Christmas Brunch

Her hair flowed with the breeze when my eyes caught them. He held her close to his body, arms holding tight to her waist while she playfully let her weight give into his trust. She cocked her head back and smiled. I looked at my breakfast and swallowed their joy. I watched them through my cappuccino’s dissipating foam and missed you. It is Christmas morning and every random embrace reminds me of us.

They waited for their table as if hunger never mattered. They floated through the minutes, unaware of the driving by traffic and the impatient starving families on the line. They kissed softly, a long kiss disregarding spectators’ glances. She caressed his right earlobe. I could then smell you with my eyes closed. They looked at each other and there was silence. My silence was louder. My silence swayed with the cold breeze, chest filled with your presence.

It was sunny but my hands were cold. They had dived into an universe parallel to the audience, where the rain is warm and the sun soft on the skin. I swallowed caffeine to wake up from my dreams. I gulped large amounts of the liquid crack and chocked up on my longing. I blushed quietly. They blushed openly, pure naivety of young love.

I looked down and focused on the medium-rare piece of heaven on my plate, I replaced my love with gluttony, forging fullness through my emptiness. I left the couple alone to their moment and duck-dived into the yellow yolk running onto my hash browns. I ate food for the soul and licked my lips, dipped in live memories of your taste. I pounded through my meal until my cutlery was properly propped down on the right side of the plate, as you’d so well appreciate, and suddenly your slow blink sneaked back into my mind.

Man, it’s Christmas for God's sake and never again to be spent away.

Sovereignty

And his mother tacitly told her,
"You're welcome, as long as you don't come in".

Dead Cat

His cat died
It jumped from a wall too high
Or was it an electric fence?

I just know it died
It broke him into tears
Him, not the cat
The cat might have cried
But I doubt it

It probably lay in there in its last breath
Hoping there was a 9th life
“You give them a hand they want the whole arm”
Someone shouted from the skies

His cat died
Yesterday we didn’t know it was his last night
Perhaps I’d have padded it if I knew it was its time
Perhaps not

Yep, his cat died
And I should be more sympathetic
Less thankful for his mighty destiny
But isn’t it fair for all cats to die?
Eventually, I mean…

Now his cat is probably living in the sky
Or some kind of animal heaven out there in the universe
No dogs, just rats
Bunch of fat cats walking by

So don’t be sad your cat died
I show you my right boob if you stop the cry

The (Film) Industry of Broken Dreams

This is not my Business, this is not my life. This is not where I end.

The pettiness of your ultra important tasks
The snappiness of your arrogance, so caught up in your ordinary
The overbearing presence of your inflated ego
It all sickens me

I'm not one of you people, accommodated in your over-weight unhappiness while pretending this is not really your life, although you haven't taken a vacation in ten years
And I'm not talking about a freaking 4 day cruise, or your weekend in Cabo, or your 14 cities in 10 days European trip. I'm talking about the tiny little world outside the state-of-the-art movie set rolling in your head.

I watch your misery pacing across office cubicles and motorhomes
I hear your heavy tone on your uber calls
I smell the petulance in your shallow smile
I see underneath your surface

And then you tell me, "but you know, work is work, I may be an asshole sometimes around here but I'm under a lot of pressure, you know. I'm very different than this in my normal life."

So, news-flash to you, Mr. Split Personality: Your actual life is not much more than what you do with it every day. If you've been working 15hrs days, 6 days a week, for the last years of your life, this is actually what your "normal life" is. What are you going to say now? "No, no, I'm really cool and active on the 2 hours left of my day after we wrap."

Your Groundhog life is a variation of the same questions asked over and over again, "where is crafty, what time is lunch, when do we wrap?" Every day you whine about your early calls and pray for the day to go by. You watch the clock ticking and long for one less day in your life.

