TRIPPING

If you take a toad, you put it in a pot with water and bring it to the fire, you will observe an interesting thing: the toad adapts to the temperature of the water and stays in there and continues to adapt to the increase in temperature, however when the water comes to the point of boiling the toad would like to jump out of the pot but would not be able to because he is too tired due to the efforts he has made to adapt to the temperature. Some would say what killed the toad was boiling water … what killed the toad was his inability to decide when to jump out. So stop adapting to the wrong people, abusive relationships, parasitic friends and many other situations that “heat you up”. If you continue to adapt, unfortunately, you run the risk of “dying” inside. Jump out while you have time.
I have been wandering in nowhere for too long, I have fallen into the maelstrom of my thoughts, futile desires, fantastic illusions. This distance separates the bodies and not the heart, I miss you, God if you are missing, we were a beautiful but misunderstood painting, we were alive, a painting so full of meaning, we were color, strengths and weaknesses, warm tones. The reality is that I have become a clochard of emotions, a walking cliché, I feed on the few crumbs that remain of a sworn, pure and raw love, the reality is that I beg for empty, forced smiles, but even if they are false they make me alive, or better, I survive. My world has become cold, apathetic, meaningless. Maybe I am exaggerated, yes, how can you think certain things? Can a feeling really affect our life? Can it really kill a man? YES. Love is a fucking mental addiction, love is you. I’m still wandering in the void, but I know that only you can save me somehow .. Your eyes are streets, your lips my city ..Let me go home .
This heart cried until it went dry,
These knuckles bleed, they gave it all,
These legs ran to the moon,
To show these eyes just how hard it is,
And this world only spins by inertia,
But if you stay here tonight maybe it will be different
These stars say "look but don't touch"
This sky does not speak to us but it makes us scream.
It's one of those days when I embroider black sheets,
we levitate among thoughts and avoid the most sincere,
maybe we deserve to look lighter.

FAR FROM YOU

( I WROTE THIS POETRY LAST YEAR DURING THE LOCKDOWN. I WROTE IT THINKING ABOUT MY AUNT OF 85 YEARS OLD, ALONE AT HOME)

Can you remember my perfume or has this distance also erased the memories once they were stuck in the folds of our heart?
The hand moves and we stand still and this time we have no motivation to start chasing time,
this time all we can do is sit and wait for time to stop running incessantly, that he realizes that we are left a few steps behind and that maybe he is waiting for us or that he slows down, because I know well that it cannot go back.
Can you feel my emotions behind this glass that divides us?
Can you still see them in my eyes or are we too far away?
I can write the intertwining of emotions inside me on a sheet of paper, but I know well that with words I will never be able to describe how I feel.
Can you imagine my smile behind this bulky mask?
I try to draw in the sky, to join the stars together, to write something, anything, in the hope that you can perceive me.
If with my fingertips I try to imagine touching you, can you feel my touch?
Do you feel the chills running down your back?
Does your mind start playing tricks on you?
Do you see my gaze stop the universe?
I try to whisper words to you I whisper them in the wind so that I bring them to you,
keep the window open and try to understand its meaning. I rest my palm on my glass side, you do the same.

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