you're always a nightmare to me

I've come to realization i have written empty words!
for years on end I've only scribbled down thoughts in the hope they'd make sense,
only now that I'm older and I've been doing this for a bit
I've come to notice there's no shame in saying exactly what you mean.
so here's what I meant:

yes you broke my heart,
yes my parents didn't stop fighting in the background,
yes, again, you broke my heart and constantly pushed me over the edge,
because you knew (better than I did) that I loved you, and you wanted to see
how far I'd go, just for fun, just for the sake of fucking it up,

and it pains me, because you're probably the worst person I've met
and I loved you, for what? for absolutely nothing.

my mom had cancer and my sister died,
you insisted that I read steppenwolf.
you knew german and I wanted to learn,

you questioned me because you thought I wanted to be like you.

I was a million times more interesting than you ever will be.
I deserved to be brought flowers,
not sharing the only house towel and sleeping on the cold floor.
I made more in a month than you in a year,
we wanted to travel but you never wanted to come with me.

there was so much going on,
yet I decided to ignore it to hold your hand in a taxi cab.
there was so much I could've been,
an A+ student, a better employee, a greater daughter,
but again, my foolish little heart wasted time loving you.

I lied when I said I wouldn't write about you again.

I wanna write about you to remind my younger self of how much we wasted
and now have recovered exponentially.

now you're a character in my book,

but only the part of you that is curious, tender, a little shy,

the part of you that taught me stillness, silence,

the part of you I liked.

the one that sat on the floor and asked "would you come to see wilco with me?"

and embraced me while we listened to your records.

the childish, not afraid to be young part of you.

oh if you would've let yourself be like that for longer,

we would've been so happy, so joyful, 

but I guess now that will never happen.

a stupid little thought

sometimes i feel like i would be so different if i lived in new york. maybe i'd feel lonelier, but honestly parts of my creative work would pop. it is the best city in the world after all

i need a place to hide

i really need a place to write

like a physical place that i can shut off

where no one looks over my shoulder:

a place to write within walls,

a chair, a desk, a computer,

a window to look out from, 

nothing more

a place to write and think

a place not to be perceived or observed

a place just

to write

a brief pause

i am in a bed that is not mine,

lucky to have been granted the gift of kindness,

a bed to rest, a clean towel,

a window through which the sun shines in the early afternoon

crafting shapes in the ever so opaque curtains.

at night the silence is so immense that to quiet down

i play music at low volume;

usually some math rock will do.

so i lay here,

thinking about the past, the present, the future:

my future, most ardently, my steps

i think about myself like no one else

because what else can i care about

in the darkness of a room that is not mine?

my bag is mostly packed in a corner,

all the black clothes bundled up, shapeless, hoping to be washed upon my arrival.

i have seen nothing and eaten a lot,

i've written, i screamed my heart out to my favorite band,

i perused the emtpy hallways of a city i don't understand,

i tried grasping the laws of quantum physics behind metro systems

far more complex than ours,

i worked, sure, i talked a lot on the phone,

i imitated accents, i walked in circles,

i got lost.

i thought about you, maybe. not in that way for once.

i called my best friend 5 times in 4 days.

then i got lost again, took 5 pictures (and i am not in any of them),

i understood that maybe some cities

are best left to nature for resolution.

this is all but a brief pause.

all and nothing has happened in four days.

the amouse bouche for the upcoming weeks,

a palate cleanser of joy, disgust, agony:

i am alive and i've never been less afraid of letting the wind collate through and direct the movement.

tomorrow

I can't fathom a future where this doesn't work and if it doesn't, my heart is going to break so bad I am not sure how I'm going to mend it. 

another day another thoughtless thought

yes, I keep changing my mind as events unravel and I am loving every minute of it!

my veredict is

this was a bad idea. I get it now, I am happy it happened. thank you

faith

of course this is too much of a long shot

and I sort of admire myself for trying —

the thought of hearing your voice again,

seeing you smile,

is way more than anything I could ever wish for.

I am doing this for me,

not for them,

not for you:

it's too much of a strech,

too difficult to make it happen,

but there is somethig in me telling me

to keep the faith.

a person meets their super person

so once I broke free from myself

I emerged into this forsaken world,

desperately trying to find a hand to hold,

my own hand,

but its rivets and the convoluted pieces of time

have torn apart a memory of who I once was.

