the truth in hilarious ways? Why would i speak to all of you with false words and white lies when i know that my little speech could lift or break your spirits? or simply put you to sleep? Why would i be false instead of telling you of the intention of my silly words, which is wholesome, even when i fail to make bloody clear what some whole shit is all about?

Forgive me if I curse, I fucking don’t mean it. Forgive me if I forget to acknowledge your ‘little self’ when I get distracted by my ample ego. Forgive me if you expected me to entertain you like a stand-up comedian, but fuck it! I won't. And this is the simple truth: 'me sucks at jokes, even at cleverly ones'. 

Now

There's no before, there's no after... NOW is the only eternal state of liberation.

Winter romance

No, it’s not the cold outside,

but the warmth in your eyes

that makes my lips tremble;

and I still long for another kiss,

this time with no lies, no ties,

without labels.

Like a magic spell

in this sudden fable,

I confess,

I surrender,

this time I suspect

love is inescapable.

In a maze of doubts,

and haunting shadows

the temple of freedom

patiently awaits us,

as we slowly walk

through icy streets,

holding hands, firmly, tightly,

with smiling hearts

and a world of dreams ahead of us.

Sweet stranger

Fist against my heart

and a long, deep humble bow

for you, sweet stranger.

Home (to Leonie & Adam, and to you as well).

Our home,

it’s not out there

it’s not in the promise

of lucky numbers

or of random lottery tickets,

nor in the pretty words

of a skillful house seller.

Our home is not made

of the things that we own

under the roof

and between the bricks

that we share,

it's not in the things

that we bought for each other,

nor in all the money

that we can save or spare.

Our home is under the sun

and in those five lines

we drew as children;

it's in the loving shelter 

we then offered

to our imaginary friend,

and to the lost pet

we once found and kept,

hoping to never part ways.

My home is with you,

and yours is with me,

my family, my comrade,

my neighbour, my lover;

and with you too, 

kind stranger.

Even if we had to spend

long nights under a cold bridge

or if we fell asleep

under an ancient tree,

our home is in us,

mine in you, yours in me,

as we rest safely

in each other’s arms.

'Aspirante equilibrista' (To Elenia, who inspired the title and the thought).

If in order to test your sense of equilibrium you would walk on a long high cable hung between two skycrapers, don't look down: the harmony and beauty of chaos will leave you in awe and you might as well feel like jumping.

The path is now

My death will not be long enough to give sufficient rest to the sufferings I’ve had in this life.   Before a new day breaks in or an old day fades away, I will be in the seed that soon anounces the birth of a baby boy or a baby girl.  Again, I will get another chance to learn from old sorrows, and to seek and find true happiness throughout the endless line of life.  But before dying this time and crawling again some day, I’d better make sure  that I sketch my future path graciously and righteously;  now when I can still walk firmly, with clear eyes and loving hands, and a heart full of faith.

To my very soul mate, wherever you might be -

A thousand lives back,

the silence of which I speak

has always, always loved you.

A million blue moons ahead of now

undoubtely, I will,

I will always love you.

Even at this moment,

when I still might not know 

the shape of your lips;

even when I still

might not have heard

the sound of your name,

my love is not at all still!

It beats for you in silence

and misses you warmingly,

my love, my very soul mate

wherever you might be.

En la Casa de la Cui'tura (inspirado en el Mae'tro Cabral, QEPD) - (With English translation)

Con la lengua ardiente como un dragón,
ebrio de barato vino tinto,
escupiendo a quemaduras,
gritaba el Mae'tro Cabral:
A mí no me manden a callai', COñO,
que la poesía se hizo PA'BLAI'LA!

In the House of Culture (inspired in the  'Master Cabral' RIP)

With his tongue hot as a dragon,
drunk on cheap red wine,
spitting burning fire,
Mae'tro Cabral shouted:

Don't tell me to shut up, COñO,
that poetry was made to be SPOKEN OUT LOUD!

