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

Show me the heart
who was never cruel
and I will admit my
fallacy in believing
that hate is less
fearful than love.
Always too many absents
at life’s lessons and no one
who raises a hand.

**** my blood
as mosquitoes do
and may your voice
resound in my ears
as I try to dream.

All these years spent
building a home
out of the bricks
of my fragile bones
and now I find myself
talking to the stars
in the soft moonlight
for I am a skyscraper.

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.

A death is sometimes
more bearable than another.
When a building is in flames
people choose to throw
themselves out of the window.
The fear of height
can’t compete with
that of fire.
We do that everytime
we meet someone new.
We choose to
leap into the void
hoping to be caught in time.
But at the end
we fall.
And we burn.

When you lose
someone you love
you turn the color
of glass.
Colorless.
I thought the absence
of all colors was black.
It’s not.
I am.
When you lose
someone you love
you turn the shape
of glass.
Sharp.
Broken and splintered,
ready to hurt anyone
who only dares
to come a little bit
closer.

Where do the dreams go
when the dreamers
lose their sleep?

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.

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

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.

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.

What are your plans
for tonight?
How about kissing
each other’s fears away
until light
comes in our way?

I still wait for you
in that spot in which
we would have escaped
when we needed
each other.
Did you forget
the way?

Let me discover
the weight of your heart.
Open your chest and
hand it to me.
Does it treasure love?
If it doesn’t,
take the liberty to
undress my soul
and steal it from there.
You know I won’t mind.
I will take your darkness instead
and put your demons
inside of me
to let them destroy me.
I know you won’t mind.

Disappointments are like
baby tooth:
they teach you to smile
when you are still weak
but make room for
something stronger
as soon as you
are ready.

She asked me the moon
so I packed my bags
and traveled through
thousands of galaxies
just to steal it from the sky
and gift it to her.
When I was home
light years later
she told me she got
sick of waiting and decided
to settle for someone
who gave her a flower
by simply picking it up
from the grass.

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.

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

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?

The girl who cried wolves
has been told too many times
to shut her mouth
that now she is crying her own name
having she herself become
the wolf.

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.

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.

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.

I deprive my heart
of blood for I write
these verses with it
in the hope it would
merge with yours
the moment you see
my heart is meaningless
if you spurn my love.

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.

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.

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

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