Someday you will find someone
Who will not know your secrets.

Someone who will create secrets about you
Of their own
Someone who will know when and why
Your eyes change color
Someone who knows that your voice raises an octave
When you get excited
Someone who kisses each wrinkle on your face
When you smile
Someone who uncovers your most ticklish spots
And doesn't abuse the knowledge too badly
Someone who loves the smell of your skin
Without perfure
Someone who wakes up just a few minutes before you do
To hear the gentle song of your snores
Someone who delights in each expression you make
     The small waves on your forehead when you are confused
     The gentle sparkle in your eyes when you are curious
     The ripples of your lips when you are overjoyed
     The musical quality of when you are laughing.

This person will fall in love with you
But not because of what you say
But for what you do not say
This person will love your secrets so deep and pure
That you do not know they even exist
And these secrets will never end
This person will delight in learning new nooks and crannies
Of you
Everyday.

And the greatest part is
You will fall in love with their hidden secrets, too.

I used to cut.

My skin yes
        but that isn’t as important.

What matters is I used to cut my Soul
        I used to tear down my Spirit
                flesh by flesh
                fiber by fiber
                down to my barren, forgotten bones.

I saw my Soul and de-humanized her
        she was of no importance
        she did not matter
        and I almost killed her.

On the outside, she seemed fine
        happy
        content
        beautiful even
But that was not the case
        she was a liar.
                because she really was not okay.

she was dying.

And as the blood dripped from her side
        her Soul slowly dripped with it
        like a steady waterfall of agony and self hatred.

But this is no sad story.
        My Soul did not die.
        I did not let her.

I was the author of my own sad story; I chose to change it

I speak my soul Electrified
And from tops of mountains I cry
For in my heart, Angels and demons lie
And in the end, one must die.

I sing my soul Personified
My lungs grow weary against the tide
I stop to absorb the salt as I lie
And wait for that day, for this life to die.

I scream my soul Crucified
As my blood flows with pride
I hold my arms out, long and wide
For I am not afraid to die.

Why do I write?
It’s quite simple really.
My Words are pieces of my Soul
They breathe
They live
They grow
                and mature
Just as I do.
They are from another dimension of
Myself.
A dimension that only They reveal.

I am my Words.
Each and every syllable kisses my Spirit
as They escape the tips of My fingers to paper.

I am in love with my Words
as a Lover adores her beloved.
I fear my Words
as a child fears the dark
while she clutches to her stuffed Pooh bear
and whimpers in the middle of the night.
They touch a part of myself that remains hidden.
They reveal my Angels
and my Daemons.
They show my Strength
and my Hamartia.

My Words have the power to shatter Me.

Ma perché scrivo?

*È l’unico conforto.