Flashes strike my mind
Like when I said
I miss you so much
So much that
I will never let go,
I promise,
I promised

Of dreams
Where I find myself
Asking you to stay
Asking you to tell me you did love me
And you answering
“yeah, yeah, yeah”
Sarcastically

Of places we never saw
Of smiles we never gave
Of words that refused to
Leave our hearts

Only flashes I repeat
How only now
I can fathom it
Hindsight is 20/20
Hindsight makes it
Look obvious now

How I wasn’t ready to love
How you weren’t ready to give
How it wasn’t the right time
To fall in love
To fall out of love
To fall
Just to fall

Falling,
I keep calling for this voice
Different, not warm
Not cold either
Just plain

Plain in a way that
Finally makes me love myself again
Despite you
Despite the mistakes
Despite this cold weather

These brand new eyes
Of a brand new being
That shines more humbly
Than any light I’ve ever seen

That cares deeper
And harder and in ways
No one’s ever cared about

My scars
The ones that
You failed to see
He sees
He cures

The cure,
No one ever notice they’re sick
Home sick of their old selves
Until someone tells them
“hey, you're different”
& they mean
“you changed, you lost yourself”

Yourself
You should look at yourself now
And look at me
Look at the moon
Look at the stars
Look at the way
He looks at me
He pays attention
Like the world is inside my heartbeat

You can hear music in me
Hear all the songs I lost along the way
And finally remembered

And they’re louder than ever

it was the you when you were thirteen, right?
the one who fell in love for the first time
with the guy who said he liked you first,
the you who thought you'd win a prize someday & do something to change the world

it was the you from when you were fifteen
who started drinking at parties even though
you hated how alcohol tasted & the one who danced so desperately to make a tool notice you

maybe it was also you who wished you had your best friend's parents instead of yours on your sixteenth candle & then cried at night for even thinking about it

was the seventeenth version of you who kissed so many unfamiliar lips that forgot how caring tasted? or, the one who swore on blood to never get hurt again so you started hurting them first?

there are twenty one "you" already so you place them all in a table, only to find out you forgot to wash all the dishes before setting them, so you begin asking how they've been but you already know the aswer since no one has even tried to touch the cutlery

when she lays down in her bed
thinking, where did they go wrong?

thinking, since when it became a matter of "when"
rather than "if"
and she smiles,  they both smile
and nothing's wrong

she repeats to herself "nothing's wrong"
and they both nod
it is as if brainwash was a common procedure
and you both washed off happy years
and the song you liked as a child
now only reminds you of it
"i love you, you love me"
who the hell loves who?

there are more than missing pieces of my heart
i have no memories
i have no soul
they swap theirs as well
and turned dreams into nothing
and the hint of a smile in her mouth whispers,
"nothing's wrong"

and nothing's wrong
because it is common for this to happen
and the didn't give her a golden star for holding back her tears

and they say "it'll be okay"

and the saddest part is,
it will actually will
eventually will

because marriage it's just a paper contract
and divorce it's just to break it.

at night people drown in drinks and shots
while some of us turn catharsis into art
guess i could take your tequila and spill it on a napkin
so i can name the masterpiece "love's been lost for too long"

agonizing chants in unison that some of the 'sober us' wouldn't understand
how "take your shirt off" can sometimes mean
"peel your skin back and show me your soul"

and the barman mixes rainbow drinks that color up the night for
'the lonely us'
and there are no lovers waiting home
just dusty cd's that have the magic power
to make our eyes water black teardrops and turn whiskey into
'holy water'

sometimes i wonder the possibility of
planting a coin in my backyard
and water it with ciroc thinking
"maybe i can grow love out of it"

i should be replaying voices of ghosts saying
'i love you and i will never let you go'
but all that comes along are chants
of drunken nights and people dialling numbers that never pick up

see, you only need nine numbers to swallow tears and get the courage to jump off from the thirteenth floor
or maybe you could write a story
in which all of us get our happy ending

see, i've been washing poetry away for so much time i can no longer tell when was the last time i held a pen to turn bad things into metaphors so that non of you would understand

see, i think no one's ever written about how writer's block can drive oneself insane, how similar it is to waking up one day and finding out that you don't feel the same way about someone you madly loved the night before things got complicated

see, when ideas flow you cannot stop them from coming and when they don't you can't evoke them

puking memories seem like the best way to keep people intrested in your writing but we're all aware that memory and oblivion are besties and we all are masters in the field of patching up the original memory so what we write is nothing but fakeness

see, my teacher said "whatever phenomenom you see in the sky probably happened a million light years before", so some of the stars we see are dead, so all of the wishes we made are stardust, not even, they didn't even reach the shooting star on time

maybe my poetry is just like that, you see, whatever i write happened so long ago, you can take it as a lie once true or as something that mattered so much and now it doesn't

there is no poetry left in my hands
i've washed them so many times
the heart-shaped birthmark between my fingers
is starting to disappear

my knuckles forever white
and deep pressed sharp nail scars in my right hand
screaming "we've missed you for too long"

iridescence cannot repeat itself in two different beings
we became so inextricable
you took some parts off of me
when you ripped yourself away

