I strip myself.

Bones, soul and flesh.

I got on the scale. Check.

I’m way past my ideal weight— again.

I guess no amount of exercise

Or calorie-deficit diet would do

Because I didn’t account for

how many calories memories use.

Well, since I’m in no heart-diet,

I can afford to have a few—

So go on,

Add some extra kilograms to the soul.

I shifted into another universe
without you in it,
and it felt strange,
for a while.

I know my parents’ reason of concern.
What could they have done?
What could they have said?
It’s no one fault,
There’s no one to blame.
Nostalgia was just
their daughter’s best friend.

I know a way to alter space and time—
Open a portal between our worlds.
It’s a simple eight-word code:
‘Hey, I miss you, how have you been?’

An acquaintance
or
a parallel universe?

You inspired me to arise,
to improve,
to survive.
I owe you nothing,
and
        everything
                           I have.

I took all the love I gave to you
And used it for myself

Seduta su questa scala
Guardando il mare
Mi ricorda il momento
In cui ** trovato
il percorso corretto
Di andare
Mille notti di piacere
effimero
sono stati per te
il mio tempo prezioso
perso in te
Effimero
Come sei
e come per me
È adesso, gia
Il amore che avevo
tanti anni fa

Que inmensas son
aquellas melancolías
Llenas de quizás— reales, tal vez,
Solo en alguna otra realidad.
Un sinnúmero de fotos
En una cámara sin revelar

My mom is at the edge of tears
Every time the situation is mentioned
I have to be strong
Because she can’t crumble
I have to be strong
Because It’s my turn
I want to be strong
Because it’s my turn
I need to be strong
Because she’s everyone’s rock
I will be strong
Because I am her rock.

Just glimpses of what it used to be
Second-hand memories,
faded reflections
of the golden years.
It’s a different tomorrow.
I feel scammed and hollow.
This is not what was promised.
I am a grownup now—
Translation of
     Years hoarding sorrow—

It was chaotic, the beating of my heart
At the bare, minimum, touch of your hand
I was at ease, and under attack
Resting my thoughts on your lap

Perhaps all your exes do better after you for a reason
Perhaps my words are aimed to hurt
                                      
                          You.

And now that I know they could,
I wouldn’t  mind if they do.
Cause perhaps I am still sour,
From the taste of your love
And its deep, light-consuming
hole in my soul.

Walking past a building
Being built,
As I type this.
I wonder—
Is some core memory
There,
Waiting for me?

Oh you come to my mind
In waves
And I want to drown
But my instinct makes me swim
Makes me survive
And when I reach the shore
I am safe
And grateful.

The room is quiet,
No one is near,
Your sneaky hand
Makes its way to me;
my flesh, my soul
Shivering
To the expert dance
of your  fingertips

Maybe no one would get my essence
Like I do. Even after many tries.
Is that pretentiously narcissistic?
or just deep self-awareness?

I write, I think, I write,
I agonise with the idea of my thoughts being heard,
I write again,
I let go.

I’m done playing this game
Against myself
It’s about time I meet
A worthy rival

I wanted to cry
As I saw my mom’s mug—
Broken.

She was so sad,
So she fixed it.
It was a mug from Italy,
I brought it to her
as a souvenir once.  

She was so sad,
As if she brought it
herself,
She lingered.

I wanted to cry
As  I realised—
She got to see
Some places
Only through my eyes.

I wished,
I hoped,
Someday I can
Carry her with me
To every place she ever dreams.

We could never be.

You had a malice in you,
I couldn’t recognise in me.

We could never be.

The roots of your envy,
Started to grow stagnant,
In the depths of my being.

We could never be.

I had to understand.
I couldn’t change such fate.
I had to let go of my faith.

We could never be.

The endearing love,
The Christmas parties,
The summers to come.

To be just a face in somebody’s yearbook,
tenderly remembered by some eyes,
or maybe.. softly forgotten.

To be a passing stranger in the street,
Filling the background as if following
The imaginary script of someone else’s life.

—Coexisting in pages, or between the lines,
of multiple, existing storylines—

Playing the loyal friend sometimes;
The bubbly crush or the terrible villain
once or twice.

Whatever the role..
..we end up just lingering.

..craving.. desiring.. that funny, ephemeral feeling.

We end up just
    lingering,
          Yearning,
             Daydreaming,

to be part of
A day, a page.
A chapter, a year.

Sundays are made for God and for poetry.
For they both can see us fully through.

Hoovering gatherings,
mind miles away,
I have got
I have the longing,
weakening curse.  

It’s in my veins, makes my blood flow.

Pleasantries, nods,
Laughter becomes background noise.
Such a waste of present.
And still I can’t stop:

What if it was better before?

Self sabotaging makes a home
in my bones

Why I keep ruining it all?

Why am I trapped in this loop?

What is the lesson I need and refuse to be taught?

It’s a Sunday Morning where I am,
Lying warmly in bed.
It’s time to get my coffee
and catch a brief glimpse—
Through my small virtual window

I get to see,
A lot of different Saturdays
Happy faces in familiar supercuts,
Montages of their laughter,
No trace of sorrow or loss.

Everything is better in spring.
And the hearts I miss—
They seem happier in their spring.

Grateful I got this vibrant collage;
And more grateful still,
Summer’s sprinting towards me,
among the sun and joy, I’ll be.

Counting the long,
And lonely weeks
Until I’ll get to be
(Smiling)
on the other side of the screen.

Turns out,
I’m a talented repairman.
A messed-up wall?
I’ll fix that patch,
and find the perfect paint,
to colour-match.
A misunderstanding?
I’ll shape the perfect situation,
So It can be flawlessly justified.
Yes. I’m a great repairman.
Because after all—
I’m nothing,
but a destructive tenant,
In the flexible lease,
of your heart.

“Bodies are bodies and bodies will touch”,

— Inviting and warm, a set, themed as a house—

Same role to play, a different guest star,

Bodies are bodies and bodies will touch,

— Cheers of the crowd. It’s a wrap, credits roll. —

I’ve got a Time Machine.
But I have to warn you,
It’s a painful ride,
going to the past.

As years go by,  I can only recall,
the same feeling of longing has always been in my bones.