solitudine
poate că tu știi mai bine
*** mă simt.
poate că nu vei știi vreodată.
îmi rumegă creierul niște poze, niște intenții, niște gânduri
o duceam mai bine fără.
12 ani de școală formativă care m-a îndrumat să devin o larvă.
sunt doar un copil veșnic nemulțumit, o să treacă, nu ?
mă gândesc la cuvântul "unrequited" de două săptămâni cred că ești tu.
însemnătăți infinite și totuși o fi al iubirii
o fi restul rămas de la magazin când dau 30 de lei pe țigări
o fi creanga ruptă din cireș sau dud când îți venea uber-ul
cam acru
de n-aș avea atâta furie aș zice că nu te-am iubit
aș zice că iubesc amarnic.
n-aș mai zice nimic.
mă ustură ochii
m-au luat în brațe străinii.

I found a way to hold my thumb against my palm so it feels like I'm holding a hand
I read your love letter again exactly one month to the day after you've given it to me,
I'll call it fate.
I told my friend how I wrote about my parents getting my body repatriated-she shuddered but I just blinked.
My mom came with me to watch,
How I gulp down a tequila shot then wash it off with lemon beer-
How I can't take it anymore.
I'm loving this rain, it brands the solitude away from my brain and into my heart, I know I'm meant to be alone.
I'm loving this tightness in my chest, this willow gilded pain I'm glinting
Taking my clothes off so that I'm touching all that could be me, so I'm dreaming it's yours.

picături de cafea pe cizmele mele albe din dulap,
lăsate din toamnă să se holbeze în întuneric
praf ce plutește prin lumină feeric, am deschis geamul, sper că merit.
doare subit ceva ce nu simt iar eu din nou am doar 9 ani sub pătură, uitându-mă în gol...
şi caut un clește încins cu care să mă scot afară din mine până nu puşc dinadins.
trec zilele rămân îndrăgostită
de tine și de zidurile ce ne țin în viață
de tine și de primăvară.
orice cameră e de-un bolnăvicios amar, afară respiră sper ca gândurile să mă mintă.
seara stau și miros vară, și e mireasma singurătății, așa de dulce, atât de urâtă.
măcar luna stă nemișcată și când îmi deschid ochii miroase a tot ce am iubit vreodată.
mă ascult pe mine câteodată și sunt tânără
nu mai vreau bani, mâncare sau speranțe
vreau să fiu aici.

What am I to do with the peonies that've sprung,
In my lung,
Since you last kissed me?
My veins thawed from spring and your touch I'm becoming-
The lovers card flipped along with the fool debating beginnings.

The face of melancholy
Sometimes all you do is remind me,
How walls are enclosing
Life.
How far away must the hope be,
Towards which always we...
Run yet stray away, I might.
Over-rule my own self in this bathroom,
Give out my last exhale before the carnations bloom,
Watch this vein of mine become a river, a sliver, a rune...
To sicken.
I lay my youthful worries on the ground to rule some other roots some other fool,
While I dig away a place to rest and pray that I don't drool  on this placeholder of life to let the lilacs bloom in mockery.
By the time I wake up I will arrest the awful need to return and make the grass my sheets and the bulbs my pillow,
Dig further and hope I never reach an end below.
I pray I am forgotten quickly and never searched for remains, I pray to never watch you suffer ever again
And so I'd try to be the soil beneath the life remaining,
Some mournful quick loss to lessen the tension, to plumpen the entertainment.
A casket made of flowers, stuck to the pavement,
A breath unshaken silently kept.

I guess the way my hand floats in this light is romantic to my eyes
The way my father seems to want to share his life but never gets to is always on my mind.
This morning he told me that as he was staying with his dying dad, he'd said something at the time my father thought was sickly senile words on a deathbed:
"Son at least I was born to peace and will die in peace, I'm afraid that won't be the case for you"
my father repeats with his hands-sliding lower on the wheel,
He's driving me to school on a Friday and I have to ask myself,what does he feel.
Fear for his kids?
Worry for the land his mother and my mother painted when we were born?
Now as he's hanging clothes outside my room I can see his shadow through the window, I too...
Worry that me and my sister will be kids of war,
That my mother and father won't get to see the world alight unless it's a nuclear fight,
That I won't get life just like many more haven't still I
Watch this hand of mine wander and float through light, caressing the veins day and night, caressing veins keeping me alive - accepting what might
Be mere months until we die, be just another thousand lives lost with no guilt for the world to thrive, just a daily sight.
Dad told me he used to think he could change the world and, learnt as I will too, that the only thing I can change is myself.
He's said this throughout my life like a laitmotif to our existence-
Sometimes I think he would suffer less if he'd just accept sufferance.
I tell him I think I no longer want to change the world, I'd rather watch as it's changing and pray I could teach our poems to the stars and they'll send and teach me theirs.
He congratulates me.
It's so rare that I get to see him so human, this is why I grew up so damaged but I still admire it.
When I see my dad I see a crackle of amber filled by a water droplet falling off a soft sage leaf,
It is the heaviest of suffering sometimes when I listen to him.
He is everything I thought I wished and would never want to be.
There's something I found so wise in him, I hope it isn't just his denial of suffering, something among his stories something in his words I hope it stays with me.