DISTANCES

It took me time to accept the pushes, the approaches, the distances. Until I realized that there is no void between people. In that place between souls things happen, things that have always continued. Promises that know of smiles, tears, necessary silences that know of trust. Life is a dance disguised as a struggle, where the only one who loses is those who do not believe. Those who do not gently and delicately caress their own pain and that of the other, those who do not sit at the door as on the seashore and not to wait but to take care, with love of that dull noise, in the shadow from so far. The heart knows, the heart sees, even when the eyes are blind and full of anger. Give time to time, everything is fine.

EVER GREEN

We have been fire that burns,
flames that shine on a summer night when you make love and you don’t swear to stay for eternity,
because there is no need.
It’s all so far now,
and I wonder if we ever existed.
But the ashes still give off smoke.
I don’t know if in the course of my existence I will think of these moments as just blooming sunflowers or ashes flying accompanied by the wind.
I just know that they will remain etched inside me like an incision on the aorta.

They pass quickly the run-in spring swallows, beyond the subtlety of the sunset delicate joy:
from there the desire for the west is born.
I turn around the saving banks of a distant universe:
that who no longer listens to my will but he feels all humankind at a distance.
I ask by the side of the road, to continue in this stop the company of a hand: that me give the opportunity to make myself heard still happy to intertwine fingers,
mark the time between a glance and the reflection of a May afternoon.
Between summer storms and hope not to live it alone in the shade of a luxuriant tree,
the genuine relieves me of all this essence of reserved living with an eye on the world e a small peephole towards poetry and the beauty of creation.

I am sitting outside, the last glow of the sun on my face. it’s cold,
but I don’t want to go back inside for a sweater.
Seeing goosebumps is comforting,
it makes you feel that something can touch me and I am not indifferent to it.
today I tidied up, dusted off,
wrote an important chapter.
I took care of myself calmly, here the time seems to be less and less.
there are those who think of me,
I don’t know what to think.
I smile at a friendship that blossoms despite the ashes left around and I tell myself that it is not true that the conclusions are the end.
I can say with confidence now:
I’m fine and I don’t hold a grudge.
I am so proud of myself that I would hug myself tightly.
perhaps it can be a remedy for the cold.

The ash on the head. Like any penitent, like any writer, I atone for my sins through writing.
I seek redemption hidden in the perfect sentence.
I try to sublimate my pain and debase my heart.
This is not a world suitable for tall people and I have never felt like a giant.
The only regret that of all this writing will remain only ashes.
How many emotions do you go and how much paper consumed. Who knows how much more there will be. In the meantime,
I am consuming my pen by dipping it in the ink of my soul.
Do not make me an example and I am not even a poet. I’m just reporting on my misdeeds.

QUEEN OF DARKNESS

I can’t really explain the pain I feel. I can only tell you that I try to live but this life is really not for me. I swing from moments of extreme anger to moments when I have no reason not to throw myself off the balcony. road without hoping to be hit, I don’t light something without hoping to die from electrocution, I don’t take medicine without hoping to die of an overdose, I don’t smoke or drink without hoping that that substance will kill me. ‘is no one with whom I can share my weight.My head and body are so far apart, I have the heart that every second that passes an extra crack, I have a thousand thoughts that I try to escape but lethally devour me every part of I don’t see reasons for just another breath and the more in vain I try to find reasons not to go, the more the world or life gives me some to really leave. I try, but maybe for some life is not, I’m sorry to disappoint those who perhaps still believed in me. I can’t really stay, if they asked me why are you so sad? he is distant and I die waiting. I loved you, and how real are the tears that now would like to fall from my eyes, how real are my absent and dull looks, how real are panic attacks, how real is the commitment that I put into it, so it is always was my love for you or for you true. I leave my place in this life to someone else, I do not deserve or want to live it. I have become just an empty shell that walks and breathes. I died long ago, my soul died long ago. I’m not a princess, he won’t trigger him to save me, he really won the bad this time around.

My sensitivity is my gift and my cross. Where the many are barred, I am allowed to feel. I feel the shades of the soul and I see its colors. My wonder of a wildflower and I cry in front of the sea. I see no heart for the scar and no tears for tears. I feel joy and pleasure, pain and suffering. This is my gift, this is my cross. Music has taught me to be curious. A love cannot take something away from you. Those who say they sacrificed themselves for love make me laugh. Too bad for them. Fears are needed. It is not useful to chase them away. I’m afraid that fear will paralyze me one day. This yes. But it doesn’t just apply to me. It scares me that it could happen to anyone. ou, queen of few words, heal my soul. Let the darkness peacefully lull her into the day. Luminous Queen, common point between distant souls, let me free myself from the chains of distance that men have not yet been able to destroy. Let him be able to rock me one more night, and another. And if you can’t leave us together, enlighten us also tonight and cradle and our souls that meanwhile dance a nostalgic waltz on the edge of the precipice of human will. And let this dance be eternal. Let at least our souls be together, distant queen.

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.