EROS AND THANATOS

Roses are red, blood is red, love is red. Happiness is clothed in thorns, it can be reached, embraced, with the crucifixion clause. The harder you push, the harder it sticks to you, and the blood gushes. Happiness is an elite created by those who self-destruct to give it to others. A cosmic equilibrium is destroyed in order to create, one loves in order to die, to the point of dying. Eros and Thanatos go hand in hand. There are still entities that prefer to harm themselves rather than those they love. They can be considered weak, but others do not know how much strength it takes not to open the Pandora’s box that is hidden behind a pair of eyes, they do not know how much awareness exudes from the skin. What awareness? The awareness of the power used to protect, which if released would cause a massacre with no survivors. An awareness that bleeds inside, behind a smile, without anyone noticing, or at least almost anyone. The blood gushes, and nobody pays any attention to it. And that’s right, for balance. For the world. There is a part of me that you don’t know, and it’s not my fragility, it’s that part that at some point reminds me of what I’ve been through, that makes me recognize your lies, that tells me when it’s time to move on , who does not stop saying that the first place will never be yours, because it is already occupied by me. You wouldn’t even understand it by trying on this part that you don’t see, so you will continue to call it insanity.

CONFIDENT GIRL

Did you realize that what you do is never enough? That nothing is ever enough? Have you noticed that even when you give everything to someone it always seems too little? That it is not enough to be kind, it is not enough to really believe in it, it is not enough to love without any restraint. It takes a plan, it takes a bit of organization even with people. It takes a tactic, a bit of logic and let alone if I can do it, under these conditions. It is obvious that I come out in a bad way from every day, as if in the evening I was removed from a washing machine that lasted about ten hours, with the spinning set at maximum power, and then they laid me in the cold, all wrinkled. It is simply that I have always thought “if I smile sooner or later they will smile at me”, “if I love sooner or later they will love me”, “if I do something with my heart sooner or later they will notice it”. And yet it is not said, and this is the most atrocious truth in front of which I have found myself bending. Love does not always generate love. Sometimes it generates anger, turmoil, and even hatred. My one hundred percent is worth less than zero to someone and there is very little to do. I would like to give up, sometimes, lately almost always, then I care about the world. I care about the music, I care about the poetry, I care about the sound of the rain. I was fooled by that child who told me the other day “of course I believe in Santa Claus, why shouldn’t I?”. And indeed, why shouldn’t you? Desires fool me, that two or three still resist; the kisses steal me, the memories of the days when I dragged myself unhurriedly from the beach to the sea, convinced that I had all the time in the world. I am fooled by the people who sometimes notice me, under my stage costume, and tell me “I see you strange”. They fool me because they see me, and it already seems a lot to me

I’ve always been a confident girl in the people around her. From an early age, every time, I noticed the good side of people. I was naive, yes, but a child always has that fragility and naivety that characterizes her. It is always based on the kind and caring part of people. Now that little girl has grown over the years, but slowly she had to change her mind about what she had seen in people. About what he had discovered about the world and the men who lived there. He had discovered so many fake smiles; many gentle but violent deeds; so many words of encouragement thrown to the wind just to be said; so many actions done with coldness without putting your heart into it. She was disappointed, shocked, saddened. Because the world she had imagined was not at all like the one her dark eyes saw around it. It was all more real, more violent, more serious. As if the eyes of that little girl from years ago had only seen the best part of everything. While now he saw only what little was left of it, after its impact with true reality. He had had to learn to adapt. To force her too to suppress the urge to scream at those who offended her just because she was different. Smile even at those who did not deserve. To be reduced to loving people only through words on a screen. Protect yourself with bitter words in an attempt not to get burned. But maybe he would have made it. Sooner or later, she would be able to bring out what was in the world. Maybe she really could have left a tiny mark that would have screamed at the world “Hey, she did this!” . Who knows, maybe that sign is already doing it. Who knows, maybe it’s just these words that remind you of the past a little bit that have left it to you.

I DIED ONCE

I wandered through a fantasy forest.
Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds.
My one second dream.
Those who keep their hats even at night.
The thieves of gods.
Tears without taste.
Drinking.
I don’t protect myself with the sacred.
My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know.
Human journeys first were made by dogs.
Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path.
I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers.
Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest.
I died once where I haven’t walked yet.
I was taken without my permission.
Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about.
It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over.
Maybe my being a doll brought him closer.
Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.