Poesie

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.

In particles.

 

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

 

always

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 tall.

 

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

 

Average

 

I like to say

 that I’m not

 

I like to dress weird 

 

on purpose 

to trick myself into thinking 

I’m special 

 

I like to say things to shock people

even if sometimes I go too far and they

squint their eyes at me

suspiciously

 

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 

and beautiful.

 

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?

exactly.

but again

I’m not innocent enough to be that child

 

but

 

If I’m not tall

If I’m not average

If I’m not a doll

 

If I’m not a child

 

then

then

 

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