Haiku voor de mist (with English translation). Also for Wendy.

Wat zoek jij? vroeg hij, | de blinde die alles ziet | met zijn bloot gevoel.

 

What do you seek? he asked, | the blind who sees all | with his bare feeling

Welcoming winter (double haiku, and a single poem). For Wendy, who triggered the inspiration.

The mist ahead chills | every effort of sight. | My eyes close in faith, | as i walk the path, | fearless of the blind future, | i beckon the clouds.

Para Patricia Pereryra - la artista dominicana que más adoro (with English translation)

Eres diosa humana,

diosa de poesía, de canto.

Y cuando hablas, tu voz recoge

el aliento de ultratumbas,

el cual sin esfuerzo respiras

dándole cobijo 

en tu profunda garganta.

Y entonces,

cuando cantas, diosa humana

el universo revela

lo que aún no sabía cierto

En sus entrañas;

y en las tuyas

se engendra en unísono,

otra canción de esperanza,

la cual persigo

con este simple poema,

anhelando escuchar tu parto

de melodías infinitas,

otra y otra vez.

(si quieres escuchar a Patricia, pulsa en este enlace  Patricia Pereyra, cantando El Mandala).

You are a human goddess,
goddess of poetry, of chanting.
And when you speak, your voice gathers
the breath beyond the graves,
which you breathe effortlessly
giving it shelter
in the depths of your throat.

And then
when you sing, human goddess
the universe reveals
what it still did not know was certain.

In her womb;
and in yours
in unison,
another song of hope is conceived,
which I pursue
with this simple poem,
longing to hear you giving birth
to infinite melodies,

over and over again.

If you want to listen to Patricia, the Dominican artist I adore the most, click on this link Patricia Pereyra singing El Mandala

 

Gratitude (to my family, friends, teachers and kind strangers... you are the nightingales in my life)

The Nightingale and the Rose
(Image by http://pjlynchgallery.blogspot.com)

That freezing night, one of the many that I've felt hopeless and lonesome, I let my doors wide open as if wanting the wind to blow me out of my world and dissolve my tears in faraway mists.

But instead of the wind, that same night, as if seeking shelter, a flock of birds flew into the wide room of my cold, trembling silence. One by one, they approached me and with their tiny peaks, they pierced my chest with hungry kindness.  Hungry for my aching love, for the sour nectar of my sadness, they perched my heart and drank the thirst of my solitude, of my abandonment.

And they sang and perched, and they perched and sang my song of hollow regrets and ancient sorrows.  With each note, they gently hushed the laments of my cracking voice.  And touch after touch after touch, the silence became all wings until it was not painful anymore.

That long night I made a promise to honour and not to taint the echo and the tunes of the breeze that carry the melodies of compassionate nightingales, who selflessly offered me their loving thirst to help me mend my broken dreams.  And ever since,  when I hear their harmonious notes,  my chest grows and blossoms into hundreds of splendorous roses, willingly offering to be perched once again.

Tonight, doors wide open, I stand fearless as I wave to the chilled blows of the passing wind.  I invite the nightingales in, so they can drink from the sweet and pouring gratitude of my garden, and find a home in the loving embrace of new-born red petals.

(This note has been inspired by the teachings of the Dharma and by Oscar Wilde's "The Nightingale and the Rose", but when searching for a suitable image, I learned that Florence Nightingale is the woman who is the mother of modern nursery and was a very caring person.  It is a beautiful coincidence!).

Beauty!

Beauty! 

anchored in my hungry eyes

and the bliss of life 

dancing around me, 

like a baby discovering music 

for the very first time.

Y es por eso que no desespero

La vida sigue, amor
como el amanecer que descansa
en la soñolienta y cariñosa noche;
como el ocaso que despierta
bajo la luz tierna e inquieta
de un nuevo sol.

La vida sigue, amor,
porque cada ilusión de finales
es un claro destello
de esperanza parida
por el incansable génesis
que preñado de desnudos
y hambrientos universos,

nos invita a descubrirlo.