Wake up, my friend. You're one more slave of these gold handcuffs. You have sold your soul to dough the day you filled out that first timecard. You got blinded by dollar signs on an opaque paycheck. Time keeps slipping through your fingers while you collect wrinkles in your face and zeros in your bank account.

What's the price of your money?

Look at the mirror
You have aged, haven't you?
Your work has consumed you, swallowed your old longings
You're an empty treasure chest of broken dreams

Is this means to an end or just the end?

Remember those days when you're a kid full of will
Days you wished to be the man you have inside
Days you promised you wouldn't be one of them
Guess what? You are Them

And you're right, who am I to say I'm not?
Believe me, there are thousand hidden tears in portable parties, reassuring myself that I won't give into the evilest ways some people around me have been trying to teach me by default
There is a permanent struggle with this unyielding Success infection shouting through the media waves
I know to wash my ego out every night, patting off any vestige of contamination

I shall not forget what I'm made of

So to you, seating there on your throne of financial achievements, I say, "go eat some flowers", because smelling them is not enough. Book a real vacation as you book a job, fuck your wife more often (or grow some balls and finally divorce her, if you've been contemplating your cowardness every time you pretend you're still attracted to her), move your lazy ass out of your leather couch and get outside, stop watching games and go play them.

Live mothafucka, live!

And if you must choose to stay, at least go shoot your own dreams!

Lobo

Te penso muito, puro brilho. Te vejo sorriso aberto, gargalhada rasgada ecoando nas esquinas escuras dos meus cantos.

Menino, eu sei que o fundo do teu rio é inocência, carinho sem limite, pureza. Corre suas águas, se dá de beber, dá curso a sua correnteza. Quero nadar. Quero mergulhar em sua essência homem, cerne masculino. Quero me entornar no espelho do teu olho negro que me encara lá dentro, me pega, me come, me rompi e eu abro. Abro tudo. Me jogo de peito aberto e deixo que teu gosto me leve na sua torrente cachoeira a baixo. Nadamos juntos; nossa força muda maré. E aí vem doçura pura, afeto, ternura, abraço. Teus braços são o meu lugar preferido.

Homem Hércules, carne, corpo, pernas, mãos, torso. Atleta em cada célula, cada contorno, núcleo e avesso. Corpo fortaleza vigilante da teu vulnerável. Mas nem vem tentando te sonegar de mim, eu vejo por trás das tuas fronteiras. Vejo menino passarinho que brinca pelas minhas avenidas ainda meio despreparado e corre minhas montanhas receoso de desfiladeiro. Vejo menino calado cheio de sonho, que olha estrela cadente e re-desperta meta a conquistar.

Homem, eu sei do que é feito teu peito. Vai, anda, bola para frente, deixa o que não é para traz. Lembra daquele você que só você sabe ser. Olha lá dentro, olha que lindo o que você esconde aí. Abre teu peito. Não te imagino de outro jeito, deprimido, aborrido, esquisito. Não te imagino nada menos do que sol, pulsando, transbordando beleza para dar.

Menino lobo, uiva. Me faz tremer só com iminência da tua pele, com prenúncio do teu cheiro roçando em meus sentidos. Me toca magnético, me absorve, contagia, arrepia todas minhas curvas e faz em meu deserto, de miragem realidade. Vamos para um lugar deserto? Vamos que eu quero deixar meu sangue correr mais forte em minhas veias, quero que suor transpire em gotas salgadas e derrame volúpia entre minhas coxas. Vamos que eu quero encontrar teu corpo no nosso escuro e brincar com teus segredos. Quero esquecer as horas, me perder em você sem soluços nem tropeços. Quero nos beber em taça gelada que por dentro derrete quente e vira implosão que acaba por exploder teu desejo pelas minhas tetas, cara, buceta. E me jogo, me largo, me rasgo ao meio e te compartilho meu mistério, te dou um pedaço.

E aqui sentada com a minha abstinência, em frente a tua ausência, me deparo com a urgência do nosso pouco tempo e te digo, que lindo, que bom te encontrar.

