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Martina Oct 20
I killed all my plants by watering them too much.
I got so upset, I turned into a grumpy old man, shoUsing at people to stay away from my yard.
Still my sisters walk on the grass and I'm so glad they are

We don't share our blood: I have chosen my sisters and they have chosen me.
They are my sisters because they saw a present and not a parcel bomb, they weren't scared to open me up.

We are sisters because we've built a home from nothing, a family out of thin air.
We are sisters of the moon, witches, like in a cheesy TV series.
We bottle up each other's tears and brew potions to cure broken hearts.

We are each other's therapists, cooks, seamstresses, teachers, painters, muses.
Each other's conscience, speaking the hard truth, each other's mirror: reflecting the same image, yet one we wouldn't be able to see for ourselves.
Martina Oct 14
Today I had an abortion.
I held the foetus in my hands, still hot, covered in blood, so tiny, yet so recognisable in its incomplete finishedness.
I was at a loss, it hit me slowly at first, then all at once, I started to cry.

It wasn't unexpected, I've been having this weird feeling lately, as if I knew that I wasn't going to see it live.
I felt like that from the start, to be honest, my stupid paranoid head couldn't avoid the thought, but why worry? Everything was going fine.

I don't know what caused it, if you ripped it out, if my body rejected it, or if it just wasn't the right time; maybe all these things together, in the end it takes two.

And so there I was, looking at this unborn being, staring back at me with your eyes, finally ending the dying life we put on it from the first moment.
The organs and the limbs all at the right place: I could see what they could have been, if they hadn't been so weak. It looked like that undeveloped Polaroid I took of you that still lies at the bottom of the drawer: I know what it is, but no one else can see it.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to let it go, I couldn't throw the remains away, not yet.
I put them in a shoebox, under my bed. I'll have a beer, sleep on it, tomorrow I'll see.
I have to get used to the emptiness first, I have to untangle myself from around your fingers, get some paracetamol for this ******* headache.
Martina Oct 13
In my dreams I saw a door, ajar.

A ray of light filtered through the darkness I was in, still I was afraid to open it. What if the light is so bright to leave me blind?
It took me a while to get used to the blue mist that covers everything in the dark, I'm not going to throw the effort away.

There were people going through the door; I caught glimpses of the room and seeing that there was nothing to fear, I got closer.
As I put my hand on the ****, I felt myself swing back and forth, being crossed from side to side, slammed, opened again, pushed and pulled.

I was the door: always a way station, a passage, a portal, something to be through with at some point, and never the room, never a place to dwell, never the destination.

I was bound to stay at the door, neither out, nor in, stuck in a limbo.
Never allowed in the room, kept away from the business, away from conversations, parties, meals, away from the endless stream of everyone else's existence.
Always a silent observer, peeping in.
Martina Oct 8
Don't leave me out alone.
I have ventured into a maze to get here, I also let go of the thread, thinking myself as not lost at all.

Open the door,
for if you don't, I don't know where to go.
It's still pleasant outside, it feels good but I can't recognise this place, I've never been here before and I don't know the way out.
Quite frankly, I don't want to find it, I don't want you to show it to me either, just show me the way in.

Was it something I said?
Or maybe something I could have said but didn't, something I've done at the wrong time?
Something I've broken the very moment I tried to save it?

I'm sorry, I've jumped into this without a parachute, headfirst,
so high that I'll sink so low coming down.
I'm sorry, it's not what I meant.
Let me rewind this month, let me knit you a jumper with the thread of the days, one loop into the other, merging the particular into the universal, this little fraction of time into eternity.

Please let me in,
don't be afraid I won't understand, I too carry my baggage of fears.
Don't be dismissive, don't put me under a bell jar, don't patronise me.

Let me in, or come out if you like.
Just don't leave me out alone.
Martina Oct 5
Yes, I'm seeing someone.
I'm seeing him for coffees, beers, for movies we're not going to watch.

I'm seeing him for rides in his car, hearing him sing all the lyrics, seeing him for dances and heavy headbanging in my bedroom, for drunken adventures, seeing him in his house, when I open the door, at my breakfast table.

I'm seeing someone,
Shapeshifting: from when he pulled up, to when he took his sunglasses off, when we hadn't touched yet, or when we kissed and it felt as natural as a breath. Ever-changing, yet the same.

I'm seeing someone:
I'm seeing him with my eyes, ears, mouth, nose, with my hands and my mind, I'm seeing him in a way he can't see himself in.

We're seeing eachother and I feel, I know, he sees me.
He sees me as I want to be seen, he sees me for someone I didn't know I was, I can stand to look at me through his eyes.

Yes, I'm seeing someone
And I can't look away.
Martina May 9
I've been trying to smother you with a pillow for the past few months.

I also thought I killed you, but today I don't know anymore, I can't rest my head on the ****** weapon and sleep peacefully.

I'm not a violent person,
killing is against my nature
and just the attempt is the most painful gesture I have ever made, forgive me, I had to.

Because I am me and unfortunately not someone else, certainly not someone you could want.
The difference is that I have to live with myself, without you coexistence is, if not pleasant, at least bearable.

And so I wanted to **** you, as I had already done with my parents.
What better way than to leave you with no air and let you squirm under your antithesis, which is not hatred, in fact, but refusing to feel something for fear of feeling anything at all.

I don't know what's going on tonight, you are alive and I can't stand it because I am still me.
I wish I could tell myself that I can change and be worthy of you, but I know that it's not true.

I know that when you are here I will still look at you from afar without saying anything, love,
because you are beautiful and you don't know it and I think someone should tell you.

But not me, it's not from me that you want to find out and it makes perfectly sense.
Martina Mar 27
I've been waiting with devotion
for a sign that never came.
I've been breaking my head on a solution
to my loneliness and my shame.

No answer is visible if you search -
you can only find -
make yourself your only church,
forget about love, the truth is blind.

No existent way to know,
try your best, fall and fail.
If you're after the green glow,
you'll eventually find it on your trail.

What is it you desire the hardest?
Recognition and affection,
someone to call dearest
or just your lost reflection?

Go back to last week,
when we already knew our freedom was limited.
Never saw a spring bloom so bleak,
our hopes so high yet so wounded.

Midnight talks until the morning
with a charming ghost that's half alive.
In my future he planted yearning
for an impossible strive.

Do I still waste time searching?
Have I found?
Another page is turning,
I'm screaming with no sound.
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