Three words whispered by someone
in the past were drifting behind my eyes:
“Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Trigger-induction, hypnotic phrase
stiffening my muscles,
getting stuck in my legs.
These words make me straighten up
just in case, to avoid becoming a farce,
to not risk interior pain.
I walked through the narrow hallway
some stories were explained,
others remained in the pharynx
of watchful colossal squid.
I’m a broken record,
a sponge drinking salt drops.
Hidden, desiring wishes used
not to be said.
Self-censorship is an easy way.
Just with a bit of self-irony,
I try to play fair; I try to play safe.
Stamping my tiny, rumpled ticket
joining a collective perfect match,
even if I don’t fit into this craziest crowd.
Until now, when through the crack,
the water has gone untamed,
refusing to return to the flood control dam.
I’m afraid of what will be next
when the water swallows
my piece of comfort la-la land.
Caught asking myself
to go where there is real music
or stay in an illusory state.