|he was the lamb wishing to be the shark,
years of struggling, and he did get there, but i never came,
trying to get rid of myself.
given to the hands of curiosity with nothing to remember
but this empty street and deserted man,
it was easy.
playing in the same team with my own nature, we spent
meaningless hours sprinkled with random talking about books.
suddenly, it occurred that he was so near,
and for almost a year i felt these warm words
followed by cold drops of closeness.
twice i was a coward:
being colorblind, i waited for so long to share, but
he was the one who took my colors, giving none back.
already colorless, i was fleeing
and he let me taste this black and white soup,
it tasted like happiness.
into the wilderness, i got lost, and fell down ,slithered, for
he was the snake.
and he was the snail.
and again i was sinking into the goo i wished to produce,
even though on that moment he was sticky and sweet and melting like sugar.
soon on a night of exhilaration i was the one to hold his hand on a way home,
and we laughed.
then he was beautiful, tearing my skirt he wore, so frozen and distant, i felt.
so that i needed to escape into engineered world of scheduling
and brushing the teeth after every meal, it couldn’t last.
on the roof top we drank sour wine and spilled out well known secrets,
he knew how to surprise my feet and tickle my heart.
i wanted my heart un-ticklish, but it refused to obey, because
he was so upright, and so small, and so much larger than i could ever imagine
or bare, so i let go.
just to see that he was a red head pirate,
fighting his own demons, he could not fight those mine.
on that moment he became roman, forever turning jerusalem into sanctuary.
i got caught up and it all turned into a big mash with a guitar music dressing.
i needed to breath, so now he was showing me his paintings
and i was breath(ing)less again.
that’s why he was young and his hair was big, he played saxophone
during nights and i was smiling.
wearing beautiful dress, and smelling like me and like everyone, i was talking
to him in the dark, and my lips were touching his skin.
i was hiding in holy jerusalem, when he came again, and
took me into his pre-planned world of tomorrow,
we never celebrated the moment.
so i ran away, and then he was worshiping Buddha and climbed mountains,
while i was sad.
so he came straight from his own reality holding that mirror. he wanted to pull me in, i preferred to fade away.
into what used to be sacred jerusalem,
but only closer to the polluted sea.
all of a sudden, i was near holy heights again:
he was another lamb, hiding in god’s lion skin,
digging out secrets buried in earth,
so delicate and warm, he was,
i thought i can breath for real,
but i was suffocating until i managed to leave.
for long nights i waited for the moment when i could go back dancing
on my own,
and barefoot bear put me under the spotlight and into the game.
satan was lurking just around the corner, making illusive southern desert look like luxurious oasis, it hurt deliciously.
so i chose to try out north,
the heat was strikingly immense,
but little black eyed demon was as cold as marble.
*artwork-“le regret” by charbel samuel aoun
|another kind eyes decorated with a smile
to celebrate all the good things
that are out there,
made all the bad things that are in me
enclosed in my own self
i laugh out loudly
waking up all the demons,
and scaring off all the angels,
who guard no more.
i laugh out loudly,
watching loads of instances
of choices that were never made
dancing, swirling with the dust
of chances that were never taken.
*artwork-“fatigue” by tom bennett via saatchiart.com
I grew to hate the aftertaste of your kisses.
It lingers for hours.
My home suffocates under the shield of your cigarettes
And leftovers of lust.
You’ve been worshiped for so long
That now I can barely take you.
I am sick of hearing your impotent words
And your once mind-bending touch
I am overdosed.
Yet so scared of letting go.
*artwork- “impostor” by leslie ann o’dell via leslieannodell.com
tiny bug bites within
feeds on disappointment
eats frozen invoiced words
wormish sleeky tales
of illusions that won’t ever bring light
hello, i say
when they come so close
that i can touch with my bare hands
feel through steely hearts
look into their eyes
inhale their lies
this stream of hollow promises
destined to die quietly
but my stomach
holds hope, in the farthest rooms
of the reddish matter
that’s called intestines
i like to show it off
and to pretend
being the fair one.
*artwork-“empathy” by John Edward Marin via fineartamerica.com
|who are you people?
countless names on countless pages.
is it all about comfort?
and why destroy freshly built basics?
he who likes Kurt Vonnegut and Milorad Pavic,
i want to be understood,
damn geniuses, i adorebeing adored
being the smart one
enchanting music attached to words that have no meaning
little book worm, devouring pages
under the blanket
that’s what i was
and now words are pale.
and, maybe, forgiven.
*artwork-“angels in waiting” by libby mills via libbymills.wordpress.com
it’s me, waiting on him
till he wants to tell me his story
this building is shivering
and can be broken down
with one simple word
whispered inside out
whispered because it needs to be shouted
and blind eyes will become green
and deaf ears will heed
and mute mouth will break silence
*artwork- by jiwoon pak via artparasites.com
my being is ridiculous country.
it’s easy: i merely want to be needed, important and
so that they won’t have a new girl, again.but, in the meantime, i am bored.
and everything around me seems
people used to be.
and i once was
someone that i am not, anymore.
yet, i hold on to. clinging to something
that is not even memory.
ever present anxiety.
so, i wait. i’m alert.
always ready for being turned away.
returned to the manufacturer.
in a common cardboard box,
straight to unlovingness.
*artwork-“smoke” by brigitte werner via pixabay.com
|for more than two hundred and seventy days
i pushed away, it was not easy.
funny it feels, the tips of stiff fingers tremble
and heart pounds so fast.
this face in front of me. still precious? or is it?
covered with thin layer of curiosity
covered with thick layer of urge to destroy.
everything’s so familiar
these feminine hands,
hiding behind ever present cigarette
and convenient smoke.
i just wanted to say good-bye.
*artwork-“waiting for the sun” by cameron gray via fineartamerica.com
|“pattern”, it is called.
her little personal drama.
all of a sudden – a whirlpool,
echoing voice of sticky old trauma.”don’t wait for me yet”
well, it’s too late,
the mechanism’s on
her heart sings that
*artwork-“acceptance” by ella prakash via mojarto.com
nah, just all in one.
i am as complicated as a shampoo.
beloved and be-hated villains,
sour and sweet voices
they build and then destroy,
occasionally sharing the same sentence.
boy, do i love it!
major fuck up.
production flaw at mama’s factory.
another wise man said, that
in best families (sh)it happens, too.