Picking herbs

I am growing parsley in the windowsills
and basil and rosemary and dill.

I am exhausted, restless, despairing
trying to think my way out of this mess.

Maybe if I learn how to pick herbs
without killing the plants,
I can learn how to cut away
pieces of myself
and still survive.

Reality check

You're alone.

You have this whole universe inside your head,
twisting and turning. Even there, you're on your own.

These aren't the kind of stories you like.
These are the kind of stories you stay away from.

When you're stressed, you calm down by imagining
    touching the freckles on his arms.
When you're upset, you get better by making up stories
    about kissing him, about making out.
It's always the physical that soothes you.
Because in your head you know
    you'll always going to be on your own.
Even in your most daring dreams,
    you never expect a friend,
    keeping everyone at arms length.

You can only get better, if you accept this as fact and move on.

typing to yet another rhythm

Imagination is a white horse made out of clouds.
You think you're going far but all you do is fall back on your ass,
waking up into a world, again and again, that is too dull,
too real for you to find any purchase, any solace, any kinship, any other way.
Escapism is not cowardice, not a drug, not a fault,
it is how you can breathe when even the air coalesces into bars to hold you in.
Daydreams are the crouch that helps you walk, one more step, one more mile, one more day.
It is not how you thrive maybe, but it is how you survive for the lack of anything else.

Knowing what is good for you prevents you from discovering what might be great for you
because the chasm is too deep and if you stray too far in your adventures
you may find yourself at the bottom with broken wings.
Beauty is a drug that numbs the pain, the ointment soothing the wounds
you keep sustaining without ever knowing why.

No matter what life you live there is always something you're going to miss.
There is always a choice you'll be too aware that you made, make,
over and over with every breathe and every kiss that does not happen
and every night you sleep on your own bed,
with every curse that you don't utter and every scream you hold in,
every punch you do not throw and smile, sympathize and nod,
every time you hide behind your own fears because
they are there for a reason and it's the survival instinct.
With every sleepless hour that you feel the poison of stress
and nerves and anxiety dripping down your throat,
you know it is another choice and there is only one right way to handle things
but you never are sure if too many right choices get together to form one big wrong.
You lose yourself chasing one ideal after another, like chasing a butterfly
that was supposed to make you happy but in the end
it's another insect that will fade when captured and dead.
So you knowingly make wrong choices just to break the chain.
Then others get involved and things get complicated and you get hurt.
You can't wear a diving suit and go through life without getting wet.
It's messy, it cuts, you bleed, you get better and forget how bad it was
until something comes up that is worse,
but you act brave and carry on because there's not much else to do.

You watch that white horse and at a moment's weakness
you find yourself again jumping on his back.
Then you stay all day in bed imagining a memory that never happened
as if it was the only truth.
You imagine so hard, seeing every detail, every taste, every word and sound
and how it almost makes you feel,
but in the end it leaves you sweaty and dissatisfied with a horrible sense of loss.
How many times can you please yourself imagining a stranger's hand
until you lose all self esteem and self respect?
How many times you feel guilty for not being grateful enough for all that you do have?

We tell ourselves we have the power to change the world
but we don't really want it changed,
we only want another one on the side just in case we screw this one up.

And then you wash your face, you brush your hair,
you put your game face on and you are out the door
because horses and clouds and dreams and eyes like the sky before a rainstorm
and legs that go for a mile and books and all the fairy tales written and spoken
and the possibilities and the stories that nobody has come up with yet
will be there when you stop to breathe next time you have the time.
You just need to keep going until then.
Keep going until then.
Just keep going.

Typing to a rhythm

inspired by Amanda Palmer

You were like dangerous words I'd scribble on the corners of my life
Like beauty, change, desire at first, later, passion, anger and despair
And I was the shallow stream lost in the woods,
     trickling away without a sound.
See, I'm not the persistent type nor a confrontational one
I couldn't scream at passers by, not even stop and glare at the world
It would still all be well if I could just stop missing you instead
Or stop thinking about all the what-if's
What has passed has passed, we are what we are
And we'd be happier with people more like us.

But the same song keeps popping into my head
And I often have these dreams where we would talk
    and touch and be generally nice
Then I wake up tired and upset and everything is wrong with the world
Even though it's just another morning and it's all in my head
I know that because when I see you, you have these ugly socks
    or the wrong type of glasses and a shirt that doesn't fit
And I'm suddenly glad that we never had anything but a passing acquaintance
    not even a fling
Beauty wasted is such a terrible crime you should be ashamed
And you could be so beautiful indeed
    maybe it's all for the best
    maybe whatever happens happens for a reason like my mom always said
And whatever this reason I'm so very over it.

