The little red riding wolf.
He always thought he was being misled
like a little red riding hood but manly
Then his eyes were able to see
how he had always been the wolf
misleading others
Happy Birthday to you.
I started to cut
the cake into portions
then I remembered
It is only me tonight.
Not scary
I am a ghost
I am a ghost
I am a ghost
though not scary
I am a ghost
a ghost who’s fading
I am a ghost
fetched from
a kid’s nightmare
from a kid’s nightmare
that was not scary
I am a ghost
I am a ghost
a ghost who’s fading
into reality
The wind blows
it twirls
each draft
draws us to
aloofness
will we remain
at a distance, but
within view?
or will the wind
lead us close again?
maybe someday,
hopefully someday.
If singing blues were a thing birds could do,
they wouldn’t be named blues,
they would be named yellow,
and they wouldn’t be the same thing.
Could it be real?
How can this be?
How can I feel
on top of me
a body I have
yet to see?
is this me
imagining
hearts beating,
heavy breathings?
or
could it be real?
Our Reality
reality
shaped
at first sight
modified
through time
take from me
first glimpses
work with me
some time
let’s reach
a conclusion
what reality is
is not what it was
She will not know love for rain
until with your embrace
She gets to fall as rain does
My head hurts
on anticipation
I just need to focus
on someone else
Wake up.
I am going to say this once. You breathe, you walk, you talk like anyone else would breathe, walk or talk. You choose topics no different from those seen in magazines, and you use the same God-damned words you read. You see the pilot of several new TV shows, but you never see the second one; where’s the follow-up? If they happened to have been dramatic enough, you shed your tear or two, but everyone has cried; if they are sitcoms instead, you laugh, you say out loud “my life´s a joke”, and I can see your eyes shifting to a depressive mode. But everyone has cried, everyone has laughed, we have all said, “my life´s a joke”, and most importantly, we have all been in depressive mode.
However, you are here with me, and I can see you. I see you. I feel you, no one else. We share the same air when we need no more than a few millimetres to measure the distance between us. During those moments we share the same words that everyone else has sheared, and they are precious to us. When you cry, I think it’s my heart the one broken. When you laugh out loud, I think it is my soul the one that has gotten some relief. I want you.
You are unique to me.
we will understand.
there’s people who claim to understand
These people will never do
even if I set myself to explain
I’ve decided now
there is no use in wasting my words
I hope to find a soul some day
one which comes already knowing
for us to set ourselves together
to the posing of a hundred questions more
we will already have an edge
and if we end together we will have won
I hear you when I read you.
When one starts to assign
the sound of voices
to words, to phrases
that cannot be heard
but only read
then is when
one starts to fall
or at least
when I start to fall
and I think you will not catch me
therefore I fear what’s happening
I fear the sound of your voice
I mean
the mental recreation of your voice
but how beautiful it is!
Home(less)
Home is not places, it is love
what happens then,
when we have lack of such.
Are we taken to a shelter?
Am I going to be taken to a shelter?
Where is this shelter?
If home is not places,
If home is love,
have I been homeless without knowing?
Will I ever know I’ve arrived home?
it was a storm, the way all of those possible reactions twirled around his head. He picked the worst, though he had no way of knowing back then. There is no way for him to know until the end. Now, when the expected resolution is not there; how do you tell someone he’s been playing a solitary game which no longer has a possible solution?
Contrast.
Have you wondered
where they hide
all the darkness
that allow
their smiles to shine
the way they shine
since their smiles shine
as bright as stars,
and stars can be seen
only when it’s dark?
Have you wondered where they hide?
