shaky teacup balanced on her fingers
my mum's stunned expression facing east
my only weakness & my one temptation
could have broken our "forever holding peace".

the feeble smile i gave her;
terrified to hear the truth.
the sinking feeling that i'd failed her
an unnatural being, t'was proof.

like a stupid fever daydream i'd dreamt
and i swear she could see what was always present
in my head.
in that moment, she broke free
and together we laughed at thee
for believing the obnoxious implanted seed:
for believing my mother wouldn't accept me.

she spews out poetry
kind of how
        she's ripping appart her entrails
for others to chew on,
ungraceful toxic mess

i
wonder if
arching back my back
really increases the number
of millimetres of me-  in touch with you
in which case, i understand why the lady in the little black dress became the bow you played her strings on,
****** chill creeping
down your spine
into her dark,
arched
neck-
line

i've spoken and i've lost them
the words that tied me together are fraying
i've been asked to stand up straight
to perform onstage
to forget my fears, even though these years
have been so tough,
i've always felt like i'm never enough
and you seem to urge me on so you can
badmouth me all night long

what if i told you
how i wear lipstick
the same colour as my sweater
so i can kiss myself
take my own clothes off
and revel in the beauty of my bare skin
because no one seems to be
up to the task
so i'll do it myself,
thank you very much

(tw: this is really pessimistic and sad.  unfortunately i see the world this way.)

                                 ~~~

soulmates don't exist, they never have and they never will be. our currently overpopulated planet spits random people in our faces and our overcrowded, desperate, feeble minds struggle to claw at them with all the intensity in our nonexistant soul. we cling to people we see ourselves reflected in, but how can we not feel understood when every single human being is exactly the same as we are? the eternal fight to "stand out", to be "unique" acts like the devil's advocate by screaming (in our faces) that we're all identical and obnoxiously ignorant in the face of a cold, uncaring universe.

soulmates don't exist. we are desperate to feel companionship in this messed up place because we are fully aware of how lonely we really are, even if the majority of YOU choose to discard your knowledge and "follow your heart". wake up. we are specs of nothing who, by some chance, float amongst other specs of absolute nothingness. and the worst part is, we feel so entitled to a soul that we swear love and all other feelings do exist, while the person that represents our physical needs laughs and reminds us that in the end we succumb to all that is natural. natural, not like the fabricated romance or the force-imposed darkness that resides in every single one of us. the one we recognize when staring into someone else's mind. the one we choose to ignore, but kills us daily. the one we forget other people have when we project our despair and expectations created by false idols on other people, and foolishly call it love.
soulmates don't exist

"kiss me hard before you go"
and leave your scent
dripping from my veins
as i stare at the unnamed door
you thought would fit your needs
talking about moral integrity
i'm reminded of the very entrance
you used as an exit
to leave me behind, shaking

skinny violence, never to fade
changing sequence
shifting shadows, piercing eyelids
at the water's embrace
        
no one is safe
come out, come out,
come out and play
just a microsecond, wait
fill me up with fuel hate

target practice
quivering, ecstatic
back and forwards
adjusting to my vision
in an attempt to
(outwardly)
stare someone down
but always
(inwardly)
turn around her frown

unjustifiable ******
you must not get away with
                                  this one

nobody seems to
be willing to bear the weight
of the girl that scribbles poetry
on the back of her notebooks

daisies spring out of her skull
and **** away at the rippled
fountains under her eyes.

sheep collect just under his nostrils:
too many of them, obscuring
the field they graze upon.

little timeless mountains erupt
from the fiery magma that is
her face.

liquid gold drippity drips
onto his head,
but it doens't seem to bother him (it's not that hot).

condensed amber stares back at
you when she's listening, pure
wholesomness in a condensed mineral.

a single cornrow, divided, unites
two halves of a whole beautiful
art statement.

golden slumber,
wait for me.

come back,
come home,
check in and see.

no one knows
if you're actually gold
'cause maybe you're done for,
outdated and old.

you might not be golden at all.
i'm sorry,
it's just that i feel the loneliest
every september, during the fall.