Spiritual Reflection on Suicide and Re-encarnation (for those whom I knew, but left life by their own means)

"If in that one conversation I had with you, we had talked about suicide, this is what I would have told you that I had learned so far, now wishing that I knew then of your terrible suffering:

To rob your own life is a  lost opportunity to practice gratitude and compassion for those who have loved you, even if you never knew of their intended kindness. To offer your life for the happiness of others is the ultimate selflessness, but not when you lose your own battle against hope. 

To honour life is, for both situations, the middle way, the only way.  

If only you came to this realisation, your path to happiness would not be as harsh as you think it is when you consider suicide.  And if by misfortunes you fail into the delusion of self-hate and helplessness, but the fountain of your love and the pureness of  your intention are greater,  the greater is the chance for you to get to unfold and cultivate this truth as a higher being, in future lives.

And this is what I tell you my neighbour, my love, my friend, now that you have walked this terrible patch:   No, it's not too late for this conversation:  nobody judges you or blames you, somewhere, just now, life is welcoming again the blessing of your pure and genuine heart.  And this time, I pray for your happiness, that in your new rebirth you will be able to love and forgive all your demons.  I chant for you to glow once more, this time like a star that shines with bliss and never vanishes, even in the cloudiest  night.

With these words, I close my eyes and imagine myself warmly holding a new-born baby, as if she or he was mine".

Ineens, was het zó duidelijk (voor Jerry)

Ik praat (en praat).
Met volle aandacht,
je luistert.
Je lacht  zo mooi,
zo openhartig.
Stralend van echtheid
je vertelt, ik onderbreek,
ik luister.
En zo gaan wij door,
ontdekking na ontdekking,
op zoek naar schoonheid
onder de verre sterren.

To Antonie Kamerling, RIP

Now that you're willingly gone, your words, which I will never forget, make more sense than ever:

"Once in the top of the mountain, there is this emptiness, this fear of falling or failing.  And then you have to start all over again".


I wish you a safe rebirth, full of clarity and a longer & healthier new life.

Ode to the sea as I know it

Tall waves fall and raise,

riding the ocean calmness.

With sunk hurricanes,

searching for far shores,

as they gallop randomly,

they find destiny.

With soft diamond foam,

long streaks of sand kiss the tide

waltzing endlessly,

with wide open arms,

tenderly embracing fate

and the frail moonlight,

they dance with the wind

and wave a rose to the sky,

while reefs watch and praise

their sensuous moves

in every splashing touch

of loving  wet salt.

Sin título

Deja que el silencio te cuente
cómo te visité en tus sueños,
cual fugitiva diosa del ocaso
suplicando albergue
en las suaves almohadas
de tu pecho, de tus brazos.

Deja que la noche te cuente
las palabras que susurré
al buscar mi piel en la tuya,
refugiándome friolenta
en el imaginado abrigo
de tus tiernas y cálidas manos.

Deja que el amanecer te cuente
que no dormiste solitario,
que los plieques de tu lecho
guardan mi aroma
cual perfume de locuras,
de pétalos desparramados.

Y si no me crees, deja entonces
que las calles te cuenten
como por ti, trémula, callo
cuando en cada imagen tuya
lamo con besos
el ancla de tu fugaz mirada.

Deja que el universo te cuente
cómo clavaste la luz de tu sol
en el fondo de mis soledades
dejándome perpleja de amor,
iluminando aquel sagrado rincón
donde aún habitan mis ansias

 de encontrarte en la distancia,

algún día, alguna vez.

Dharma, like the wind

The breeze, the eagles,
without you, they drop backwards
or lose firm balance.

Like an old sailor
or a child and her first kite,
we praise your teachings.

In our own prison,
without you, we cannot sing
true songs of freedom.

You hold our faint words,
our stories of old sorrows
as we search for wings.