And just if you're wondering, the song is called' The Killing Type'
    and you don't even remind me of it...

Alone, not alone

A huge hammock, lazily swinging in the sun
One leg with toenails painted seafoam green,
hanging out of it, adorned with a silver anklet
that the light that keeps bouncing and flaring on...

A drink on the small table on the side
moisture condensing on cold glass
A colorful straw dipping into
a colorless liquid, half-filled with ice...

Smell of jasmine and a hint of aftershave
A light breeze to carry all away
sounds of the city, low, muffled
and a faint buzz of an adventurous bumblebee...

It's summer on the rooftop terrace
A moment frozen in time
I'm sleeping, day-dreaming, escaping,
To a reality that is only slightly different
                                               from my own...

Confession

The poetry I like the most
Is the poetry of my own

This too shall pass

Your heart can be broken once
You realize when you have to cut people off
mid-conversations
to go and find a place to hide
so you can cry in peace,
and seem to have forgotten how to
go back to sleep
when you wake up at 3am
with a taste of falling leaves
and earthworms in your mouth.

And didn't his mama teach him
Not to play rough in the house?
All that running around
Now off he went to play
somewhere else
and you're left with pieces
shattered, that once were whole.

Your heart can be broken twice
Yes, people wrote about this, you know.
What you didn't know was how flowers
would shrivel and turn to ash
when you'd walk past them,
and the pain would be a stagnant pool
waiting for you to fall back in
at the bottom of every staircase
you'd walk down.

Yet he was such a pretty little thing
You just tiptoed around
To be handled with care and
only wearing kid gloves
Never thinking not him but
you'd be the one
in need of protecting.

Your heart can be broken thrice
The fingers tightening around your lungs
made it clear for you, no doubt,
while you hyperventilated
trying to exhale the bitter smoke
of love now lost.
Cough and cough and out it goes
Leaving you brittle, weak,
this pathetic mess of a thing,
that you are too ashamed to talk about.

Your heart can be broken many times
Even when you're too old for this crap
that just makes you more brittle 
Break and mend, that's how these things work.
You always eventually heal,
will be skipping through life once again.
Whatever will remain are
maybe a handful of poems
that you'll think are a bit too dramatic
when you find yourself smiling
under the freshly minted sun.

When I'm happy

You'd go for a walk in the woods
where the trees are tall
and covered with moss.
The tangle of leaves would block the sun,
light reflecting in shadowy patches
on your face, on the trees and on the path
that would curve, steeply, into the darker depths.
A cool mist of yesterday's rain
and a smell of dirt and must
would hang, heavy, in the air.

You'd come across a stream,
suddenly and unexpectedly.
It would be narrow and mostly shallow
looking not all that impressive,
fast and chaotic though, very energetic.
You would see the pebbles within
    and larger rocks too
and the water would pool and jump
flowing, laughing, over and in between.
Sunlight would fall and bounce on every sprinkle
breaking into rainbows and sparkle.
You'd hear the water sing in splashes
burbling in casual invitation.
You'd watch it shuffle away fallen leaves,
branches, and eventually, to your surprise
the sadness from your heart.
You'd find yourself breathing easily again.
And with every tiny lizard you see
on the banks, on the rocks, sunbathing
you won't be able to help your spirits lifting.

If you leave right then, 
all will be well, gone and forgotten.
But if you instead linger
Trying to hold on to that feeling again
You will find out for sure
How a spring is just like fire
No second chances.

Poem to spring

Today is a happy day
I think I'm finally healed.

I thought of many things today
I thought of you, too
And smiled to myself.

Now that spring is here
signalling new beginnings
and days filled with light
I had a change of heart.

No need to hold a grudge,
no need to dwell in the past,
I just felt like forgiving,
and reached out to take
that branch you've been holding.

Extortion

I only want one letter from your name
as a keepsake, surely you understand.
Why won't you just give me half of your smile?
I'd even take one that was meant for someone else.
How about a lock of your hair then
that has not been touched by anyone yet?
It is only fair that you let me take
the color of your eyes, when we say goodbye.
I am not greedy you see
I'll leave you alone for just one collarbone.
Who will appreciate anyway
how it almost breaks your skin
when you turn your head around
once I'm gone?
What about you let me take the lines
drawn by the veins on your arm?
I can build a whole cage from them
and hide in it, so you wouldn't see me again.
I'd happily disappear into the abyss
Hell, I'd even take with me all the memories
wouldn't that be worth just one last kiss?