EX

P.S.: Remind myself that jealousy after the relationship is done is just the ego shouting and to be (dis)regarded as a spoiled over-crying child.

Light

But every fear
All the darkness
Any shadow is also light

Morning of Forgiveness

Eyes still close, dawn of the mind

I went to sleep thorns and sparrows
Howling current of dirt
Yellowed village of dusty dreams

I dreamed vast land of volcanic islands
Hidden paths to early civilizations
Dark jungles and prehistoric mountains
Hungry birds of the heart

And there were gods and titans
Fauns and nymphs
Ancient gathering of mythological ghosts
Million thoughts in thousand whispers

I flew through the surface of the earth
Full of mud and dirt
I smelled its roots from above
I listened to the sound of nothing
And soared through intricate threads of sky

I saw infinite dunes of eternally shifting sand
Cosmic dance of complex galaxies
Boundless universe of untamable stars
roaring ecstasy of the mind

I went far into nowhere
Deep into the deepest depth
I dove head first into the whole
Baring all secrets
Undressing to the weight of light
Pure and bright

I slithered old layer of skin
And ate its protein as nutrient for my new
I re-puzzled the broken
And reset what was filled

I just opened my eyes for the day
Everything else stayed behind

The Chaser

How much one needs not to be wanted to want?

Escape

He sits across from her, two isles of desks away. She saw him the first day he showed up with his four girls crew. She saw him, looked at him broadly twice and dismissed. Not that he was dismissible, but her head had had enough to handle for years to come. Not yet. Not again.

Two days went by. She had caught him glancing at her three or four times through the mornings and lazy afternoons. She had caught his puzzled eyes wondering, but she refused to assume he wondered about her. He was just lost into thoughts, not into her. No wetting her toes into any river. She needed ground.

The third day it might have been the baseball cap. There was something about the whiteness of the cloth against his tanned skin that sucked her into his soft beard, his blue eyes, his half smile. She looked away. He answered the phone. His raspy voice echoed in her ears. No. No. Not yet. Not again. She locked her ears from any outland.

But then she spotted his calves under the desk. She spotted the roundness of that muscle riding her into sudden lust. She looked at his ankles, thin as a good dancing slave. His protuberant chest yielding surface to his shirt. His hands typing away seventy-five words per minute. She lost her eyes in him until awaken by his smile. She looked away as if she had been looking through him. But inside her blood was sprinting. She could smell his scent from miles.

She walked outside and lit a cigarette she didn’t want to smoke. She lifted her arms wishing for the wind to dry the sweat drops off her skin. She sighed heavily and asked the gray clouds to distract her intensities. Please, take them with you. Take me with you.

She walked back into the office and his eyes stared directly at her. No hide, no secret. She stared back all the way to her chair. Sat down, cocked her head expressionless while still looking at him and finally looked away at her computer screen. Still, he stared. God, help me. Let me resign from my hunger for a split second. Not yet. Not again.

That night she escaped to home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Next day she came in too early, haven’t had noticed the anxiety of her early wake up. She had sped up to work distractively, not aware of her crave.

She sat in her car reading while waiting for the office to be opened. She watched his crew arriving, one at a time. He will be the next. He always comes in after the Coordinator. She watched the minutes walking through the door, but not him.

She thought she got her mind in place, paced into the office and camped her eyes at his empty spot. He must be getting here any moment now. What? What am I saying? She typed away into her keyboard a story she didn’t want to live; a story about a girl meeting a boy without really getting to know him. A story about the hesitance of a girl persisting to avoid new storms within. She wrote about the girl and felt sad for her despair, her intransigence with herself.

She wrote for as long as she could. He was to arrive any second. But then ten o’clock came and not him. She remembered his blueness gazing at her the days before. She remembered his mystery, his mist and she felt moved. She felt moist.

