OUT IN THE OPEN

I might be the worst anyone can be, according to beauty standards.
Still, all my flaws, all my ungodly features, are out in the open, for anyone to see.
And to judge.

I’m as vulnerable and sensitive as anyone can be, as well.
I react to what I hear while walking down the hall, or what I’m told.
What I hear when I have my headphones on and nobody thinks I’m paying attention.
And I promise you, I hate myself for that, every day.

There are only so many things I’m willing to change, but you’d say at the very least,
I should know who I am, truly.

So I’m going around collecting the pieces.

Some of them are handed to me with words of kindness, perhaps courtesy.
From gentle and selfless, sweet and compassionate, to naive or shy.
To angry and rough, to careless, to cruel, even. It’s tough to put it all together.

It might be a hard-to-grasp concept, but, maybe, ungodly features and all,
I’m merely human.

WASH, RINSE AND REPEAT

Fucked up sleep patterns, unhealthy breakfast, insane amounts of coffee to keep up.
Forever quiet or talking too much. 15 saved drafts that will never see the light.
6 songs in within a week or 3 over the course of a year. 30 more unfinished ones.
Write line after line or flat-line trying.

Singing at the top of my lungs or barely hum some notes. Picture beautiful imagery.
Get lost in daylight nightmares. See a movie and laugh my heart out. Or don’t.
Or maybe, end up crying inside a cinema’s third bathroom stall.

Avoid, at basically any cost, getting involved in uncomfortable conversations.
Ignore unnecessary office drama. Listen to the same 5 songs over and over again.
Miss the train of thought, because, why am I even writing this, again?

Wash, rinse and repeat. Fuck off.

DAYLIGHT TERRORS

It’s always either too early or too late
You gotta spin around the rules, it doesn’t change
This is black and white, no space for grey

I’m one with my daylight terrors
and might as well jump off the bridge before I cross

Yell, fight
Bloom and then perish
The fight ain’t over
Or is it over?

It’s always either too early or too late
Believe me now, Forever is a one in a million chance
The ink in my skin doesn’t have to call a name

Will you cloud your own judgement?
I might bid you all farewell before you consider it

Yell, fight
Bloom and then perish
The fight ain’t over
Or is it over?

Reach out,
put this damned soul to rest,
for its fight ain’t over
Or is it over?

NOT AN EASY TASK

Sometimes you don’t need new music.
What you’re missing is how to enjoy the one you already know.
Being able to bring back the memories linked to that one song,
or maybe replace them with something better when it hurts.

I’ve stopped listening to so many melodies because they bring me back to the past,
one that I can’t bear, one that I haven’t come up with an idea to get replaced.

Making new memories isn’t much of an easy task for me,
I guess that explain the same 10 songs in my queue every damn day.

UMBRELLA

The flowers move and I don’t know why, but I can’t feel the wind touching my skin.
When the days are cloudy, I understand them, I relate, but I don’t find comfort.
All I do is think of how beautiful the sunless sky looks, and mostly, of how much of a
mess it’s gonna be when it starts raining and I have to catch the bus.

I get so anxious about stepping into the mud that I stop looking up to enjoy the light.
When it does rain, I don’t reach my hand out of the umbrella, I just run.

Some days the only thing that keeps me in the ground is gravity,
I’m out of the world, zoning out hundred percent of the time, unable to come back.
I hear people talking but I never think their words come in my direction,
so I just give them the ‘What?’ look when they call my name and I suddenly catch it.

I rest my eyes for a few seconds at my desk while waiting for a file to open,
instead of fully joining the conversation at the office.

It’s all like that.
I don’t want to speak to the lady sitting close to me at the doctor’s.
I know they want to get solace but I’m the worst place to try find it.

It’s lost, you know. The power I had when I was five is gone.

I can’t dream big enough not to care about how to get there.
Nor can I fall and wound my knee and stand up with no pain until I see the blood.
I can’t cure my mom’s headaches with just placing my hand on her forehead.
I can’t make my dad’s orange beverage taste good like I used to.

Always wonder when it got like that, when I stopped being a child
and started this bitter young adult journey and even worse,
why exactly did it have to be a bitter young adult journey.

I’m trying, I swear. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m trying.
I said I wanted to regain myself, and sometimes I doubt I’ll get to it,
but I’m trying.

I want to see the flowers bloom someday and feel like them, move with the wind,
stop running from the rain and worrying about the mud.

What does it take? I don’t know anymore.

WAY PAST SALVATION

I never thought I’d make it to 2019.

