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

I have been blessed with
a rose of blue petals
upon which I could read:
I will wait for you
‘till the end of time
on the other side of the world
to admire the most beautiful
northern lights
that are nothing compared
to the blue of your eyes.

I’m playing with
the little globe
at my writing desk.
I let it spin
and spin
and spin
and...
I pause.
I suddenly feel too
small.
How many places
have not been discovered
yet?
How many lands?
I keep telling myself
how pointless and
worthless my existence
must be
in a universe
like this.
In the silence,
the beating of my heart
can almost exceed
the noise of my thoughts.
Each pulse is stronger
than ever.
We are told that
the heart is the same
size as the fist.
My hands are not that
big and so
neither is my heart.
I keep forgetting
its value, though.
Isn’t the heart also
an undiscovered land?
Sure, the doctors
could tell me all
its functions one by one.
They could illustrate me
its structure to a tee.
But they don’t know
the reasons why a heart
keeps beating even
when it’s tired.
Or why it doesn’t break
when it cracks.
Tell me about the way it
loves me even when I don’t,
even when I’ve hurt it.
I want to know why
it doesn’t explode
when it is so full of passion.
Isn’t it grand?
Isn’t this enough?
I am the universe.

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.

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

The hardest pain is the one
that you will not feel
because your heart
has already experienced
death before.

You, creature of
heaven.
Object of my
desire.
Soft voice,
rose lips.
Body shaped like
ocean.
Your curves: the waves.
In you
the storm and
the quiet.
Sunrise and
sunset.
Sunshine and
rain.
Childish and
grownup.
And all in one word:

W o m a n

It is already sunrise and
it’s time to say goodbye
for I do not want to be
mistaken for the moon,
living under the spotlight
of her beloved sun.

To the lucky ones
in whose hands
a ladybug has landed
today
I wish to not
search for a sign
or better a guise
to be great.

It’s an ode to myself
the one enclosed in this ink
in the middle of the page
as a symbol of a heart
that got rhythm
after years of silence
thanks to my pen only.

I’ve never loved myself enough
to love another human being.
Love is practice and I’ve
only practiced hate.
I’m a mixture of
fear and boredom.
Never understood what
could make other people
happy.
My favorite hobby
has always been guessing
what could hurt me
the most.
And then do it.
How am I supposed to know
joy and gift it?

When you’ve got
your trust broken
by someone who
you counted on
there is no glue
in the universe
sticky enough
to put the pieces
back together.

I’m destined to have
eternal moments of
catastrophic drought
inside of me,
even if my heart
is an immortal
castaway through
the most brutal
storms of my soul.

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.

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.

You were the moon,
I was the astronaut.
I waited years
to taste you.
I finally reached you
but I could only touch you
between a jump and another.

You tasted me
thinking I was going to
become your favorite meal
but as soon as the
plate was served to you
you said it was insipid.

Our mind is so
mysterious at night.
It travels to someplace
far away
and come back before
we can even realize.
We don’t remember
the journey,
neither the space-time
continuum in which
we’ve been projected.
At times I ask myself
if my real life is
the one I live in my
dreams.
If what we call reality
is in reality a dream.
We are just wanderers
searching for a place to call
ours.
We are not at home
in our own homes.
When we lay in bed
at night
we seek something
in which we’ll fit.
Something that will suit us
perfectly.
And then we wake up.
Our shelter cracks
and we are driven
into our miserable lives.
Again.
So what is the
aim of all that
wandering?

I’ve never been good at dancing
but I tried my hardest
to not step on your feet
on the dance floor
just to prove to you
that I always made sure
not to trample on your heart
even if
I’ve never been good at love.
But right now
I find myself
dancing all alone
with an empty heart.

Life is a game between
you and yourself.
You are going to lose
at some point anyway.
Find something worth
losing for.
What would make
your defeat compelling?
Grab it and call it
a victory.

Give the gates
of your heart
permission to
be wide open
but make sure
not to let winter
settle in your
feeble bones.

During the storm
the lightning falls
undaunted towards
the earth heedless of
the damage it will cause,
choosing to come into
existence anyway
to embrace life.
So be your own lightning
and trust your vibes.

Ever since you left
I’ve been wondering
what it’d be like if we
were just parallel lines
never destined to meet
instead of two rusted cars
with broken brakes at a
crossroad without signage.

I wish I could erase you
completely from my mind,
but I saw my reflection
when I looked into your eyes.
So how am I supposed
to forget me?

I am not who I used to be
and that's a shame
but I am better off
without my soul of yesterday.

The best part of being alive
is that you got to decide.
Never settle for less
than what you can aspire.
Don’t listen to people
who determine your worth
by what they see on
the outside.
You have a thoughtful mind
and know exactly the value
of your heart.
Your happiness is in your hands.
Don’t you dare let it
slip through your fingers.
The hate must not
influence your mindset.
You are you.
Think like you.