The gaze between
two souls that
see each other
naked
for the first
time.

I try to find the way
out of this chaos
that lives inside my head.
I stop myself
few inches from the exit.
I turn my back
and get lost again.
On purpose.

I reach out to touch your face
but find a void.
When did you
become so distant?

Myself loved to play hide-and-seek.
That game went on for six years
I almost started to believe
that I lived in it.
My happiness used to hide in any place –
behind my smile most of all,
so that nobody could find my sadness
underneath it.
I’ve always had this weird cough
since I was fourteen.
I sometimes thought that
maybe,
somehow,
it was my own sadness trying
to find its way out of my mouth,
just to suicide itself on the pavement.
Tired of being in the dark
but too scared of the light.
The first time I said out loud
I was gay,
I cried so hard.
I used to think I was
ill,
dysfunctional,
twisted.
But once my father asked me:
«Who can tell what normality is?».
Today I am twenty years old and
I’m who I have always supposed to be.
Myself has grown up
it doesn’t play hide-and-seek anymore.
I am finally able to say
that the true meaning of “Pride”
is to not be ashamed
of who you are.
It’s to be thankful
for you you are
with no ifs or buts or if onlys.
It’s to look in the mirror
and see not a burden,
neither a failure.
Instead a heart and a soul
from which you find strength and love.
I have spent so many years
committing hate crimes against myself.
Now I’m working so hard
on loving me and
it’s not ******* easy.
But here I am
out of the closet
enjoying the light
I’ve been missing.

What is love?
Everytime it slips from my mouth,
the word sounds goofy.
I suppose we attribute meanings
to things,
by the way we
have experienced them.
Love.
What is love?
I don’t know how to love.
I’ve never loved anyone with my whole being.
I’ve never hold love’s hand,
never went out for dinner with her,
never took her to breakfast in the morning.
Whenever me and love happen
to go out for a walk,
I always find myself two steps behind.
That’s why I’ve never seen her face,
never touched it,
never caressed it.
My hands are made for break things,
instead of holding them.
I’m not good with people,
probably because of my social anxiety.
That makes me bad at love.
Or, better yet, at everything I do.
I got a tender heart.
I swear.
But I guess it doesn’t work anymore.
I’m scared.
Will I ever be able to catch up
with love in this endless walk?
Will I ever see her face
and tell her I love her,
that I know who she is?
Or maybe I don’t have
to run to find out.
Maybe I have to get out of bed and
look
in
the
mirror.