i've merged too much in you
i still haunt myself singing the chorus of your favorite song at 4am
and trying to imagine the way you breathe
so i can sync with them

i've imagined you so many times
i can no longer recall your real face
i've picture us together so many times

i'm starting to think the new girl you are in love with
sometimes look a little bit like me

seventeen,* because i hate that ******* number
because you didn't know that
because i never had the guts to tell you
because i was afraid you may have thought it was stupid

seventeen times i've stood under the falling snow thinking
<< if a snowflake falls on my nose i will speak to you>>

the air so thick with loneliness
my hands are getting stained and all numb because they miss you
because they miss us

because they will never have enough fingers
to count to seventeen
and they cry because they miss you
because you never made it to *March 17th, 2012
only a day away from having our first date

even after we'd been in love for four months,
our first date.

and you never made it.

& i hate it, i hate it,
i hate it, i hate it,
i hate the number seventeen,
because it was too away from your birthday,
and so close, to the first date
we will never have.

There are no words to describe what we felt
and no money in the world could ever afford it

there are no trains to lead you there
and no plane ticket avalible

the are no pop up messages showing on your iphone screen
and no everlasting love letters

there will never be enough sleep
to dream that feeling

there is no hope enough in the world to bring something back to life

meaning
there will never be a place
where we may meet again

don't pretend like you know me
because
you haven't been around in a while
or a month
or some years
I can no longer remember how much
...
i think i miss you sometimes
or the essence of you
or the memory of you
or us.
...
i said,
'i think maybe we were meant to be
but somewhere inbetween
the field of daisies and
wishing on dandelions,
we did something wrong'

you said,
'we forgot about ourselves
and our old selves'
...
and the silence at 3:01 am
seems somehow to connect me
with the parts of me that i lost
trying to find your smile
they connect me to the day
when you said
'things will change'
and they never did

to
me.

so don't pretend that
you do not miss me
sometimes

when the particles of dust
fly from your old couch in the afternoon
like if they were parts of my soul
**that are not yet done
leaving your body.

E  v e r y b o d y    
judes, even the ones that say they don't
because it's not okay
I mean,
aren't they already judging for not thinking it's okay?
who  first said that judging is wrong?
If no one judged
where would we be now?

I've been crying since the day
your tongue turned into
a stage of dancing lies

my hair pulled back
to hide the smell of
dead thoughts of us

of how leaves look prettier
when they're dead in autumn
of how I would be prettier
if  I were dead too

the way your fingers lit in passion
whenever we touched
the way your fingertips sparked the fire
of cigarettes smoked to the bone

I remember the smell of your hands
danger with a glimpse of loneliness

I liked it
I loved it

The day your tried to bottle up
all the love I had for you
and the glass didn't resist

the day I stole your gun
to make you say you loved me
the way you took it from me

the way I understood you'd never catch
the stockholm syndrome from me

I'm sorry
I'm so sorry.

Oh!* saturday nights spent
wishing for my father to come early
and tell me "I love you"

Sunday nights spent awake
waiting for his return
to drive me to school on monday mornings

How my mother, my little brother and me
curse the day he became best friends with John

Knowing John changed it all
all board games now in the back of our wardrobes
with dust on top of them
waiting to rot

Sometimes, I waste my birthday wishes
pretending they'll work out
wishing for my father
to have never met John

My little brother and me,
now replaced for slot machines,
gambling tables and spliffs

Give me a hint, dad
should I still call you like that? Nah.
Now I've met this "so called John"
and I do not like him
he makes me do funny stuff

His silhouette is bright
and he uses a cane
I don't like him, "dad"
Please stop seeing him

I know you say
he helps you to get through
but does he help us? No!
Maybe one day mom will have the guts
to sign that divorce paper
and hand it to you

I hope she do it soon

The saddes part is, when I asked you to quit John,
you said, No.
"Why?"- I said.
**"Because Johnnie is the only one who tells  me to keep walking".

I’m a monster*
   I do not hide under your bed
   I do not live inside your closet
   And I’m not real

I live across the street
And also in your thoughts
Crawling into your mind
And I even sleep next to you

I’m with you at school
I’m with you when you’re home
I’m with you while you read
But I’m mostly with you at 4am

When everyone else is sleeping
When all the demons are asleep
I take over you
I’m into you

And it’s funny
  It’s funny that I’m all in your mind
And that’s why you cut
And that’s why no one can see me
And that’s why you’re about to say goodbye.