Inconvenient

A fragile heart is a very inconvenient thing to have
It doesn't matter how, once it's broken
People are clumsy or careless all the time
A word here, a gesture there, and whops it goes
So make sure to encase it well, always build up strong walls.

'Cause a broken heart is a very inconvenient thing to have
You have to walk carefully, not to spread the shards
You can't breathe deeply, the cracks expand
You can't even laugh properly, for fear of shattering the whole thing.

All you can do is to slap a band-aid on it for a bit

And look for something else to distract you, while it heals.

Here's the thing, a broken heart is indeed a very inconvenient thing

But there are worse things to have, for sure

You could have a wart on your nose for example 

Or blisters under your heel, wouldn't that be bad?

A broken heart eventually mends itself and you're the wiser for it

And believe you me, scars start way more interesting conversations

Then first editions in pristine condition...

Of love and pebbles

Waves crashing on sand
and pebbles, big and small
of many different colors, but mainly grey
it's ok, pebbles don't need any colors to be interesting
to be unique
lovely.
There are many reasons why I love pebbles
a handful of them
better than a handful of butterflies
they can't be hurt
also, they can't be expected to give out any warmth
to be kind
to kiss you back
pebbles are the reflection of what remains
when all transient and finicky is gone
capricious waves play amongst the pebbles
then join back to the sea
only droplets left behind
until sun makes them disappear
pebbles, they stay.

indifference is the opposite of love
so we all appear indifferent
to the world around, to each other
hiding not just our wounds and tears
but our joy and excitement as well
all fading to grey
all because we know
one never heals from love that once was
when it is taken away...

I hold this one pebble in my hands
then throw it to the sea
letting it skip a few times over the water
when it finally finds a resting place
and sinks beneath the surface
I make a wish to the god of small favors
and small pebbles
that this should be the last time I let myself write
so many words about someone
who's not even worth his weight
in pebbles...

Nature morte

Snow on sand
    you asked if you could touch it
    it felt soft, warm, nice
    and not stiff and cold like you expected
    you never dared to do it again.
Rainclouds gathering
    you found them hard to look at
    yet you forced yourself to look
    even though it made your heart

                             skip a beat

    and you had to remind yourself

                             to keep breathing.

Tangled roots of a birch tree

    they were impossibly close to surface

    tight fabric making them the more visible

    countless times you traced them

                              with imaginary fingers.

Like the shore, like the sky, like the woods,

    you were going by sight and smell

    and you weren't really listening

    to be fair, there were no spoken words

    only subtle signs you couldn't read in time

                              and then it was too late.

Don't blame yourself too much, though

Even if it could have lasted a bit longer

Every journey has to end sometime

And you would always come back home...

I don't like you

It's ok to get caught

It's not ok to drown

I don't like you
with your eyes of cloudy skies
and hair of hay just snowed on.

I don't like you
with your voice, laced with acid
and your words, casually sharpened knives.

I don't like you
even for the sake of times past
even for the sake of all the hugs.

I don't like you
and yet, I liked liking you
I think that is what hurts the most.

High fidelity

Let me make my list of top fives
Just like in that movie:

First, the boy with autumn leaves in his eyes
All our discussions about life
Walking along the seaside
Sharing a cigarette
Me, always wanting
something more than he can offer
lending a sympathetic ear as ransom
to keep his lips prisoner.
He thought I wanted to change him
I only wanted to be loved.

Second, another boy, ivory skin, long fingers
Following me like a stray cat
While I was battling my own demons
and planning my big escape.
I expected to find him there
Upon my return, unchanged
Instead he just broke my heart
Like I broke his
Without any malice, without even noticing.

Third, the man who found me
when I was lost, afraid, insecure
first talking about life, universe and everything
then exploring all the secret corners of passion
like kids playing in the sand
I poured all my surplus affection into him
all my unwritten, forbidden, shunned words
all my admiration, all the overflowing sensual energy
and he never took advantage of it
he never broke my heart, yet he has pieces of it
I still send kisses his way with every passing sparrow.

Fourth, the boy I first reluctantly shared my time with
then willingly and enthusiastically my body, inch by inch
finally, after a world of suffering
my heart, which I did not even know existed.
The boy I first painted my nails for
the one for whom I straightened my long curly hair
wore high heeled shoes, white stockings,
and finally, a ring.
the man I built my life around
who let me breathe for the first time
his smell, my oxygen
his skin, my home
trapped in the cage of his eyelashes, forever, my soul.

Yes, here's where the list ends,
there were others, for sure, pretty faces and all.
But not every heartache deserves a place in the top
Even when they make me stay up late at night
Trying to heal myself using just words...