I am not getting that back,

but I wish I could go back and tell her

we did it! we made it through!

maybe her absence wouldn't be so noticeable then,

I could unshackle the remnants of the dream

I built in my sleep.

so here's how the godliness went:

there was a day in the week where I couldn't stop thinking about my ex-friend, a friend who'd been my friend when I didn't have any other friends. she was my friend until one day she decided she no longer trusted me. she didn't want to tell me she was a lesbian (when I had come out as bisexual like three years prior?), and that she had an online girlfriend. I don't forget that because I don't want to forget how betrayed I felt. still I made an effort to pull through, but 5 years after that everything fell apart. I pushed endlessly for five years, but with no use. I had been inside my head for a couple of days and writing about her. I couldn't stop thinking about her, hoping she was doing alright.

so I texted her on thursday night, not sure if her number was still right. she replied almost instantly, but without much soul. we exchanged a couple of messages for about an hour and then, boom, she went quiet and never replied again. she'd done the same thing about three years back when I texted her for her birthday. it hurt tremendously, as if I had been ghosted by a fuckboy. she wasn't a fuckboy, she was one of my best friends, she was a person I knew and cared about. she never judged me, why would I judge her? I don't know. 

I've been looking at our facebook chats and I see we were great friends. I told her I loved her constantly. I reassured her how much I cared and she did the same. I've been trying to find where I went wrong and I think I know, I think she wore me out. it's fine, we were super young, I don't blame anyone.

seems unrelated, but that same night my friends came over for dinner and one of them mentioned you. they said your girlfriend had referred to you as her boyfriend in public. I was pissed, pissed as if it was personal. everyone there ignored how pissed I was and I had a shit night as a consequence. 

but that made sense. the whole thing - the ex friend and the boyfriend thing. people have changed, so have I. and I can try and push it, bring them back to me, but it was never meant to be. I could let my frustration consume all the fire within me or I could make peace with the fact that I've outgrown myself after healing, and I can't go back to that.

so now I guess when I say I've asked for them to put you in my way it was very simple: a few words to show me we would never cross.

superconscious

I have asked God
to put you in my path again
so I can heal.
I hope they listen.

3rd planet

Well the universe is shaped exactly like the earth
If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were

by a few moons

i am certain you and i are connected by a few moons:

one opens the freezer and sees chaos, the other just sees food;

one folds clothes for categorization, the other just shoves them in the drawer.

a million examples or how the rules of attraction work in the most subtle ways,

for me, that is where love is, intrinsically.

in the space between me and you, and how

knowing we will always be apart,

subdivided by the atoms and the quarks,

just makes it easier to bring you closer.

some days you feel small, so small,

i can engulf you between my arms;

some other days i feel like life is too much to bare 

and there's a space in your chest made for me.

i think there is the reason why i am still striving for meaning,

to understand how two people who were once different

have suddenly become part of the same.

i can't understand why of all the things you could have become

you decided to be tender, loving,

the missing part of me.

the nature of the universe

i am convinced that there is always something in this world

that resembles everything else in the universe.

even if we haven't discovered it yet,

the collision of stars and the spacetime force of black holes

i am sure i can find something like that in a pond

or maybe in my backyard.

anything

if I could wish to write about anything,
it'd go away almost immediately -
there's not much I can do to keep this feeling close,
close enough to be grasped.
it'll live with me forever,
long enough for me to let it in,
but maybe never
understand it.

i said your name in a dream

I said your name in a dream,

in a whisper, 

as I was looking for you in my computer.

I was trying to find out if you were dead or alive.

I said it and regretted it,

because like a spell, you appeared:

you showed up wearing a hat, unannounced,

smiling.

in my dreams you don't hate me,

you keep me dear,

you keep me close,

you know who I am.

I wish I kept the email you wrote,

that said

it had been an honor to know me,

but I guess my computer

doesn't dream that far back into time.

the beginning of summer

a woman reads

a poem sitting on a bench

at the porch

of the house she bought

with her husband,

who plays the sax inside

while her six year old dog

howls with him

singing

awooo awooo

and she doesn't frown,

only tilts her head to the side

to listen closely to the cicadas

proclaiming the beginning of summer;

her eyes try to adjust to the lack of light

now in the twilight

her daughter opens the front door and

turns on the light for her,

so she smiles,

brushes a fly off her lap

and then turns the page.

the town smells like jasmines

and wet grass,

something so comforting

she wonders

if anyone would ever think

of writing a book about it.

a secret third thing

how does death feel to those
who've never had time to come terms
with their own mortality?