She ran into the restroom and looked at the mirror. Stop. Stop. You gotta stop. Rest your breath for a second. She looked into her eyes and shut down her fantasies. This is not about him. This is not about anyone but my inability to rest alone for a split second. Stop. You don’t want to know him. I plead. She was tired of her hastiness. Tired of repetitions and the frugality of her inconsistence. The diagnosis was clear; she had been addicted to excitement, to feeling too much, to loving and desiring and engaging and diving. She was exhausted of longings. She washed her face and peed in silence. Enough. She flipped her head and fixed her hair. Not yet. Not again.

When she came out of the restroom there he was at his chair exhaling fire. He smiled at her and she grimed shyly. Run for your life. I can feel it, it’s burning again. No, it’s not any chemistry, it’s just caffeine. It gotta be.

She refrained from thinking but her hands were shaking. Mothafucking cappuccino. Perhaps, I must blame this demand-less job that allows my mind so much to drift. All I need are some tasks and my mind will be clear. Send me the infantry; I’m ready for the battle against my will.

So she got back to writing her story about the girl that didn’t want to meet the boy. She threw herself into words and disregarded her heartbeat. It kept beating. She wished to demise her evil sweat glands persisting to flow rivers under the fabric. She looked at him sitting quietly and wished to run her fingers through his still wet hair.

The day became long. Every second insisted in stretching itself. She saw everything. His dark-gray converse, his dark jeans, his hip green shirt, his attention while scribbling into the post-it, his carefulness with the taping down pictures, the kindness in his tone, the sharpness of his angles. You evil God up there. Leave my motives alone. Leave me be.

She went outside and smoke another cigarette against her will. Let me smoke away my thoughts, blur them with smolder and divert my chemical imbalance. She sat by a chair outside and drifted into bewilderment. She rested her head on her hands and found a pair of dark-gray Converse by her feet. He had sat next to her. No words just presence. They sat in silence hearing each other’s breath, feeling each other skin without needing to touch. Not yet. Not again. They kept the hum of the silence in their heads until requiring tasks pulled them back in. Uff.

The day had gone by with her searching for quietness in her mind. The clock was ticking and she had a chance to win against her overly adventurous hunger. But please, stop talking. Allow me to refrain from hearing your voice against my ears.


By five o’clock she had survived. It was Friday. By the time the weekend would be over she wouldn’t be sitting on that desk again for months to come. Her job was to end and that last Friday was the last chance to give in.

She packed her computer. Looked at him with freedom and wished for a soft kiss. She stood up, pretended to not be leaving––and left. Left alone and drove away holding her breath. It was done. It was over. She closed that chapter and rode along.

Not yet. Not again.

Carta para Marla

Marla,

Descobri seu blog ontem e pirei. Em meio de dia esquisito, cabeça nublada com possibilidade de chuvas escassas, te encontrei cibernética e mudei de cor. Abri suas páginas e mergulhei até segurar as pedrinhas no fundo. Te li mais e mais e me joguei no abismo das suas intensidades. Eu aqui despatriada do meu português, despreparada enquanto transbordando palavras inglesas e espanholas ainda adolescentes que habitam meus desertos mais áridos, me esbarro contigo na esquina da vida e me desencontro para depois me reencontrar.

Fiquei ali abismada, cheia de sensações, em uma mistura de inveja-branca e ciúminho feliz por todas as palavras que você escreveu e não eu, das suas frases não terem de mim saído. Fiquei ali admirando e querendo te saber mais, te conhecer mais, te descobrir. Senti saudades dos meus amigos nesse Brasil, dessa falta de vergonha de falar, de sentir, de viver. Te li mais e pensei em como é que nossos mundos nunca se justapuseram, aí descobri que você só chegou no meu Rio (e o tenho como propriedade sem nenhuma falsa humildade) quando eu já havia me jogado no mar. Marzão de muitas línguas e eventuais mordidas da tal da solidão e esbarrando contigo reacendi esse dia de hoje esquisito, sombra de chama que já virava cinza.