In the middle of the storm,
with you, we fly in stillness
as we chant and breathe.

Free from fear to fall,
completely silent, we drift,
we let it all be as it is.

In vast deep skies,
with you, our holy gift, our path,
we travel through the clouds

to where all is transparent

and free.

Autumn, at last

It is over, now
over the fields, moisture dwells
on dry summer leaves.

Just by...

As long as we live
in selfless kindness, we give 
just by existing.

If only we chose to see

In my world, to see

is my personal motto;

and love, the wide path

to vanish sadness

or the desire to reclaim

what was never ours:

Ideas of perfect

just as we wish to have it,

despising its flaws,

clinging to our need

to make it all work our way,

ignoring virtues

that hide because we deny

the beauty of life,

simply as it is.

Inception (of the mind), inspired by the movie

Meditation dreams,
death of what is real, or fake
when we reach limbo:
the viral regret
and the sour, stabbing neglect
pleading to let go.

And then, we rise up
in absolute dark blankness
where nightmares simply crack
at the sound of a chimeb
and two snapping fingers
announcing Buddha,

the awaken one.

Autumn

Gold! it will all be,
the sinking sun, the quiet pond
and the musty leaves.

On Equinox day

Fullmoon rain falls loose,

soulmating in loneliness 

with the dreamy night.

Broken storm (haiku)

Waterfalls of light
filter through the guarding clouds,
blessing restless waves.

Equinox (Haiku)

Fall leaves, falling free.
Deep honey lights chant and leak
through the sleepy mist.

Nirvana (with English translation)

"No, no sé nada"
dice la luz, hambrienta
de sol vacío.

"No, I know nothing"

says the craving light, hungry

for an empty sun.

The pursuit of...?

Men made man greedy:

egos as empty balloons

floating aimlessly.

Haiku of hope for the lonely

Split in syllables,
lonesome street songs cry and mend
my broken love dreams.

Haiku for The Hague

Hush, hush, The Hague speaks.
Powdery rain pours over
creaking steamy streets.

Farewell to the summer

Weeping willow trees,
a coffin, crushed leaves
in cracking stillness.

Little prayer for stray dreams

 Nyx, goddess of the night, William-Adolphe Bouguereau – La Nuit (1883)

Lullaby after lullaby,  the graceful gods of the silence whisper the nightly songs of the ebony angels. Like gracious tempting shadows, mysterious stray dreams dance and tease the raven feathers of my tired eyes.  As if longing for shelter, the goddess Nox softly squeezes herself into my velvet pupils and I have no other choice but to surrender to her blank blanket of darkness. And I embrace her lovingly, with the faith that in a fraction of a second, someone, somewhere, won't shed a drop of blood or sorrow, nor a tear of fear. 

 

No more.

Y entonces

Y entonces,

andaré desnuda por el mundo,

ofreciendo mis manos,

mi nombre, mi hambre,

mis pómulos demacrados,

mis sueños arrugados,

mi corazón encadenado,

mi cobija de lluvia, 

mis pies hinchados,

regalándome toda,

cual harapiento mendigo,

repleta de amor y hueca de mimos.

Y entonces,

rodaré desnuda por el mundo,

ofreciendo todo, todo lo mío,

a cambio del vacío, de lo inasible,

que flotando me huele,

me lame los ojos, me respira los poros,

durmiéndome el dolor, calmando lo seco,

levantándome sobre caminos ligeros,

enseñándome  a primos pasos,

en soplos de canto y de sonrisas,

a desandar sin miedo,

el mudo destino.

En cada beso sin promesa

Anoche soñé contigo,

con las perlas de tu sonrisa

derretidas al borde de mis labios,

con la sin razón de tu lengua

desbordándose ansiosa

en el húmedo albergue de mis locuras, 

de mis amorosas soledades

sedientas de mi en ti.