is it sweeter?
do they think it's god's work?
is somebody coming to get them, can they see them?
do they know a secret we ignore,
like a recipe,
or they just accept it when it comes?

funny feeling

i so desperately struggle to keep my mind at ease
that i forget about the joy of misunderstanding.
taking for granted what is not mine, and
what i can't take with me,
as if there's an answer within this realm
that would make me understand.
uncomfortable spaces between the locked thoughts,
where the look out the window
is a grim, dark reality,
enlightened only by rays of sunlight
of occasionally well-intended people
who live outside of me.
i thought i always knew the answer,
then i decided i didn't anymore and tried to find it again.
within my papers, in my head,
around me, in the people i love.
maybe the answer has been lost for a reason,
and i might need to stay with that funny feeling
for a little longer,
until it figures me out,
or the other way around.

the mountain state and ownership and value - part ii

when I said I had no idea what I wanted,
I meant it.
I saw you run across the stream and couldn't catch you,
maybe I didn't want to,
but you did ran away.
those are the seconds where I wished time didn't pass,
that there was no way around the unknown,
nobody could take from me what's mine.
you were never mine, I guess,
somebody else's girl,
someone else's spirit to be possessed by.
it is now the core soft center of my heart that is turning rock solid,
like I opened the wrong door in my heart:
letting you in was not the mistake of a lifetime,
it was just a way of seeing heartbreak through a different lens.

I surely do hope you're well,
wherever it is you went to,
running through the forest barefoot,
striking a fire,
falling asleep on the moss.

it is your responsibility now
to only understand
what has been of my heart,
if you are willing to listen to the gush of wind through the trees.

I'm sleeping inside of myself,
curiously hoping
I'll wake up to find
time has not passed,
I have not aged,
and this meant nothing.

                                       (as if that had ever been a possibility.)

something calls

 

something in the roots is calling me
i feel like back then, back where
there was no sensation of fear, 
i could breathe:
the sole thought of being in nature
is instantly relaxing,
a comforting place within my mind
telling me to come back
the senses go beyond my nature.

nature is not a place to visit

forest bound
bits and bops here and there
tree bark; a cinnamon tree i peel layers off
and feel the history run again beneath my feet
as if something deep inside,
hidden well within the moss,
and its eternal waterfalls
was calling my name, your name,
all of our names
into a single form of consciousness.
can we try and leave without the ego?
is it worth remembering how
"nature is not a place to visit,
it is a home" as a daily mantra?
what's the song the forest sings?
what's the sea's hypothesis?
are they alone at night,
or is it insincere to think
the moon and the sun are human forms?

writing what you want

 it's true, they're all right. there's no point to writing creatively if you can't write what you want. i'm trying to make peace with that. i feel it in my body when i try to sit down with what i want to say. it's not that anyone has to hear it, or maybe the people who wanted to listen are already here. or gone, maybe they had enough. either way, i long for the time where i am at peace with writing for myself more than any other thing. i started writing to understand life, now i write to understand death. the death that every time i try to face makes me fall deeper and deeper into a state of despair, from which i wish to come out but fail. it feels like the walls are slippery and i keep holding on to a hope that doesn't exist. there's something in me, though that asks me to keep writing, keep coming, keep showing up. the last thing you lose is your faith, regardless of how many pills you take. or how many hours you sleep. or who you love, fuck, kill, hate. none of that matters if you can't write your fears from the bottom of your bottomless soul because you're scared of what someone else my think. knowledge is a precious commodity and understanding oneself takes a lifetime (or more). my goal in life is to think i've not lived in vain.

samsara

i don't want to live with my fear of death 
like it's the unwanted guest at my table,
who is in my fridge, eating my food, 
corroding my mind in every waking second.
i want the paradox of living and not living
to sit next to me on my couch, 
drink tea and chat,
converse in a way that is fruitful.
if i let my fear and hopelessness over death
take me with it,
i will not only not have lived this life,
but wasted it to find nothing.
no one will benefit from my gut wrenching thoughts and nightmares,
especially me.
no one will come inside and trim the weeds.
even if it pains me,
there's a reality to face,
a new way of seeing life,
a question that will remain unanswered by my consciousness,
and can only hope
my soul bares the burden
and maybe, in my sleep,
my second-self will soothe me.

 

So this is Cy Twombly, I thought, an American who had chosen Rome, a place of the Old World, who acquainted himself with the Homeric history of civilisation, who conducted a poetic dialogue between the anatomy of moments and their fading.

