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 index,
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 God 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 .. GOD.
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.
no..

it's weird that sometimes
when you study books
so hard
and so long
you discover
how every little thing
everyday
has a meaning too

some historical allusion
or literary illusion
that tells you exactly how someone feels about you
or how you feel about them too.

so maybe all those studies
weren't always a waste
maybe the real meaning behind all of it is that
they want you to give you a taste
of all the symbolism of things
before you're too late

I noticed devices,
the signs used in books to foreshadow
to hint at the written future
and at what is ahead to come

like our strides while we walked
or the difference in our shadows
that hints at our now-passed future
and at what has already come

it has been six months now
half a year since we have grown apart
and I'm not asking for you back
to be as close as we had come

just please think about me
was I important to you at all
if you left me as fast as you did
even as close as we had come?

just please think about us
and I'm still not asking for you back
it's just something to think of
if you have time left for me, love

In my religion we're taught that every living thing, every leaf, every bird, is only alive because it contains the secret word for life. That's the only difference between us and a lump of clay. A word. Words are life, Liesel.

- Max to Liesel in Markus Zusak’s *The Book Thief

We cannot walk with Dostoyevsky as
Guards drag him chained before a firing squad
Comfort Saint Joan against the English flames
Or pray with good Saint Thomas in his cell

We cannot slosh through sodden trenches in France
With Lieutenant Lewis on his birthday
Argue with Akhmatova at The Stray Dog
Or with Frankl at Auschwitz bury dead friends

Unless we read, and then through words we see
The morning sun upon Byzantium

And the feeling returns .. the blood pumping . **** them all I'll say and I'll watch them burn with terror . Misaya will not hear your cried for help and I will not show you mercy. Pathetic humans , invaluable to the nature of which you are born. As the flow of words leave my anger and only am I left with the thoughts of the spear piercing your heart and soul .

my mom turned out the light
and took away my book.
"no more stories, it's time to focus on your own,"
she scolded,
shaking her head with disappointment.
the door slammed shut quietly
as i sat trying to adjust to the suffocating darkness
when the window creaked open
and in you came with a candle of your own,
along with a blank book
with only one sentence-

"let's write our own- no limits."