Descobri essa mulher no outro lado do mundo que de imediato quis amizade. Te li uma história atrás da outra e fiquei faminta por minhas próprias palavras. Te abri e quis mais de mim, saindo de tristeza espreguiçada e de repente transbordando em inspiração.

E agora aqui de longe sem saber quem você é, fiquei achando que a gente é amigo dos mesmos amigos, dos mesmos encontros. Compartilhando aqui contigo o meu mundo de palavras tão pequeninhas esquecidas na caixinha de jóias que eu deixei no Brasil, e achando que é tudo besteira quando em face da sua habilidade, fico quietinha, tímida da minha escrita, achando que nada é bom o bastante.

Mas sobretudo, como é lindo encontrar alguém tão distante que mesmo sem presença, só com palavras, inspira tanto e des-cobre meu entusiasmo ainda que em silêncio. E por causa de você, eu quero ler mais, escrever mais, viver mais, eu quero ser mais.

Obrigada

Francisca Libertad


*O site da Marla
www.doidademarluquices.blogspot.com

Settle!

I stay with you so you stay with me and here we are together with each other.

We’re here not because you’re the best for me, although I could claim I may be the best for you, the best of you, if it wasn’t for my grand humility. We’re here not because it feels somehow right––it really actually feels mostly wrong––but because you rather battle about me than not battle about anyone, and I rather struggle about you than not having anyone to struggle about. We are here holding hands in the dark not because your hand feels right on mine, either because my hand fits right into yours, but actually because we’re scared of not having each other’s hands to hold, not having any hands to hold, scared of not being held. And day after day, we convince our minds that we may not be exactly perfect for each other, but at least we are good enough. We live off “good enoughs”, and “as good as it gets”. We live in a safe home. We march around scattering conformism while smirking at the ones whom give into the so-called love.

Love? Which love? That love-thing they brag about, full of major intensities and blahblahblah? Leave that out to the childish ones confined to that burning hell inconsequently happy people go to––the place they’ve taught us about at the shiny temple we went to sign in for our pledge.

Let’s sit here in our throne of temperance and normalcy, sinking into quicksand land of ordinary. Let’s tell ourselves we are content for having each other no-matter-what while lying on a stagnant hammock of old wonders and abandoned yearns.

Remember the days of the great dreams? Days when we used to believe that we were to be happy; happy as those whom allow themselves to cry of hurt instead of recurrent disappointment; as those whom miss each other when they are apart, not out of habit but out of presence; happy as those whom rather die for love than spend hundred years of solitude; happy as what Happy means in that thick book of words.

Don’t be silly, Ultimate Romantic. Leave your aspirations outside and obey what love really is. Not excitement, not desire, not specialty. Love, I’ve been told, is not about compatibility, sex, satisfaction and joy; love is about companionship. It’s about partnership and being there for each other regardless how you feel––and I thought that to be called friendship.

Silly me to think that from six billion people in this planet there would be at least three or four to live what I thought love to be. Straight up illusion––you’re delusional. Love is about a kneeled down proposition, a ring, a veil, a bouquet and a white dress to represent an innocence lost long time ago. Love is about having someone to watch Fox News with, someone to nag and fight at night, someone to complain of your weight gain and point out your vices day after day over and over again. Love is there so to a have a genitalia next to you every night, not that you’d be sharing it often, either that you’ll even associate it to excitement, but it is there, and it’s yours, only yours, and that is to stay that way until you finally lay alone, not to say relieved (re-lived), on a velvet-padded wooden box.

So enough of this love shenanigans! It’s bedtime––that one with the fancy cushions just to look at and never to lie on it. Let’s orderly take them away, turn off the lights and sleep back to back with our conformism until death do us apart.

Speechless

Click on the title.

