THE SIREN FISH

Chants,
looks,
dance,
fears,
oblivion,
hideouts,
shelters,
confusions
to want to understand,
but now I say to myself,
I lie down and relax.
I have stopped looking for the definition of an emotional state that has no boundaries.
Delimited my senses by an unreal fear, free my arms, I direct them upwards.
Thistles,
spores, germinations,
holes,
confusions of wanting to do many things and not being able to do them anymore.
Destination not reached,
destination not earned.
I remain as still as I expected
a new wave that engulfs me
and with his retreat you take me with you.
I wait, I wait now with half-closed eyes.
Ships,
sails,
you bring,
figs,
juices of heaven,
open refrigerators.
Apocalypses of beds, of uncertain boys, troublesome writers.
They all give orchids to me who love tulips.
Sheet,
book,
fire,
dust of things,
objects in ashes,
an explosion of sun,
in the morning without tears.
I sprout like a fish that becomes a mermaid.

			

A NECKLACE

It's a cold day inside of me today, I realized when I woke up, and the first thing I did was pull back the curtains and admire that beautiful sun.

He tried to warm me with his powerful rays but failed.

Today is one of those days where I think everything I do is in vain.

I've spent the last few years working on myself. To protect me from everyone.

And if I had opened that window some time ago, that sun would have warmed my heart, I would have noticed the lady who lives right in front of me, I would have noticed every detail. Like her blonde hair always in warp even after she just woke up. The way she observed passers-by but suddenly turned behind her and went away, I would have seen her go away to enter the kitchen, to help her husband who was asking for "help" for a failure in the TV remote control.

And I would have smiled.

I would have noticed the bits of dust floating in those bright bands of sun.

But I didn't see any of that this morning.

All I saw was my empty bed, worn out by a devastating night.

The pillow wet from the dramas, the sheets impregnated with mistakes, the book reread a hundred times on the bedside table full of burnt hopes.

I close my eyes for a moment and I see him, I see someone on my bed asking me to lie down with him, who between one caress and the next, every drama goes into paranoia and leaves the room. That between a kiss and a look, given this way, almost without thinking about it, I see a rose blossom on that bedside table, making that cigarette that stinks of regrets and wasted efforts disappear.

But then I open them again, look down and see only those tattoos on my arms that are there to never make me forget that certain battles are too difficult to win.

And I also smile, yes, because sometimes I really believe in the bullshit I say to myself to cheer myself up, that after three minutes, it has the same effectiveness as a television teleshopping, one of those with low budget.

That you see them, and you think “do they really think they make me believe that those knives are capable of cutting even a diamond?”.

And you believe it, you fake it.

Finally, I make my bed, change the sheets, arrange the books under the bed.

I dress.

And I wear it. In all its beauty.

With all its sweetness.

I wear a smile, and even for today, the outfit has been decided.

Embellished with uncertainties and mistakes, persistent paranoia and perennial anxiety that I carry with me as if it were my favorite necklace.

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.

RISE FROM THE EARTH

Divine Mother, majestic land in which we are all born,
forget our karma,
sparkles of radiant lives,
you, divine light brighter than the sun,
golden water.
Where the petals open our spring,
rise from the end of the black age.
Magnify the heart,
amplify love,
becomes birth again.
Mother of us all,
blue flame of the sky,
defeat the color of Death.
Open your roses,
stretch out your hands,
scatter your heart inside the branches,
fruit be given to each weary breath.
Lady of the golden earth
walk with your feet
over the terrible devils and kill them all.

