my face is like an open book and
everyone knows exactly where the last person left off.
there’s no reading between the lines, no built-in metaphors. no.
all the words and feelings are out there,
on the page and they start screaming at the first contact with the outside world.
I have no covers,
no pdf format,
no once in a lifetime offer you can’t miss.
I only come with a story, that
some people enjoy reading,
that others hate (and
decide to wait for the movie).
the main character is a guy that’s neither good nor bad,
that lives inside a human head,
but always gets beaten around by a human heart.
I’m curious about that specific moment when
it was decided that we love with our heart
and not with our brain, or leg, or knee.
you may be the main thing in the menu at one point,
the hottest dish in the restaurant
but you know that
you’ll always gonna be someone else’s sloppy seconds.
today, a kid on the metro asked me
why do we keep saying „may *** save us”?
when really, it’s up to us to save HIM?
I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t know how to explain to him that
sometimes I’m afraid to believe
in something that doesn’t feel like belief worthy..
that I don’t understand how certain things happen..
that I can hardly save a WORD file after a day’s work,
and he’s proposing me to save S̶A̶N̶T̶A̶ .. ***.
I didn't have the means to lie, to be wise, to be strong..
I couldn’t let go of the iron bar and my smile had no teeth to show, no lips to uncover.
but I guess he knew all of that.
my face is like an open book. not the holy one!
with me there’s no reading between the lines, no built-in metaphors.