Sing or swim

So much effort to be out

in the open, in the light.

So many hours wasting my time,

saving money and lies

just to be out

to be open, to be light.

To be a poem.

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Motherly loath II

I lacked the social or the economic means to escape

so I had to invent new ways of disappearing.

and I tried different ways out,

the mere abandon of the place

to leave behind your house

but your illness and my pity

used to drive me back.

But still I attempted to scape

as only alcohol or drugs allow

and remorse and therapy

got me to return as if had debts,

duties, tasks to carry out.

And I am still struggling to release myself

for that unsecure attachment

that you imprinted upon my soul

with the hope that some day

words will do

what my body cannot.

(Not so) Merry Christmas

I do really start the day with the best intentions

and I dress my spirit nice and bright

as I think I should

to be in harmony with the celebrations.

But all of a sudden everything goes wrong

and I can only see the dark glamour of an excess

the wasted food, the money wasted

and that energy and strength invested

in fitting in a world coming from TV or newspapers,

the myths of an old new cavern

when I feel that I can only match

the white light of piece of paper

and the poem.

The positive of a negative

Don’t let them let you down

don’t yield to a yell

nor let the anger drive you to the bottom,

to the bottle.

Don’t allow their mistakes be your fall

nor consent the anxiety

compel you to the brim of the glass

to the brink of your self-defeat,

your true destruction.

Don’t slam the doors

if they close your way out,

don’t be again that teenager

that trying to scape forgets to walk.

Don’t rush out of the sun rays or the raindrops,

out of life,

because they are not the ones to blame.

Don’t give up in front of their whims

since your willpower

is not in their words

nor in their acts.11949458_10156010561175721_6031980323228254718_n

The no children

While they were talking about equality of conditions

I was thinking about the times that I was different,

contradictory, far from, distinct

and my rag doll tearing her limbs apart

filling her veins with prescribed pills

climbing to a place where pain did not exist

and that was the only condition,

that pain always existed,

giving me a reason to be here still,

trying to love you out of sympathy.

I have been in no war

but I have seen too many times the struggle,

the swollen eyes fighting for light,

against the light.

The blotted tongue without words

trying to express something

it does not even know.

The creeping fear running within the veins,

the death waiting,

the business growing

and at the same time failing.

I have seen too many times hospital corridors

with a faith that I’ve been losing

in the the name of life,

in the name of love,

in the name of science.

 

Learning English

“Mum is at the hospital again!” she cried,

those are the sentences you don’t learn in a English class

they are other class of learning,

the one outside the book,

the bleeding context of a child trying to go out

the teenager bleeding going in, within,

entering the dark room of distance and cinism.

“Mum is at the hospital again” she stated,

without any exclamation mark,

without questioning.