Young princess
Child now grown up
You play being a wife
satisfied lady.
The rooms of your home
Polished dwelling-
They might satisfy
Your thirst for tea
friends accommodated
For years to come,
For years.
Your wise husband
accomplished master
He does not feel the pains
Ignore the paleness.
Behind a door
Your pain is hidden
Locked in
Golden lock.
You were free in the woods,
with your bow and your knife,
true warrior,
and now only daughter-in-law.
In twelve months you look at the moon,
dreaming of that life in a sylvan abode,
you wait to be sure that the wind will come back
and take away your days.
The green-eyed girl watched the falling rain hit the window; the drops competed to finish first, it was like a competition and the first one that arrived disappeared into thin air.
A bit like life.
Life is a constant race of speed, only those who keep running find their way while the others get lost halfway and in order not to waste time they take another one that leads them to unhappiness.
Then there are those like the girl with the emerald eyes who from the beginning do not know which way to take and remain at the starting point waiting for someone to pick them up and take them on the right path.
But that someone will never come.
Her eyes slaughtered by the night.
She who in her eyes had the routes to the moon.
She who was cold inside, the cold that freezes your veins.
She who no longer believed in love, she didn't want a guardian angel.
Those eyes have seen too many things for the few years he has.
Her eyes always on the edge of the precipice.
Always ready for the explosion.
They say that crying is good, good for the soul
But when your soul is too tormented where nothing makes sense they are just wasted tears.
Like, have you ever confused the dream with reality?
Have you ever been high?
Did you believe that your train was moving while it was stopped?
Maybe I was just a little girl and that's it.
Heart night. Heart moon. Mystery illuminated by the dream. The thought tears. Every morning it opens one day. It hurts to wake up. Having to live in human sleep. A bright and perky twin. While you are still sleeping. An efficient and hardworking twin while you laze in the sheets. A slab of hearts. Crushed. I went in from the back. Walking on the carpets with holes in them. The rooster crowed. The rain was coming. Candles dropped from my eyes and the light touched my green irises, coloring the meadows of your feeling. I have chosen not to participate in the life cycle but to remain in nature. From your doors to my doors a hanging wire grows, almost a vine. Profane. A darkly severed scene cut by a skeptical director. That you want a happy ending is obvious but my end is always cynical. Heart night. Heart moon. Mystery illuminated by the dream. The thought tears. Every morning it opens one day. It hurts to wake up. Having to live in human sleep. A bright and perky twin. While you are still sleeping. An efficient and hardworking twin while you laze in the sheets. A slab of hearts. Crushed.
I love myself as I am. With strengths and weaknesses. Black days and rainbows. Paranoia and insecurities. Crooked moons and bipolarity. Logorrheic and despotic. Break boxes and always on his. But above all, always myself.She was no ordinary woman, one with a nice pair of legs, a nice breast, a nice butt or a particular face, I don’t even know if she was really aesthetically beautiful. She had the wrinkles of her years, of her experiences, an angular character, she was complex, almost shy, twisted … Yet she was so beautiful in her doing, in her love, in her infinite being. In everything he did you found hidden all his charm, he had on him the wild scent of freedom, dreams, concreteness, passion. She was not perfect, on the contrary she was moody, at times unpleasant and yet, in every defect, in every excess there was the essence of her being “perfect” because “bastardly sincere”. No, she was definitely not an ordinary woman, her heart extended towards infinity, infinite as the sea is, as the universe is and as deep as the ocean. Yes, he had all the wrinkles of his years, that stubborn, almost unshakable character, he didn’t mince words, often beaten down but never defeated. It was enough for itself, it made sure it was enough. Life had “given” her a lot of tears, but she went on finding a way to dry them by herself. Yes, she was a woman, complicated … a tangle of woman. Call her beautiful? Yes, beautiful, complex and mysterious She had to be stripped from the inside, taken and dragged without asking too many questions, because too many questions would not be answered in words. She had a head, heart and soul and she wasn’t a nice pair of legs, a nice breast. Although she was “nothing special” … she was extraordinary with those who entered her heart and put her heart, strength and passion into everything she did.I have a difficult character. Too proud, perhaps too moody. I hardly feel anything and if someone goes away I go away too without asking for explanations. I could not bear the idea of submitting myself or depending on someone, first of all there is me. I’ve lost so many people and I’ve earned a reputation for being heartless, but I feel my heart … at night when I’m alone and it’s the saddest sound I’ve ever heard. But I hide it. I hide my emptiness, my good side, my desire to love. I am myself only when I want and above all with whom I want!
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 