NIGHTMARES ON MY STREET

A white room, a window the size of a wall, overlooking a forest and a rainy town. A bed. I am standing in the center of the room. It is the end of a dream and I am aware of it, but what can I do? I can’t wake up, I have to keep dreaming. I see a bucket with paint next to my bare feet, I take a brush and start painting. I paint on those white walls, I paint a purple sunset, a red sunset, a black, yellow, blue sunset. That sunset is taking me to another dream, I’m sure … I leave the house, but I feel strange: that is not my house, that is not me. I am a girl of about twelve, with long blond hair and a white handkerchief tied on my head to protect me from the sun. Wait a minute … From the sun? I look around and immediately realize that I am in an enchanted valley. Huge dragons fly overhead, and equally large dinosaurs graze grass in the vast green meadows. Observing them better I notice something that immediately makes me sad. Dinosaurs are black and white. I immediately run into the house and take some pencils, so begins my journey to that enchanted valley where I have decided to color all those dinosaurs that make me so sad. After a while, however, I discover that the dinosaurs I have colored are dying. The people are in revolt, the hunt for the dinosaur stainer begins immediately, so I decide to escape. I take refuge in a tavern, where an old lady recognizes me. Determined to hand me over to her people, she begins to chase me, I take refuge in the basement. There I find a straw broom, so I get on it and fly away … I run away from the lady of the tavern, I run away from the dinosaurs, from the dragons, from that enchanted valley, from that dream that has become a strange and disturbing nightmare …
“Make a wish.” And then a chuckle. I woke up around four in the morning with an uncontrollable urge to feel the carpet under my feet. So I got out of bed, this time inexplicably rested. A comforting clean scent hovered all around. I walked down the hall regretting having forgotten my slippers – the marble was dirty and cold unlike the indigo blue carpet in the room – and in total darkness I pushed the bathroom door without making it creak. Maybe just a little. Inside, the mirror bulbs remained on. The ones that worked. Was it possible that I had left them? The tiles glistened and flowed along the shower cubicle rails like dominoes. A soft and pleasant steam exhaled from the towels, the sink knobs transmuted into a nice face of a mechanical toad. Next to the soap dish, a luminous inscription: “Make a wish”. I opened the hot water and stroked the bar of soap a dozen times, focusing on something I wanted, but I couldn’t think of anything. There was only bubbles and laughter. I wanted to wake up instantly. But it didn’t happen

JUST LAST YEAR

A year ago I met a boy, it was summer and instead of getting lost in the sea I was lost in the ocean of his eyes. I think I left the best part of me in those eyes. I met a boy, in a strange way, almost like life was having fun putting happiness in front of me and in an aimless race never to give it to me. He was different, I immediately realized, perhaps because I was basically the same as him. It was different, he still saw stars where others only described bright spots. He still believed in great love, that of old-time novels, while the others were content with false ties. He still hoped, believed and loved beyond explanation. And among the things he loved, I too ended up. I loved his kisses, how he held me close and how he was able to protect me with a single hug from the shit of the world. I loved the way he looked at me or the way our hands fit together perfectly. But more than anything else I loved how he thought, his speeches, his words, his every idea gave me life again and I didn’t want life anymore. They danced in the street, we were enchanted in front of a sunset, we sang in every square, we made love with our eyes, with our souls and only finally with our bodies. There was no corner of that small seaside town that we did not make ours. That city had its scent, and at the mere idea of ​​returning there I know that I would cry until it flooded it like Venice after a storm. I envy those who were lucky enough to always have it with them, but I believe that no one will ever understand it. He was different and even I sometimes didn’t know how to translate his gestures. His heart belonged to distant times. His soul was tied to some distant star. That boy shone with his own light. Our love was never understood, but when did it ever happen that madness was understood? Our love was madness. It was passion that burned with the same intensity with which a thousand Suns burn. It was desire that flared up and wore out every particle of our body, that desire that was every man’s fault. It was friendship that Plato described as the most honorable of human bonds, able to make us understand our deepest souls and dreams with a single glance. Our love was never known to mankind. And God I loved that boy so much I forgot even what hate was. And I never wanted to be taken away. A year ago I met a boy, but that boy never had the opportunity to know happiness.