Anoche soñé contigo,

con el verbo de tu aliento

engendrando meteoritos de miel y celo

en el cielo inhabitado de mi boca,

pariendo delirios a borbotones,

sembrando sin resistencia

trémulas y frágiles palabras 

de amor lejano, 

en cada beso sin promesa.

Dear, dear DR, I miss you

My island,
my island is not imagined.

Like the African drums
of the last freed slave,
like the new-born eyes
of the first mestizo
and the ailing sigh
of the last taino child
she beats and dances
she cries freedom,
calling me Amapola, Manuela,  
mi hermana, mi hija.

My island,
my island is not imagined.

With that same frantic echo
which was suddenly born
on the same day we parted ways,
she beckons me and captures me,
whispering infant memories,
holding me in her pregnancy,
taking me to her Caribbean sun,
drowning me in the depths
of her loving Atlantic breath.

My island,
my island is not imagined.

She speaks with clarity,
assuring me in a rapture
that she is as real as my own mother,
as my own voice, as my own flesh
as I dream and dream of her promise,
as I sail with an open rose in my hands
to the magic treasure awaiting for me
within the foamy softness
of her divine golden shores.

Untitled.

My dreams, they beckon me.
With my silent eyes, I listen
to their childhood memories,
to their infallible promise
of a blossoming future
rising, always rising
like a sprouting sun.

Hope

When the pouring tears 

wash away the clouds 

and stop as they welcome

the fresh blue sky,

hope is the window

that allows us 

to be present,

and see it all unfold

like the simple magic 

of a new day.

 

 

Ontwaken / Awakening

Nog een nare droom
en dan ben ik echt klaar mee
wanneer ik wakker word, nu!

Another nasty dream

and then I'm really done with it

when I awake, now!

On love, after being in love.

Sometimes love might seem not enough, 

simply because we fail to see 

that love is everything,

in everything,

always.

Ahora (see free English translation below)

 Oh! ser y estar!
justo en el presente,
sin temor, con fe.

 _____________________________

Now

To be and to be!

oh! just now, in the present,

without fear, with faith

Summer night

The church bells ring once
The soft night heat blows sweetly
Dreams crawl on my bed

Mango

mango, luscious, delicious, sensuous mango,

your kisses in my tongue.

Image source: bhagya.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/mango.jpg

Insanity

How can i explain
there is no relief
for this latent pain
which eases when i cry
and returns when i smile
it’s all fucked up inside
it feels like a vice
denying happiness
to my beatless heart

I feel this violence
breaking me, it bounces
when i feel your absence
hitting me back
crushing my senses
killing my defenses
it’s all so senseless
i crack like a wrack
i long for your presence
my love’s been sacked

It’s so intrusive
and so abusive
i feel delusive
it’s so reclusive
when you’re elusive
to be exclusive
when you’re decisive
to keep us apart

How can i explain
i know no way
to pack my feelings
and get away
i can only stray
i know it’s in vain
to ask you back
to beg you to stay

It’s driving me insane
i drain in your disdain
when i feel your essence
chained to my veins

How can i explain
there is no relief
for this latent grief
which eases when i scream
and returns when i sleep

it’s all messed up indeed

it feels like a creed
to live by your greed
i don’t cease to bleed
please hear my plea

free me from this need

It’s so fucked up
to carry this weight
there is no escape
this is my fate
to be your prisoner

I feel my decay

Poema lanzado a la eternidad virtual

Plasma : Materia gaseosa fuertemente ionizada, con igual número de cargas libres positivas y negativas. Es el estado de la materia más abundante en el universo (diccionario de la Real Academia Española de la Lengua).