 

may 18th 2023

lately i've been having a good life,

some momentuum, a nice time around,

i have plans for the near future,

healthy family,

lovely friends.

i don't think i've been this happy in a long time.

i haven't accomplished anything major,

this shouldn't even be a poem.

i'm somewhat glad that i get to wake up each morning and be me:

that feeling shouldn't go unnoticed,

it doesn't seem to be happening very often.

a lot of my worth is tied to someone else's opinion,

i fear;

i see that for most of these past months i haven't really paid much attention to it

as if suddenly i realized i am free to make my own decisions.

breathing in,

being grateful,

excited for what's ahead.

drinking like this will drive me insane

what's with my fixation to always be pouring my heart out when drunk? am i more interesting for spilling secrets? i never even know what i am talking about

midnight show

somewhere in my head

we were such a good thing

we were such a good t h i n g

make it go away, without a trace

how to

there's instructions for every breathing detail

in a life of one's own;

a place to place the placings in your head,

a bathmat,

how to fold fitted sheets.

something inescapable in a lifetime of mirrors,

uneventful wandering,

around days and days and days

seeing how old houses are torn down

for new apartment blocks to be built up.

i will miss my neighborhood as i grow old,

it will escape me faster than i will ever be able to retain it in my memory.

the winds will change, 

the voices coming from the bathroom window,

the way the sun sets.

all of it will also die with me,

as i go, no remains of a life well lived.

it bears without saying

that my best memories will always lie together

with the sunsets, sandstorms, moonless nights.

none of which have ever been 

instructed to be mine.

we have grown to appreciate all that's calm,

and whatever's withered and falling.

the ground that breathes

 as i walk through boulevards 
and the sun begins to mount its way
back to Japan,
there's a slower consideration
in the boiling pavement
that lies beneath all my wishes.
the further away i get
from the subway station
the more the ground seems to breathe.
homes get bigger and plentiful;
no signs of the newest addition
of gray concrete, straight lines and estranged facades:
instead we get artistry,
a roof filled with ancestor's best intentions
mirrored lines and cracked bricks
to bring out the lemon trees
and perfume, peeking in from behind the fences
a sense that there's still some soul left
to this part of town
that for so long i felt like it could never belong to me.

as i stand on top of the bridge
i see how the sun fights back the windshields
the speed of sound coming in waves
and how much space
is still left
to dream.

i want to remember these streets by heart;
recite every name like a mouthful
so it'll never lose the quality of being misunderstood;
auxiliary to the greater good,
the final steps behind the high way:
the soft tissue behind the grayed out green 
areas sold to the highest bidder.

the fatal nature of seasickness

 does the black moon help you reconnect with your closest self?
have you closed your eyes lately,  and felt
a never-ending coming and going
of seasickness
that can only be explained
by the fast movement of the seasons?
I’ve tried to explain it to myself:
i’ve meditated in place
sitting down
down on my chest
legs out front
on my feet:
      nothing.
there’s no stopping what’s near me
if i open my eyes big enough, maybe i’ll catch a glimpse
familiar sweetness, a mossy rock in my childhood heart
even the winds of trade made of salt and bones
will feel like new momentum 
renewed enthusiasm
enough to keep me going 
for like, what, 20 more years?

the corner shop

 do you think as you get older
and you start to see the signs of wear and tear
you will forget about me?
i have not seen you in years yet I dream,
I dream of a day where we accidentally lock eyes,
you see my face resurface in your old memories
just like you thought you had forgotten.
i have sat by the window at the bar
that I first visited when I was looking for you,
hoping that in any of these faces
I see myself and I see you.
how do you look? did you lose weight? 
did you lose your hair?
it would be so easy to find out,
I can always come back.
it's been ten years waiting for a moment to happen,
and i think i could wait ten more.
if the wind reaches you,
i also hope my words come with,
that they whisper in your dreams
that I was once someone,
not just a face.
the day i conquer that distance
i know something will die:
you'll never just have the time to bump into me,
take the time to sit down,
grab a coffee,
listen.
maybe we'll look at each other and wave,
briefly my hearing will stop,
i will run out of breath,
and look stupid.
nobody has your face,
your demeanor
or your voice.
nobody looks like you,
i'm not expecting them to do so. 
years will come and go,
I'll be sitting here,
never forgetting,
always understanding
what separates me and you
is a dimension of time.
if I'm lucky,
I'll see you in my next life.