mum asks
why you show your poems to strangers
but not to me?

mum doesn't know
poetry is light
but it can also be darkness
sometimes it is mostly darkness
and poetry is history
and experiences
and things you want to happen
and things you don't want to see

poetry isn't always
chocolate-filled with a coat of sugar
it isn't always pretty metaphors
and nice descriptions of nice feelings

mum doesn't know
my poems can turn a little darker
twisted just like my mind

and she doesn't know
the way I love
or the way I hate
and she would surely ask
and she would surely know who and why and what
and strangers don't know
who the hell I am talking about
and they don't care
as long as they read a good piece

mum asks

I don't reply.

there's a lot of holes in my life
for example

my waist takes as little space as possible;
a curve is formed in each side
in order to be fitted by
somebody's hands

and i would like them to be your hands

between every bone of my spine
there's a little pause pretending to shape
a path long enough to be toured by
somebody's fingers

and i would like them to be your fingers

when i stretch my neck i find
angles in my collarbones
a piece of architecture to be traced by
somebody's mouth

and i would like it to be your mouth

but your hands hold the curves of other waist
and your fingers wander other road
and your mouth traces the lines of other architecture

and i have all of these holes

and there's a hole in my bed
and i would like to have two

you

I believe poetry revolves around
things that can be found interesting
sometimes even magical
like

coffee
and tea
and cigarettes
and the colours of the sky
and the ashes of cigarettes
and love
and burning desire
and hate
and sour bitterness
and thoughts after midnight
and people like

*you.

I
might be in love
and I
am terribly afraid.

There's a very thin line
no one made it, but it's there
dividing the genius from the crazy.

There's a very thin line
so thin you can't even see it
so easy to cross
so difficult to stay in a side.

There's a very thin line
you don't see it
and neither the others do
althought they might try a little harder
to guess where you exactly belong.

There's a very thin line
and I don't know where I belong
I don't know if I'm an artist
or I'm just ******* insane
trying to believe beauty is anywhere
and I'm in charge of proving it.

There's a very thin line
but **** it:
maybe insanity has a hidden beauty, too.