This day never ended
because this day never began
and my open eyes see only the darkness
of two stars in the sky and one too many
while my mind flies in universes of failed possibilities
like the one where Ikissyouandyouleave
and the day ends
but at least it has begun.
I remember the first time you took my hand,
it was a sunny afternoon in a small city park;
we stood up and yours just slipped into mine –
behaving like it was the most natural thing.
I remember the first time my fingertips run down your back,
following the architecture of your muscles;
I closed my eyes and traced your tattoo –
trying to imprint your skin into my mind.
I remember the first time I felt that energy flowing,
it was late night or early morning, and we were crashing bars;
you disclosed your desires to me –
saying I would have probably needed to know.
I remember the first time I was afraid to lose you,
days were too much, and you needed space;
I searched your profile and smelled you in crowds –
waiting for the world to stop spinning.
I’m horrible at taking risks and starting conversations,
but no, that’s not true.
I’m excellent at taking risks but awful at taking the consequences,
and I’m good, so good, so fucking
good at running running running away.
I’m great at starting conversations, being quirky, funny and entertaining.
But just in drops.
I do not know how to talk to you.
To keep smiling.
To keep be interesting, being mysterious, shining, bright and big
Eventually I will show up. Eventually
you will notice it under my skin, translucent,
violent, crushing out, scraping, ripping, lacerating
the surface, screaming vomiting, rotten, black,
big huge invading corroding.
Eventually you will notice it
And I will run.
I will run run run run run run run run run
Escaping from you
and escaping from me.
but it will catch up
my first love was for life
I used to stand fiercely by her side all the time
I used to feel her, to crave her touch and kiss her whenever I had the chance.
I didn’t think even once about losing her,
I was careless, dancing without thinking where my feet were landing, knowing she would keep an eye on me.
I still do that.
I still dance carelessly.
but then I started falling
I felll hard hitting my head, cracking my teeth and knocking the wind out of my body.
I tried stop dancing
It was worse.
Then I started dancing while watching my feets.
It was nice at first, thinking I had control, stepping over holes and fences.
But over time I felt sick of it
but I couldn’t stop
My eyes were glued to the ground
my head stuck in a weird angle.
I just kept going
I should probably look up
But I’m just so tired.
I like to say that
I’m actually not.
170 centimeters is a average height
for a woman.
Average. That’s a term that I don’t like.
What else don’t I like?
well, I don’t like
comparing myself to people,
I don’t like
being mean for no reason,
I don’t like
being behind in every situation
I like to say
that I’m not
I like to dress weird
to trick myself into thinking
I like to say things to shock people
even if sometimes I go too far and they
squint their eyes at me
I also like fruit.
Like a lot.
When I was sixteen I only ate apples
over 10 a days
I wasn’t really happy back then.
But they told me I looked good
and that they never sow me so skinny
I like to be beautiful
I love when people compliment my hair,
my pretty face
they told me I look like a doll with my round face
reed cheeks, golden locks and quirky smile
I don’t feel like a doll
I don’t like being thrown around
I don’t like being told to shut up
and most of all I don’t like being touched.
I fucking hate when people insist to touch me.
even if I don’t want to
even if I don’t say no aloud.
I like to say that I’m tall.
but I don’t mean it physically.
my voice is tall
my mind is tall
but my personality is not.
my personality is 117 centimeters, the exact equivalent of a five year old with a sugar rush.
like a bad one.
You know, when they start screaming and running in circles?
I’m not innocent enough to be that child
If I’m not tall
If I’m not average
If I’m not a doll
If I’m not a child
what am I?
I too wish I could innocently light a fire,
but in the absence of fireplaces, I do it in my life.
I burn too much,
I try to avoid the passivity of being wood,
I forget that’s okay.
I get angry and flare-up, there is fire
there is chaos, I am exhausted.
I wait for the flame to subside.
How can I not burn you?
First Sun of March, a sidewalk and me.
I would like to have a joint,
I would like to stop to cry but I’ve no time,
I must study.
I would like to know where the thorn is stuck and try to remove it or was that dream fault?
I would like peace and quiet,
but troubles bring me under the Sun,
bring me the Sun.
Or maybe this is one of those days in which I’m little
while mankind is too big
Yesterday I’ve made a mistake,
but the worst is not to have mentioned it yet,
the worst is being lost
Only the witches come to the Burcht to look at the moon.
Only the pure in heart don’t burn in doing so.
The moon is there, palpable
while it draws the boundaries of the cathedral
each one in the Burcht if he entered now would be lighter
no one in the Burcht if he entered now would come out alive.
While the moon stands alone
there is not even a star