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Martina Jun 2019
In my memories
you sleep.
you have dreams tangled in your hair.
sleeping heals everything:
your skin rash and your busy hours.
I wait wide awake as I look at you.
because you always say you never sleep.
You sleep
so much that your eyelashes seem
to be sealed forever.
because I love you and yesterday
you loved me too and loving
requires a lot of effort and strength.
even now
that we don't know each other anymore.
Even now that we are strangers,
because you are an idler,
always late,
because the term is over.
because I sleep
and dream,
because I never remember my dreams.
Sleep and dream me,
even if we don't know each other,
even if you know where my birthmarks lay.
Martina Jan 2019
On our first date,
We walked around your town.
You told me that you would have held my hand,
if yours weren't busy.
Eventually you would have held it countless times
and as we walked around your town
with our fingers intertwined
I always looked at the shop windows.
Not because I was interested in what was exposed:
I looked at us.
I looked at how good we looked together.
I saw glimpses of the beauty you often attributed me,
the one I've always denied.

Now that I walk around my town, alone, I understand.
You were my beauty.
You were the most stunning feature of my smile.
Your hand, wrapped around mine, was the warmest glove.

I look at the shopping windows, palms stuck in my pocket.
You're not here anymore  to complain about my cold touch,
Your blue eyes can't pierce my mind from where you are.

Staring at your face while you slept, heavy on my chest,
is my favourite memory.
Minutes passed by as I counted your eyelashes
and every single hair of your beard.
I looked at the straight line of your little nose
as it turned into your beautiful lips,
slightly opened as you snored softly.
I loved every part of you,
even your eczema.

We said it wouldn't be easy,
to love each other from different parts of the world.
It is hard indeed,
It's like running with one leg.
But as long as I know I'll walk around your town again, someday,
I can take it.
Martina Nov 2018
I love and I hate it,
This prolific sadness of mine.
I love being prolific,
I hate being sad.

Yet, I wouldn't just stop at writing,
I'd like to cry, talk, scream.
If I talked,
I would turn either into an overflowing river
or maybe in a silent, grey stone.
What I feel cannot be conveyed
with words.

In this moment I'd kiss whoever crossed my way,
just to beat him to death immediatly after.
I need love,
I need destruction
in this moment.

The only thing I can think of
is my nakedness,
it costed me lots,
I wish I never gave it away like that.
t's all wrong,
all too embarassing.
too fast,

I was right:
What I really am is not good.
I am not entirely sure myself of what is is.
I found unknown parts of my being everyday,
I'm not who I thought I was.

Maybe, I'm not.
Martina Jun 2018
It hurts to finally understand
that in order to keep someone in your life
you must never declare your love.
Martina Jun 2018
Once you said to me
that my head is like a radio
that I listen to too many songs
written by too many different guys.
In your opinion I should change channel
or completely turn off the radio
and concentrate on my life.

Sometimes I think you were right,
but I believe in Murphy's law
and I know for sure that
the song I've been waiting for
will play once the radio is turned off.

Then you said that the radio will turn on by itself
when the time is right.
You listened to my song for a little while,
just the time to decide it wasn't for you
and get back to your old-all-time-favourite.

I was hurt and happy at the same time,
because you were happy too
and because someone, finally
paid some attention to my tunes.
Martina Jun 2018
Look how willing I am.
Willing as the body, because my spirit is willing.
Look how I can do it all on my own,
How I get up on my own legs.
Yes, I am: I am willing.
I start believing it myself, finally.
I am so willing that I forget about my joy in front of yours,
That I can bear, bear, bear
An empty existence if yours is full.
I am so willing that I've started smoking,
So willing that you didn't notice my inner scream
While I was smiling in my yellow blazer at the party,
Lying, pretending, playing the part of the old lover
Who forgets about the past.
Yes, I am willing.
But what have I won by being willing?
Dignity? Honour?
Dignity, honour, they don't warm my cheeks in red,
They can't get inside my eyes.
I wish I were weak,
Give up and be instinctive and selfish,
Go back and never, never, never let you go.
I stole you with shaking hands,
I returned you with tears in my eyes,
The head towards what was right and a heart in chains.
And I know you were the happiest when you got back home.

— The End —