Wound

I heard time is to heal everything

I searched for it for weeks
I finally scored it from a drug store online
I got myself two bottles
Three, four pops a day
And found myself addicted
One night I even thought I might overdose on it

Fool me
Mere palliative
The wound had only gotten rawer
I read the label
Its main ingredient was Saudades

Girls, Girls, Girls...

Here we go again. Girl meets boy. Girl thinks he’s the first and last. Girl falls in a heartbeat love with boy. Boy falls for girl too. They love. They hold hands through crowds and tap dance under rainy skies. They live two worlds in one and share dreams into cloudy orgasms. Boy and girl believe. They believe in everything they can be-live. Boy and girl overflow into songs, poetry, written words and wet kisses. They meet, they learn, they grow with one another. Boy and girl get to get used to each other. Girl starts wondering if she loves him too much. Girl thinks he got too used to her. Girl finds herself often overbearing and wishes to be more mysterious, maybe even reserved. Girl is not reserved. She is out there. Spread open flesh throbbing on the table. Girl exposes everything and loves with no tomorrow. Boy loves her back without further complexity. Girl starts not feeling loved enough. There are thousands reasons. Whatever reasons. She will find reasons–or maybe just excuses. Girl looks up at the fool moon and drifts into confusion. She howls at th universe and longs for more. Her heart has been mostly beating in irregular frequencies. Boy watches but doesn’t see it. Girl has galaxies within her chest, orbiting infinite black holes. Girl wonders why she wonders so much, why she wanders. Boy moves along unaware of hurricane. Boy is content on the surface. Perhaps, boy is content within. Girl wants more. Boy is not enough. It’s never enough. Girl sheds chaos over their bed. She scatters her scars and longings over Egyptian cotton sheets, cutting its threads with her broken will. Girl gets overwhelmed with her own intensities. Girl throws all through the window and runs away. Girl always runs away. Girl sprints route-less without ever looking back.
Girl starts over.
Boy still hasn’t understood.
Has she?

And no, there is no happy ending on this one.

Acid Reflux

Don't go tasting
The Past has expired
I'm sure you don't want no indigestion

End

The glass has broken
It cut through the skin
We bled out
Dried up stream

All we have left is scar

Tequila

God, you taste like a bad memory!

A Few of My Favorite Things

• Waking up at five in the morning and reading in bed until I fall asleep again
• Turning on the music the second I get up
• Working out right away
• A long burning shower
• Brunch with friends in an outside patio; eggs
• Fresh squeezed orange juice any time of the day
• Writing profusely for twelve hours straight, even forgetting about hunger
• Writing even if it’s only for five minutes
• Thinking about my love, talking to him, being with him, loving him
• Skipping and twirling
• Running Runyon Canyon to Rocky Balboa-ish soundtrack
• Biking in Venice in a summer dress and high-heel sandals
• Swimming in any ocean that is warm
• Walking barefoot on dirt, sand, mud, grass, snow; walking barefoot
• Waterfalls and the hike that leads to them
• Cow poo smell
• Rain smell; thunders
• Playing soccer at the beach with friends - skillful ones only, please
• Coconut water - from an actual coconut
• A palm tree, a hammock and a book (or a Corona)
• Frescobol
• Tennis - new addiction
• Feeling lean, taken care
• Movies; watching two movies in a row alone
• Skypeing my mom and dad - separately, laughing and chatting philosophy and thoughts for hours and hours
• Dinner anywhere and everywhere; ambiance, food and company
• Gourmet food
• Macrobiotic food
• Cooking for myself or for a crazy bunch
• Fruits
• Running without a route in the late night after work, when I thought there would be no way I’d have energy left
• Masturbating without a vibrator
• Porn
• Fore playing
• Sex with love
• Fuck with love
• Being manhandled by my man
• Kissing, French kissing long and soft
• Looking at my love from so close that it seems that he has three eyes
• Cuddling, spooning, hugging
• Caressing and loving
• Intimacy
• Massage; foot massage overall
• Singing out loud
• Crying of joy
• Dancing out to Brazilian music or Soul, or really any music at all
• Traveling to any place that I’ve seen or haven’t seen; change of scenery
• Rolling and smoking my dubbies, alone or in good company
• Laughing so much that I feel like I’ve been doing crunches
• Talking, telling stories, changing perspectives, motivating, trading inspiration
• Listening
• Discussing anything
• Thinking, but not over thinking
• People, learning people as far apart from me as they can be; opening their treasure chests
• Feeling; the snow, the breeze, the sun, the rain, feeling love, happiness, anger, pain; being alive
• Sleeping as late as possible; not letting the day die