Atravesando este plasma infalible
oh, tu dentadura a flor de sonrisa
cuando te miro y tú me miras
enamorándome con tus pupilas
y tus juguetonas manos
que me tocan toda a través de las mías

a pesar de esta triste lejanía

en el silencio que nos asalta
cuando se nos preñan los labios
de versos, de remotos besos
que como savia divina se entierran
en tus entrañas y en las mías,
brotando luego como rocío de anhelos,

mojando la frágil soledad

en el aleteo de tu eco
cuando tu dulce voz se pierde a gritos
como recia lluvia que viaja y emigra
habitándome de ti, en mi desnudo epicentro,
colmándome con tu hambre,
con tu fuente a cántaros, con tu grave canto,

cual sedienta y abandonada tierra

a bocanadas de amor embriagante,
gimiendo en tus delicias,
a tí, solo a tí, en puro temblor,
sin temor, me lanzo y me entrego
hasta que el efímero encuentro
nos engendre y nos separe,

tiernamente, alguna vez.

Sin titulo

-->

Como perra realenga,

entre tus piernas,

relamiendo mi cuerpo en tu lengua,
con tus húmedos besos

limpio mis heridas calles en ti

Jadeando, gimiendo,

se funde mi aliento en tu aliento

Aliento tuyo que como generosos dedos

acaricia mi cara, las entrañas de mi cuello

Callando mis ojos, mis párpados, 

tu elocuente y vicioso deseo

susurra tu  salvaje canto, tu insasiable sed,

desafiando, sin descaro, mi pudor, mis oídos

Como gata que lame y abriga a su cría

te besa mi piel en tus labios, en tus manos,

en tu mimoso instinto, en tu tierna mordida,

acurrucando en ti mi abandono, mi frío

Con tu fogata en mi desnuda prosa

el resto de mis sentidos habla por ti,

Ululando deseo, maullando amor

narrando la historia de mi carne y de tu nido

Ciega y sorda de razón y casi muda de versos,

a ladridos y entre tus juguetonas garras,

entre silencios y risas, en aullidos de luna,

me regalo toda, me refugio en ti

Como gata amorosa, como perra realenga

en tu dulce abrazo, en tu divino sexo,

me pierdo dócilmente al encontrarte

en esta frágil calle sin salida

And this is how it ended

"... and this is how much I love you" he muttered.   Nearly resembling a day-time thief, he  disorderly pulled out the cables from the blue wall and hastily put the remote control into his coat pocket.

"Be careful! you are going to break something".  I said, annoyed.

With an ungracious and nervous effort,  he tried to lift the expensive television.  Barely bearing its weight, he held it tightly against his chest as if it was his only and most precious possession and, without saying much, walked away.

To my relief.

Frantic verses (written like an assault, all at once, almost without knowing)

I see the future,

it’s empty.

And I can draw on it

whatever I desire.

I don’t feel my heart beating.

It’s so quiet.

Resting in me

like a baby deeply asleep

I can feel its breath,

warm and almost whispering.

I can hear that it’s dreaming

of the empty future.

I can see it smile.

Like a baby,

my heart dreams with shuteyes

and dreams

and dreams

in absolute silence.

He said

that I am not of this world.

That above the surface

there is no place for my dreams

for all is cluttered in the busy-ness of life.

He said that I should dive in and breathe deeply

deep, below the line.

There, there is no air, there is no water,

just a silent heart.

It’s beckoning me  to go inside.

I sink in quietness as it invites me

to walk and find the path

where I will never  run out of breath,

where I will never crave in thirst for rain

as long as I stay inside and hold to its kindness

as I reach  and touch everything that is transparent

and invisible to my eyes.

So he said.

There is no surface

nor underneath

and 

I 

am


not 

falling.

The mountains and the oceans,

they all live in me.

I can see them rise

and hold storms.

In the midst of chaos,

they make my voice.

And I speak of no fear.

For I am the midst,

the centre of all that surrounds me

from within.

How many times did I not feel the strength of my muscles,

nor felt the posture of my bones?

How many times did I not feel and fell in silence,

forgetting to hear its voice? 

How many times my love for you was shouting, 
screaming to be heard and touched?

[[[[[ This imprisoned silence never felt so bloody LOUD ]]]]]

 

I screamed, eyes wide open.

The nightmare had just escaped.

