Find yourself somewhere between the lines.
I am
a norm
that levitates
only on flat
headaches
and rises above
the kindness
of beings
and the misbehaviour
of the small daily things.
I am a norm that gravitates
in space and time
of people that
realize
time
or space
or gravity
or weight
or height
or love
different than me
Filling my brain
with raw words
like sushi
feeding
my Ego.
A foreign arm
laying on my shoulder
his limited brain
unable to understand
the beauty
of Bela Tarr
or the dialogues
of “Cries and Whispers”
or the walking bass
of “Giant Steps”
An uncomfortable
couch
and a hand touching
a pair of balls
caging them
just like a bird
a happy brain
with no questions
about ideals
or the meaning
of it all
Would you rather
question in sadness
or
stay happy
in your ignorance?
I know what I would rather be.
Do you?
Men and women
crawl into
unfamiliar beds
looking for themselves
inside foreign bodies
they see how beautiful they are
from the outside
and then fall in love
with themselves
for the first
Time
The morning after
they wake up with breaths
smelling of hunger
and hormones
they clink their teeth
uncomfortably kissing
and between the sounds of
‘’hmm’’ and ‘’ah”,
they say goodbyes
and never meet again
Women walk quickly
with their last change
and their last shames
of a Saturday
and men walk slowly
with their jacket on their shoulder
and sweat turning
white sleeves yellow
as they head back
to their unboiled spaghetti
unpaid bills
and gym subscriptions
Men whistle and women giggle shyly
then
they fall in love
and share their clothes
and their toothbrush
and go to bazaars on Sundays
and meet the parents
they name their kids
and look for a house
and a new bread maker
but they never
have kids
and they never
eat together
They go through phases
of self-discovery
with the help of
pessimistic thoughts,
fumes from the past
and a few bottles
of Casillero del Diablo.
And the days
are going by
and the months
are going by
and the years
are going by
and past becomes present
because there is
no
present
in reality
anymore
and the future is
still too far.
So men drink more
and smoke more
and get tired more
and women
get out of the shower
covering their nakedness
with a towel
and they talk
to other women
and choke
their men in cups of coffee
But men
and women,
they will separate,
only to reunite
because of the inability
to see these men
and these women
in someone else’s
foreign hands.
Men
and women
choose romance
in their thoughts
and cynicism
in their reality
and these
two
crack
and break
and still
other men
and other women
will throw them
alcohol and fire,
and then
they are all dragged back
to foreign beds
and
no one
N o o n e
ever finds love
because love
doesn’t live
in these beds anymore.
Men
and women
lay down on sofas
and talk to therapists
talk about their mother
talk about their impotence,
their current relationship
with life and their
infatuated love
and then lay down
in beds
and talk naked
with other men
and other women
about the same issues
free of charge.
And the days
are going by
and the months
are going by
and the years
are going by
and nobody
N o b o d y
finds
what they are looking for,
and women
drag feet quickly
on the streets
out of insecurity
while men choose
the happy and easy
girls
that walk with
light skips
and
laugh a lot
fearing the girls
with the heavy ones.
Women
and men
sit in bars.
They play with their phones
and touch their wet glasses
respectfully
while they repeat
their night’s mandra:
“I deserve to be loved
I deserve to be loved
I deserve to be loved”
and they’re loved
again
and again
and harder
and harder
the whole night
by other women
and other men.
Beds
stay cold,
breaths
stay stale in mornings
the therapists
are getting rich
and no man
or woman
finds the "one"
because the "one"
is not “one” anymore,
having shattered
in a thousand pieces
and we all drown
our need for romance
and our hunger for love
in French cinema and Chinese takeaway.
_____________________