Alice's Hole

Today it rains
The raindrops deafen my hunger
My limbs refuse to get me out of bed
My mind has exhausted my body

It’s been a week
The clothes slither through the dirty floor
Piles of hair gathered into colonies of dirt
The sink is full
The glass is empty

My skin has molted
The armor has collapsed
What's left is scattered splatter
I'm paralyzed, staring at my pieces

I have contemplated contemplating suicide
I have thought about thinking about it
I have wished I could be a little bit less into living
But I have lapsed that tool in my box
I’ll cry instead

I sit on my self-sorrow and wish for the world to be compelled
I cry out loud, but there is no one around to hear
Hello, hello, hello-llo-llo echoes in my walls
Is there anyone out there to save me from my depth?

I then remember my vanity wouldn’t want to be seen like this
I comb my hair with my fingers
And wipe away the dry slobber off my mouth
Please, stop seeking attention
You must only emerge when fixed

And let me justify my excuses,
I’m not one to pretend steadiness, to forge temperance
I have never been ashamed of my darkness
But I should be reminded to not distraught what is left of my beauty reputation
I must leave something to hold on to

So don’t tell anyone
But it’s fucking dark in here
I’m in the bottom of a bottomless pond
Where a kid once fell and it was never to be found again
I've held on to the walls
And scuffed the tip of my fingers into flesh
I have lastly ceased on trying to climb back the way in

There must be some kind of way out of here
Said the joker to the thief

But let me be pathetic a little bit longer
Let me sob against the dirt until my self-criticism comes to mock me
Why do I need to want more?
Why can't I just blindly comply with what they taught me about destiny?
Why did I need to go around admitting my dreams?
Now I stare at the mirror
Ashamed of not yet being what I see

I should have lived in denial
Conformed to what was on the platter for me
I should have accepted the leftover of my will
And taken for granted the aftertaste of the wishes I haven’t fulfilled

But no, the evil drive had to step in
The fundamental ambition of self-realization broke into my glass house of conformity
And the solidly built foundation turned out to be a very thin layer of exceeded longings

Now I hold hands with the potential of fiasco
I have risked my every secret
All those great self-expectations I was so afraid of confessing to myself
Are suddenly freed to bully me
I stand already broken by the anticipation of failure
Avoiding acknowledging I’m aware that there is still track left to be run

There will always be


I’m suddenly awaken off my daze by shouts from the top of the pond
Artificial lights are trying to spot me down here
They came to rescue me

Stop, Stop!
I shall not be saved by anyone else but me

I must walk away from this sad funeral of my old soul
That one that lived off grand excuses and linearity
That one that only stepped on safe ground and empty certainties
I must leave the flowers over my coffin to dry alone

I am to dig a new tunnel
Unknown path into virgin forests
I must dive into my truth
Swim heavy current of surpassed convictions
Dodging the debris of an old identity
And let the past expire

I must give birth to my butterfly-self
The colored wings my meekness has fought so hard against its growth
I must allow my mind to heal my fears and embrace my aspiration
I must become all that I am within

Love Overall

Improvement

I have no commitment to my certainties

One more sad little plant dying in my living room

Plants seem to have suicidal tendencies around me
I'm only good on blossoming gardens within