GOLDEN STAR

The sky written inside the chest,
where a snake bites my heart.
Outside breathes the gold but inside the blood languishes.
I was like her treasure,
I shone with crystal clear breath.
Past.
Turned.
The soul counts the steps behind the anguish.
He chases people and the sea of ‚Äč‚Äčnothing.
Spasms of the rain.
The grass blades bend but tomorrow they will be straight again and the same as before.
I turn my face,
the body sends messages,
the code is always the same.
A part.
One condition.
Meditated with a strange thought.
Like a karma video.
It is important to look at it and understand what could have happened.
It’s strange what I feel inside of me,
I have this strange feeling that he doesn’t want to leave me.
I don’t sleep,
I don’t eat,
I can’t understand what I’m getting.
Anxiety?
Could be.
Nervousness?
Mashed potato.
Stress? I do not know.
The fact is that I can not understand,
I can not think and above all I can not speak.
I don’t want to overwhelm people with my problems.
Sometimes I think of those moments when I felt emotions such as sadness, melancholy, pain …
Many of us push away these moods because they are negative, yet a smile is more sincere after a cry …
Maybe it is it is the sincerity that is frowned upon, in moments of weakness we really show what we are and it is scary for many to show their face without being able to hide …
This is why no one shows his mood anymore,
we all now want to hold back the suffering within us,
while this corrodes and poisons us.
When I want to hide from too heavy a reality I read a book, to enter the life of the characters, I love it, I imagine them down to the smallest details. In short, I put my world on pause and dedicate myself to someone else's.
Last night I could not sleep, page after page I found myself with tears burning my eyes and it was in that moment that I realized I had dragged my reality into my book ... I imagined you and me at the place of the usual characters.
I have not even finished the chapter, which I hate because it makes me feel incomplete, I closed everything as if I were crazy and I let myself be devoured by reality.
I was no longer able to escape.
I cried all I had, I should feel lighter but it's not like that. And now I'm afraid, I'm afraid to reopen the book and find you there, when the truth is that I would simply like to find you here.

I CRIED

Today I cried again. Alone. In the shower.
I got good at not getting noticed in those moments. Or at least I try.
I don't always succeed.
The truth is that, by now, I have too much load to be able to "hide". Too many words that were not spoken, too many emotions that we tried to hold back. They are all there: stuck in the throat for several months. I'm on vacation and I should smile at everyone. But as usual he ruins everything.
Emotions press hard, like a ping-pong ball into the stomach.
The Miss who can make it at any cost, this time has succumbed to a crash.
Always at the right time when others need a hand and always at the wrong time when it's your turn. Because Miss doesn't know how to ask for help. They taught her (no, not her parents, but Existence itself) to stand on her legs and arms, because the mental stakes one clings to always disappoint.
And he does not know how to ask for help, nor take it, not even when that help comes spontaneously.
Perhaps because not all of them are inclined to Listening and even less lead to Listening to You.
Few are those who take words out of your mouth and pain out of your heart.
There are even fewer who understand you or those who care to understand.
No victimhood: everyone has their own difficulties in life and pain often tends to close rather than open.
Fears, then, govern the unmanageability of certain situations and you don't know what to do, how to help.
Silence. Thus we take refuge in Silence, when Speaking and being Listened to is the only real solution.
This is why, in the end, most people go to psychologists: because "no man is an island" and everyone wants to talk.
Listening is no longer practiced, not even towards oneself.
We hurt ourselves so much with words that don't come out, with emotions that don't vibrate, with gestures that don't happen.
Then you anesthetize yourself and think that finally that is the solution in which you no longer feel anything, to discover with horror that the pain remains and the joy fades too quickly.
It does not come out.
Today I cried in the shower. Alone.
I cried to cradle a little girl whose father died just over two months ago; I cried because that creature knows that her father was not a good father, but that he was hers and no one can take this memory out of her head.
I cried listening to the Woman with the chaos of feelings in the Soul, the indestructible Goddess who never wants to collapse ... pity that she is in a physical body that, sooner or later, had to yield to so many difficulties.
I cried for the youngest daughter, the one who wants to feel fragile because feeling fragile is a sign of humility towards oneself and towards one's own Existence.
I held the child, the lady, the youngest daughter .. I cried with them.
I burned my chest with sobs and ran out of tears. For today.
They will come back. Until I learn to speak.
He always destroys everything. Him and his anger. And now he sleeps and I am the woman who dreams when he sleeps.

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