And he held me:

Ssshhh  sssshhh ssshhh

“It’s only a bad dream”.  He said.

I believed him.  

But I could not go back to sleep.

He spoke to me every night after.

He said bedtime stories

were the best remedy for bad dreams.

He read for me, he told me white lies.

And I was never cold in my sleep.

Today even the furthest unknown

seems to make sense.

I like the feel of the wet grass

against my bare soles

as I walk

without direction.

They say that if you draw anything,

your heart will bring it to life

So I drew, and drew

and hoped and hoped.

I see shapes I can’t describe

for these words aren't still invented.

They belong to another language

but yet, they don’t speak.

And I hum.

And they bend.

Just like the shape I thought of 

when I was humming.

You see?

Today is not on the calendar.

You could be 100 years, or 1 year-old.

In any case, still a lot to love and live.

What would you do if a child gave you a rock and asked you to tell a story?

The flowers in the vase are fading,

but I can still smell them,

wishing I never had to bin them farewell

Someone once told me

that I was too tragic.

That I should never cry

when beauty abandons life

because something else

will come its in place.

And that I might adore dearly it too

 One of my friend's usual quotes:

“You never know, it might be a blessing in disguise”

And I thought it was SO spiritual to say so.

You want sex.

I want to hug.

Let's see what happens later

when the hug develops.

But you just don't get it.

I like to feel sober.

I like to feel high.

It doesn’t  make much of a difference to me.

My head is always flying.

If I would speak to the shrink just now

he would say that I am “in that state”

because I cannot stop writing poems.

“Many famous artists are just like you, it’s part of your disorder”

Thank you and FUCK OFF.

My friend said her 8-year old is a dreamer.

And I said he might be an artist.

She said she doesn’t mind if he just makes it

to the next school year

as long as he’s happy.

Don't forgive me.

I know I go on and on and on

but there must be some sense about it.

Even when you ask me to stop

I will continue and by no means

will take that stupid pill.

He must be asleep.

I promised I would be in bed soon

and that was a while ago.

Now I have to write

my own bed-time story:

“He was angry at the sight of the empty pillow

and she knew that, sooner or later, 

she will have to leave him for good”.

“and they did not live happily ever after”

To her relief.

Now, read this words:

Do I make sense to you?

Now, speak to me FOR REAL.

Forget I am not here

and give me a fucking honest answer.

I am going to pretend

that your words traveled

through a sound wave

unknown to my ears.

But I’ll listen,

and say nothing in return.

Like a ventriloquist

I imagine I speak through someone else.

Let's say, you (yes, you).

And I hear my own voice

coming out of some wooden doll

with jaws always, always smiling.

You laugh, and your nose grows long

but I don’t think it’s funny.

At all.

I wish I were me.

And most of the time

when I wish I were me

I am the nicest person

I’ve ever met.

When I see a dot,

I don’t see a spot.

I see everything around it,

expanding.

And sometimes I cry hard.

And sometimes I laugh out loud.

And sometimes I want justice.

And sometimes I am ready to die for you.

And sometimes I wish it was just a spot.

And that I could see it just for what it is:

deceptive and self-contained.

Once I wrote:

“I feel too much.”

“I am too much”.

“who wants that much?”

You embrace me

and you say that I am  beautiful.

And I, naively, 

believe you.

Again.

You see?

It doesn’t take that much

to be in silence.

And write, and write

and write

frantically.

(I wonder what the shrink would say)

Am I talented?

According to you what is talent?

And in your version,

Does it mean any courage?

And you, are you talented?

Yes, yes, I will listen.

Someone like you could just reveal

all that I did not know before

which I knew would leave me in awe,

gasping for more.

Only if someone like you ever told me

that I would meet you one day.

You see my love,

sometimes heart and mind

seem to bear no difference.

In those moments,

there are more revelations

than questions

And after all that,  

you are still here.

And I won’t leave 

until I finally find you

in my love, in your truth.