I learned that we rush to grow up
since the day we turn fifteen

that our childhood dream
of being invisible
has turned into a terrible nightmare

that we hope to read our future
in the smoke of cigarrettes
and that we look for answers
at the bottom of the bottles

that flying means more than
throwing yourself from the roof
and floating beyond the sky

that if we stop sleeping
we would mix reality
and dreams
and sometimes that's all we need

That maybe the cure of cancer lives
inside the mind of a child
who can't afford education

that no one would behave as society demands
if we had nothing to lose

that hearts only break once for real
and that liars were once
the purest

that cold and heartless people
don't really exist

that we all have scars
maybe not in our wrists
but in our hearts and souls
or in the little universes that we create
and crumbled down

that we all had an imaginary friend
to keep us from being alone
when mom and dad used to fight

that the best poetry cones from chaos and pain
and that we use art to release our anger
because it's just art
and it doesn't worry anyone

that if each of us were a little bit kinder
less people would wish to disappear
and the world would be a better place

I understood that the books are a lot like mirrors
that we only see in them
what we already carry inside of us

that if we would send less texts
we'd know when a friend feels lonely
that we rather take pictures of the moment
than livig it with the person sitting next to us

That there are no potions to forget the pain
nor chocolates that makes us feel better

that we are all a little crazy
and we are okay with that
that happiness depends on us
and how bad we look for it

but this is just what I learned
and I don't know...
what did you ?

They asked us to write a poem
in class
I thought about my B2 yellow pencil
and the way it used to
move easily

It was like if my words
would flow submerged in a labyrinth
and come up to breathe now and then
to show off in front of my face
that I would never place them in paper again

I knew I had to find another source of thoughts
and I asked
I was told that they'd seen my poem
hidden in dead end streets and alleys
where most of the best stories
go to die

they told me that Vincent Van Gogh
used the street as his canvas
and that Nicholas Copernicus found his passion
within the streets of a starry sky

I found my poem
with a case of severe amnesia
lost in an alley
snooping between the leftovers
of the things that he once saw me living

He said he got lost
a few months ago
when he started to feel unwelcomed
around me

I convinced him to go back home
and fed him
and asked him to return to my hands
or at least
to let me place him in paper

But he decided to leave
he grew arms and legs
and kicked down my door
and he was gone again

I knew there that everything that comes back
never does it not even as remotely
as how it was

and I'm here thinking
why did he leave again?

I think he found his color and shape
in the streets
far
too faraway
from me

when I was six
I asked God
to let me fly

I didn't think
I would be lost and high
on saturday's night

when I turned seven
I asked God
to help my mom with the counts

Now I trade "love"
for people's bills

when I was ten
I wished on a shooting star
to bring a guy
to fill my heart

I never imagined
I would be sweeping the floor
looking for the missing half

The day I blew the thirteenth candle
I told God to let me grow up

nowadays I only beg him
to let me go back

you say you're hurt
yet, you keep on cutting

you say you're isolated
yet, you keep building walls

you say they hate you
yet, you've already killed them all in your head

you say they don't understand
yet, you show no signs

you say you want to change
yet, you do nothing about it

you say you'll go far away
yet, you don't know it is always like this

you say you'll be an artist
yet, you only paint in red

you say you can't wait to live
yet, you're already dead

In class the teacher asked
To write a list of our bad habits
Your name showed up in my list
Twice

By that time
I knew I would fall in love
With anything that would remind me
Of how it felt to be alive

I was taught that roses can grow anywhere
And that I had to be careful
Whose heart I choose to grow them
My bad

They told me I deserved better
But the ones I deserved
Were chasing girls
They didn’t

I learned the hard way
That life is much like a party
You arrive at your fullest
And get out like ****

Falling in love reminds me of being drunk
Not matter how bad the hangover is
You would still drink again
Because the feeling it gives you
Is indescribable



I know I’m getting older
Because my childhood dream
Of being invisible
Has turned into a nightmare

The edges of my soul
Are sharper now
I’ve got some demons inside
Don’t get too close darling

Fire raises like a work of art
In front of me
And it keeps me from seeing
It’s burning my life to ashes

You could have stopped all of this
But you ran away
Like a poem
With feet
Arms
And a heartbeat

Most of us write
of how bitter
our first kisses
tasted

Mine
tasted like
a limited edition candy
found in an old candyshop
after three years

Like
exhaled smoke
of  your first
mentholated cigarrete

it tasted
like home
after years of
being lost

You can't know
how bad it hurts
until pricking all your fingers with needles
hurts far less than pricking your heart with his words

I love you,
no, she did
and the saddest thing is,
that you will never now
how perfect you were to her

You stepped in as an iridescent being
One impossible to compare
the one to whom she would have gave it all
even the things you're not supposed to give

because you touched parts of her
that didn't belong to her body
and she loved you
and she did it with madness
and she wanted to be happy
even though she knew you weren't completely real

because you wanted her
even more that how she wanted you
and these days
even when you do not speak anymore
she wonders how you are
and where you are

Because she remembers clearly
the last time you both spoke
it all was as flawless
as the golden number

and she didn't understand
until now
the reason why
when she told you "goodnight"
you repplied "goodbye"

and she looked for the photographs
of the old you
and she wept while she saw them
and since she still loved you
she was paralyzed by your memories

later she recalled
in the midst of her laugh
that she wanted to tell you all of these
and she was sad again

and even when the sun was up for you
she hoped you would remember her
she hoped that you would remember that you once wanted to stay
that you learned how to love her
and that you desired her

and she used to miss you so bad
so bad it hurted her

but she never felt that you missed her back
and after a while
she stopped missing you too

But I sincerely loved you
Sorry, she did.