VISIONARY SUNSETS

But what if instead of photographing the sunsets, we tried to write them? He is one of those who, crumpling the day, it seems to carry with it the promise of an evening at least as beautiful and if it disappoints you, you get angry like a panther. One of those sunsets that promises to take with you flocks of stars and rain like that perfect evening ten years ago in a remote mountain village me, him and no one else with a love just popped up to skate on an ice that is hotter than that there you go water skiing. But I tell you that for me tonight that one does not lie. I sign him a surety on the fly. Because on the promise of this up front a good one will write about sixty magnificent verses but someone like me he just wants you to sit next to him hug you one by one and tell you: I’m not writing anything to you tonight but if you want something beautiful we show you him and me, because if you promised it such an evening it means that a little we deserve it, and maybe Just for today she deserves us too.
And I don’t know if it’s going to be the two of us. I don’t know if we will watch all the most beautiful sunsets at the sea together. I don’t know if we’ll envy the world or won’t envy anyone. But I know that those black eyes of yours, those fucking black eyes are the most powerful calamity of all.
I am breathing the colors of this wonderful sunset: warm tones, poetry, suggestion, thoughts. In this place the sun can only hide in this way and the reddish shades seem to come alive waiting for the sky to shine with stars. There are 7 billion people in the world right now. someone is running away scared. someone is coming home. someone tells lies to get through the day. someone else is facing the truth. 7 billion people in the world. 7 billion souls. and sometimes all you need is just one.
Watching the sunsets calms me down a lot.
It makes me feel at peace with myself, and calms my thoughts.
We see sunsets every day, yet they are always all different and uniquely magnificent.
I want to live like a sunset: to change constantly, always remaining the same and surprising everyone.
She saw scurrying around as a child with mum when clinging to her hand we walked around and I filled her head with a thousand questions. He saw me as a little girl sitting thinking with headphones and music overhanging every thought. He saw me on summer nights and admiring every sunset as if it never ended. He saw me change every day step by step, kilo by kilo. It gave me beauty when I needed it. For me just for me.
You have changed so much, and maybe that’s right.
but you changed for the wrong reasons, for the wrong people.
the disappointments they always had this effect on you, they change you inside, and maybe you have become the right person thanks to a person terribly wrong.
How many have we been through How many have we been through in this simple park, always sitting on the usual bench. Whether it was afternoon or evening, this was the meeting point, and we didn’t care about the cold or the too hot, we were enough. Turning left I find the swing and I remember the feeling of my face illuminated by the sun as you pushed me from behind. If I look ahead instead, the trees illuminated by Christmas lights. Do you remember when we first found everything decorated? It didn’t seem real to us: such an unknown and abandoned place made magical anyway by some good soul. We started chasing each other like two children, then on the 25th morning we decided to exchange our gifts right here: both a perfume, what a fantasy! Yet I still have it, as well as the heart-shaped card that was there together (badly cut). I still have it and I smile at the idea of ​​having it in my hands. And then the night we saw the shooting star? I’ve never seen one before. And when did we take pictures? When I filmed you on my cell phone because I needed to remember you forever smiling. And about that time when I couldn’t stand and you always grabbed me on the fly Do you remember? Now I’ll tell you a secret: the first few times I seriously stumbled because I was too drunk since I couldn’t handle two drops of alcohol, but all the others were made on purpose because it was too good to find myself in your arms. I could write a book about what we went through in a few months, about the emotions you gave me. Today I curse myself for leaving you without a real and good reason because after two years I have not found anyone like you. Today I’m on the usual bench, as usual I arrive first. You are always late, so I smoke my cigarette and wait to hear the sound of your footsteps making the fallen leaves creak. I turn to the right but this time you are not there. You’re gone. this simple park, always sitting on the usual bench. Whether it was afternoon or evening, this was the meeting point, and we didn’t care about the cold or the too hot, we were enough. Turning left I find the swing and I remember the feeling of my face illuminated by the sun as you pushed me from behind. If I look ahead instead, the trees illuminated by Christmas lights. Do you remember when we first found everything decorated? It didn’t seem real to us: such an unknown and abandoned place made magical anyway by some good soul. We started chasing each other like two children, then on the 25th morning we decided to exchange our gifts right here: both a perfume, what a fantasy! Yet I still have it, as well as the heart-shaped card that was there together (badly cut). I still have it and I smile at the idea of ​​having it in my hands. And then the night we saw the shooting star? I’ve never seen one before. And when did we take pictures? When I filmed you on my cell phone because I needed to remember you forever smiling. And about that time when I couldn’t stand and you always grabbed me on the fly Do you remember? Now I’ll tell you a secret: the first few times I seriously stumbled because I was too drunk since I couldn’t handle two drops of alcohol, but all the others were made on purpose because it was too good to find myself in your arms. I could write a book about what we went through in a few months, about the emotions you gave me. Today I curse myself for leaving you without a real and good reason because after two years I have not found anyone like you. Today I’m on the usual bench, as usual I arrive first. You are always late, so I smoke my cigarette and wait to hear the sound of your footsteps making the fallen leaves creak. I turn to the right but this time you are not there. You’re gone.

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