i remember your hands and their warmth
like i remember
the versions of me
that were easier to live with (or so i think).
the colors, their unnatural brightness,
the scent of acetone always lingering
on the tips of your fingertips,
always hiding a sad rainbow (just my type).
always a star that you forgot to rub and break,
shined on your skin.
under my lips, they shined brighter than my world.
i swam to them as they stood in a world of darkness
in the shapes of you and me.
it is so odd
that in my constantly breaking and building and growing
brain and its images and meaning-
everything about you meant love.
i loved your flower hairpins and fake bullets
and the magazines of the the people you would rather be
and the window you glanced out of when didn’t want to look at me
and your back against mine.
it is odd
that i could love you so
even when i didn’t know why?
Tag Archives: shine
i remember your hands and their warmth
it was once possible
to be a parrot who was a doctor
who sang in a choir of angels
who saved the world from villains
with ridiculously evil funny names.
it was easy to speak of wants-
a pair of shoes with lights
and a glow in dark radium cello tape
and an army uniform and cream rolls
and a tiara with anything that shines
and the cards i don’t know how to play
once i used to be simple.
i left my sleep
to live like the guy
who runs for hundred years
to rescue the princess.
waiting to reach
a blurry 8-bit princess
that never shows up at any castle
of my world
was not a source of
disappointment (or depression) then.
in the graveyard of stars
lies our love
without the burden of our hearts
it shines the way
we always hoped we would
You have left your reflection in my mirrors
and now I have no choice but to dispose them.
I do not want to see you
tainted by anything that is mine.
You may not know this
(and may you never know)
but I love you
because you are nothing like me,
I love you
because you cannot understand me.
You remind of what I could be
if life gave me better circumstances
or if I knew how to choose better.
On you this shine of happiness,
that life stole from me,
they look better.
If that is how the world works,
if happiness is a fixed constant
I’ll gladly let you have my share.
Though you are always holding my world together,
I do not mind everything falling apart
if in all the breaking
you are the only one kept intact.
The land turns blue,
turns black everywhere I touch.
It bruises itself as much as it bruises me
at my every fall.
And the soon the sky was where I lay.
Soon the stars were nothing but my own tears
that shone only because
they didn’t want to be forgotten.
The moon shines in my tear lined eyes.
On the edges of my nails that have lost their color.
Tonight once again
light falls on only on those bits of me
that are in no need for the love of a neutral god.
Here in this night glowing with memories
placed as substitute of light in the face of storm,
I sit with all the words my body clung to
in spite of its bare, aging and passing spring.
I scratch out all the definitions of what I am
from the paper that seemed to once shine
and reflect an image that could have been me,
if only I didn’t have to live till this day
to realize what a mirror really is
and how painful it is to look into one.
Now when I write down new rules and new directions for myself,
I envision another day in future
when again I will have to strip myself
of all I believe to be true.
And knowing that a day like that exists ahead of me
makes me look at myself with certain pride
for trying again and again.
All these dreams that remains a dream,
their glimmer and shine
now feel like pinpricks in my eyes,
as the list of “not-achieved” and “compromises”
. When the pain hits my face
. (those hands used to the have the softest touch)
. my skin would have broken up in the ugliest ways,
. if the same hands wouldn’t have rushed
. to cradle the crying me
. without losing a second.
. The pain was gone as soon as it came.
. This skin has a way of healing
. that seems to me as
. an unfaithfulness,
. a betrayal.
. As if, even my body
. didn’t want to leave any evidence
. that could justify my tears and my mistrust.
. I have again invited the pain, the consequence
. of being “broken too many times”.
. The word “broken”
. seems like a shiny ornament
. that is meant to distract my eyes,
. my eyes
. that are anyway not capable
. of seeing things for what they are.
. I no longer trust my mind
. that doesn’t know
. the reason for the anger (that I awakened in others),
. the disappointments
. written in neon lights on the darkening faces,
. that doesn’t have any account of how I ended up becoming
. a person
. this bad, this wrong, this fragile, this cruel.
There were days in my life
when I knew the sun could never shine brighter
and I can never be more happy.
I thought these with the innocent belief
of constancy of happiness,
rather than the realization
that put an end to hopes.
Somehow with time the glass I am made of
has flowed silently and collected
at safe crowded corners.
And now every light that enters me
is manipulated beyond recognition
into the reflection of my own poison heart.