I’M AFRAID OF MY FRUSTRATION

I'm afraid of my frustration.

It is an evil that I have always fought against. I'm afraid to show it, to know what people think of it. I'm afraid it could hurt others, me, strangers and even more so the people closest to me.

I try to know it, to touch it, to approach it, to act it when I think it is appropriate to do so and to sublimate it when I think it is too much, in every sense. Then I think of those who, even for the breath of wind, would mount one of those Macedonian armies organized in such a way as to defend themselves from every attack, every possible counter-move.

These are people I know, with whom unfortunately I have to deal with, I have to work with, people with whom I should find common sense, some form of compromise but who instead because of frustration, repressed anger and unresolved issues , they only know how to argue, forcing themselves to always show their teeth.

These are people from whom I promised myself to stay away, because their self-esteem, their devaluation is what they think others are trampling on, not imagining that for the other (in this case me) only their work counts, the their own growth and that their existence is what it is.

What a pain these people do to me. What a pity they make me. To smile at others, to be kind to others but to feel an evil grow within oneself, a confusion that makes one perceive everything bad, everything against the self, everything against an evil done personally to them, exclusively them.

IN THE BLUE NIGHT

The footprints of the night walk beside me.
I meet the eyes of tomorrow
and call in silence
the actions, the waves,
the tracks of the sea wind.
I remain leaning against the clouds,
my face sways, he tells you lashing words.
Blue candy floss night. I have a root in my heart.
I have roots in the mind.
I have roots that germinate blue flowers.
My face in clouds.
My space inside.
Remember the stone.
The stone in the blue sea where
I seat and think about your galaxy.
My blue eyes see your nitght flowers.

I often stay staring at the sky while I’m in the car or just when I’m walking around. I look at the sky because from there my mind opens and makes me reach the sea of ​​stars on the expanse of salty, clear water, full of star reflections. It reminds me of winter evenings, when with very few degrees I was short-sleeved on the beach taking pictures. As I looked at the immensity of the sky, I imagined people who, like me, looked at nothing like a dreamer. I imagined people looking at the stars immersed in black to return home or as they looked out on the balcony or the bedroom window with a cigarette between their lips or a steaming cup, and in taking their time to think, they lost themselves looking at the sky with eyes and heart full of anger or sadness, letting oneself be engulfed in the bubble leaving the world outside, and who knows, maybe we are all astronauts but with the fear of leaving the earth and entering the darkness of the universe among the planets and the stars.

During the day I manage not to get lost in my thoughts. I easily evade tedious issues, impending responsibilities, troubled problems. But in the evening, how the fuck is it done? What is the reason that leads us to reflect more than necessary? Why does the setting of the sun urge us to express our concerns, to accumulate our disturbances? It is late at night and, while I let myself be carried away by this inexplicable introspective flow, I have not yet found the answer.

I think that in twenty years of existence – let’s call it life, if you like – I still haven’t found half a person willing to look at me for a moment and – why not? – to look inside, and not stop outside. I have so many things inside that I don’t say, I don’t do, I don’t share with anyone because no one in my opinion can understand them as I see them. And it’s always the same story. I’m not saying I don’t love my friends. I couldn’t say it and denying it would be a lie. They are an essential part of my good mood. But I don’t know, sometimes these people seem unknown to me in spite of everything, because they don’t see things as I do, and it’s a bad thing because it means that I can’t really get to know myself probably and it makes me wonder if these people would like it. same good to another me, more personal, iridescent, perhaps crazy. I just want to be myself even more and I just can’t take so many things inside me anymore that are filtered before I speak, think, act in the company of other people. Ask me something, whatever interests you looking at my blog, I am in a moment of absolute truth.