"the witch is always to be blamed
if those who record what had taken place
happen, all of them, to be men.
maybe they own selfish hearts,
destined to wither and break.
true strengh can only be gained
from standing up, from facing them.
head on, fearless.
alas, my daughter,
you must never forget
that women are cunning and selfless,
powerful in their mindset
and able to outrun, to outfly men
who's only wish is to stick their ****
into someone, perhaps something else."

i could see the sun setting
in the rearview mirror on her motorcycle
as i held on tight to myself and to her
i witnessed the sun rise on the other side of the road

my euphoria lasted as much as her last cigarette
the one she put in her pocket
at the risk of burning her favourite jacket
all in the name of reaching for something
that was definitely already there

little girl wants to climb mountAins
     as high as the pitch produced
         when she arches back her back
     and lets herself be taken care of
  all the strains and pains of her human remains gone, never to be thought of again


the kind of high that pours out of her.
commercial golden drugs created for
pleasure,
never to be measured
by those who'd prefer to use her like a tap
clackitty clack
the better me is not for the likes of you to touch, hands are not yours to unclasp

receive her willing kindness
and beware men who would strip it away
forget about modern daily pressure
let your problems wash astray
in the sea that has become
the only home for someone so gray

i just jumped into the firepit
to relieve the burns cascading of your shoulders
and you strutted off, with terrible excuses,
maybe searching for water.
but you left me there to swelter:
you forgot to take my hand and
pull me out of the flickering
hell i was thrown into.
even though i only jumped 'cause you where there.

have you ever tasted words?
the only one hanging from my tongue
is exhaustion

i promised i'd speak up
you promised you would listen
he promised he wouldn't go away
she promised better times were to come my way
we promised we'd stay here forever
you promised all was fine
they promised we would remain intertwined

exhaustion, once again
i'm tired of fixing your grammar mistakes
i feel heavy with guilt unnamed
i feel empty 'cause i gave everything away

my fingers smell like
your absence
and there's no other way to
occupy my time
but this feeling of loneliness

taxi drivers will
always be strangers behind
the glass divider

relying on them
depends entirely on you
and human instinct

the weight on my back
disagreed, it said "please no"
oh, i almost did

but my abusive
need for a little fun and
alcohol was my doom

taxi driver, where?
please, where are you taking me?
i want to go home

the sneer on his face
suggests more than pure evil
he likes the darkness

oh, taxi driver
careful with my fragile mind
and my cotton skirt

my mom will be mad
when i tell her my new skirt
has been ripped apart

my head feels heavy
guilt and fear intertwine and
crush me, i'm breathless

no, taxi driver
you will not buy me a drink
i want to go home

i said: take me home.
everything's blurry and i
can't find my phone

oh, taxi driver
please, just get it over with
maybe you should end me

the last thing i'd see
was my dear taxi driver
looming over me

taxi drivers will
always be strangers behind
the glass divider

i hate being so far away from my mémoires. i hate not being able to remember how i felt that second, that fleeting moment. all i remember is the blurry anxiety of feeling like i need to enjoy every single bite or the food will be wasted. two weeks later, i've been diagnosed with alzheimer's disease and i have no idea who i really am.
maybe i talk about being emotionless because the present is always running past, barely bumping my shoulders  (and not apologising, how rude) on the way to the bus stop, i'm always late. the second the minute passes it is lost forever in a sea of murky brown, of jumbled up thoughts that i can't piece together. i've completely run out of cellotape, there is nothing left to stick together so i press undo, undo, undo, until i am barely recognisable.
"those who are emotionless once felt too much".

there's a difference

between the one that begins in the place
where you were left standing, isolated
the tip of the cliff crumbling apart
below your sodden feet
nothing short of curated, cremated
feels like it was yesterday: not far

or the one happening where you are standing
convinced that there's more beyond
the enemy line,
the horizon should shine
every day for you, once and for all
(but it feels like it's raining slime)

maybe the one that should happen
the place where you will be standing
in a measure of time no one knows
like the back of their hand,
because it flows
      irregularly
and it breaks all the tiny ice
under your feet, the ***** looks steep
cushioning your fall into The Big Deep.

i'm done with reaching
and never achieving,
of meeting half way
for you just to belittle me.
don't patronize me,
have you even seen
how much I've grown?

the issue is: i must live to write.
it's imperative, imagination only does so much;
so now i'm here, where no one lives.
i am stuck
in this place no one gets to die
of their own exclusive free will.
i struggle and feel worthless
'cause i must live to write
but i must write to live, at least one last time

as we rose from our feathery cocoons
we witnessed snow on the other side
                                         of the window,
the further side;
where Eve used to dwell
but none on ours, for our concrete hearts
melt the snow as quick as liquid
                                         chocolate

warm your hands, come closer to
     the fire
let me tell you the story
of the ice that wouldn't stick
to concrete, to absolutely nobody
in the old rundown city

welcome to no-ville