I am full of life,
a burst of color spilling into quiet corners,
a voice that fills the empty spaces,
a presence that reaches out—
not to take, but to give,
not to demand, but to share.

And yet,
they pull away,
not because they don’t love me,
not because I am too much,
but because they need the quiet
the way I need the noise.

Still, the silence stings.
It whispers lies—
that I have said too much,
felt too deeply,
loved too hard.
That I am the burden
they do not want to carry.

But that’s not the truth.

The truth is,
they step back because they must,
and I stay, arms open,
learning that love is not measured
by presence alone,
but by the space we allow each other to breathe.

So I sit with the quiet,
not as an enemy,
but as a lesson,
learning that I, too,
can be whole in the waiting,
worthy in the stillness,
enough—
even when I am alone.

I-
-want to say-
-something-
but i-
-to talk to you-
but i-
-thinking about thinking-
-too- because i-
-think-    -much-
-i meant too much-
but i-
-m just a ******-
because i-
-don’t know what to-
but i-
-see you walk away-
because i-
-didn’t- -opened my-
dumb mouth
but i-
sit-
next to you- -so close-
because i-
-want-
-want,want,want-
I really want

-talk to you-
but i-
-stumble, fumble, tumble-
over words-
-because i-
No- -i’m not-
-really-
but i- -i’m not lonely- -because i-
-convinced myself 15 different times-
-with 15 different excuses-

…

-so what-
-if you walk away-




I’ll talk to someone else.

i think i might be lonely.
but who would i tell
if i realized i was?

She's a chatty girl
She always talk to much
A girl with a beautiful heart
Always want to keep in touch

Her mouth is so loud
Like a speaking speaker
Always making sound
Like she's a fast rapper

She always talking
and it's always endless
She's a type of girl
That leaves you speechless

Yes, she's a  talkative girl
But she's always kind
She's so simple and unique
But always hard to find.

Grill
Burn a little
Superficial surfaces
Reveal the real
Flavour

On est là,
Sur un boulevard de
Lit en air
Et déplié,
L’œil vers le début de
Toit
Comme l’enfant de question.

On s’est dépensé trop vers
Au-delà,
Vers aux opinions de l’étrange,
Non propres miennes
Et on n’était plus.
Pleurer. Glorifié/-er.
Déteste parler et passer soi-même.

I know at last why I and Poetry
Got lost in a forest while
Looking for each other:
I pushed it out of
The tree line
And left it to withering
Formal ways of public.
Maimed in the stage lights it
Got to smoke cigarettes
And now something
Has to be done
To retrieve it.
Mais on a déjà le clé.
J’ai sa trace
Di indietro degli arboli.

Bon sang,
L’extravertisme me tue (comme
L’alcool en excès),
L’introvertisme me guérit,
Seule là on se reveille
Aux blessures en excès
Par le jonque d’exister en vain
(Parmi les poubelles intellectuelles).

On est pas pour le public
À son plaisir rationnel.

Et Jeanne « du Russe » a l’odeur
De la cuisine
Et du refuge.

I've always been in between life.
It's always somewhere over being
uncertain and certain,
optimistic and pessimistic,
and introverted or extroverted.

Despite all that,
there's one thing I'm sure of.
It is holding on to dear life,
going along through it.

I am nothing more than human,
but I am my own future.