The first time I was about to commit suicide was back in 2007. I was upset and tired, knife in hand. Ready. Then I heard a song and later claimed it saved my life.

From then and on, it’s been days and days thinking of it. Of being so close to it. Years of almost reaching for that cutter I have in a mug full of pens I never use. Months of forcing myself to say it’s going to be a better day every morning and coming back home to stare at the metal box where I keep all my meds, trying to decide if I should smash them all and mix them in water a la L’élégance du hérisson or just dry swallow them all.

I keep staring, as if time stopped for a moment. Am I deciding if it’s worth it? I might even be in doubt, but never in hopes for anything. I told myself a long time ago that I am way past salvation. That I am the one and only owner of the key of my healing. Too bad I am as well the one who locked me up.

For a second, I’m scared of ending up in Hell. Then I tell myself I’m going there to fucking reign. After all, I am my own executioner. I am a master of torture and psychological damage. Of self-sabotage. Of self-loathing. I will get there with my own demons.

I believe that whether it’s the cutter in the mug of unused pens or a mouthful of antipsychotics, I’m going down on my own. But who knows. I’ve successfully walked into traffic only to get to the other side unharmed.

Still, I wish for the rain to wash me away, for the wind to cast me out of life. And from time to time, for the moon to save me. But as I’ve said before, I am only getting closer to the sun and its flames.

I never thought I’d make it to 2019. I’ve been trying to die since the day I was born.

And I’m not lying.

FICTION

Some dreams pull the trigger over and over again.
Nightmares press my buttons,
and I wake up with a buzz in my head that I can’t explain.

But every now and then, you’re there.

We walk as fast as we can,
almost running away from a monster we just beat down.
Leaning on each other, tired and bloody,
your weight falls on me because you’re so much taller
and suddenly I feel safe, safer than I’ve ever felt while awake.

It’s the relief in your eyes every time you find me,
and the soft fabric and the cold zipper of your jacket
when you pull me into your arms.

It’s my head on your shoulder and my hands on yours,
it’s my soul coming back to my body when I see you.
It’s your smile and the bright green of your eyes.

It’s that ethereal heart of yours that belongs to me,
even for just that moment.

It all makes me wish to step into your fiction
and not wake up ever again,
because I don’t long for you to be real;
this world doesn’t deserve you.

But I ask the heavens every day
for you to welcome me every time I close my eyes.

Because whether you’re my knight in shining armor,
or I fight by your side,
you’re home to me.

WHEN IT’S SUNNY

I start to see and feel the sunlight,
while begging for the wind to take the clouds away.

I am wary of the calm sometimes,
but I focus on the white noise and trust it’ll shake off my worries.

I swear some days are so hard,
but I want to keep feeling the sunlight.

I want to go back to the things that made me, me.
The good things, and the good me.

I want to find new things that will help me be me.
Good new things and a good new me.

I just want to open the windows when it’s sunny.

WALK ALONG THE SHORE

We all dance in a dry ocean,
waiting for the waves to wash over us,
not knowing this is all there is.

Song after song play louder and louder,
while fate’s trying to decide
if we’re gonna become rain for each other,
or a paper cut.

I might be high as a kite right now,
but I promise it’s just the music and its side effects.

We just keep dancing;
you’re always on the other side of the room,
euphoric because you feel the breeze of the sea.

Remember, I’m only a letter in the sand,
I want to smile too, and feel my face,
I want you to read me before the wind takes me away.
but now I know I will never be rain for you.

My bloodstream is clean, always,
I don’t like to play with fire.

I just wanted us to sing the same song and walk along the shore.

LIES

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but I know it’s a lie.

Meanwhile, I’ll sit here and think about you.

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so I was right, it was all a lie.

Like the ones you never told me.
You were crystal clear and I was only mist.

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Still waiting.

Like I wait for you, although I will most likely,
painfully, never see you again.

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Why are you carved in my brain?

I couldn’t grieve your death, but you’re alive.
I couldn’t cry when you became a ghost haunting my soul.

That is what you are,
and I guess that’s all you can give me after all.

From time to time, you visit me in my dreams,
leaving them tear-colored and my eyes swollen.

I wake up desperately trying to grasp your arm
and ask you not to leave. But you do.

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I miss you.
I miss you in the it-burns-through-my-bones way.

When I convince myself that you will never come back,
I have to remind myself that you were never here.

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I wait and wait and wait…

Nowadays, holding back my tears is getting harder.
Everything reminds me of you.

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but I’m aware that it was all a lie.

Like the one I tell myself every time I miss you.