April*

Being part of a system
Is not working for me

I am a free soul
I cannot be contained
I do not need an ID
I do not need to feel belonging

I have my dreams
And they keep me going
Flying
Following them

Craving to touch
A passion I have inside
To materialize it
Hold it between my palms
Blow at it
And spend the next few years
Flying
Following it

Being part of a system
Is not working for me

Spring colors' strike

Emptiness
Long sought
Turned out to be
Unbearable

It all happened this morning
When Red knocked on my window
Informing me that all spring colors
Decided on a sit-in, on the porch of my house

I look outside
Everything is grey
Even White and Black
Are joining the strike

In a world where colors are undermined
What would change if they actually disappear?

The urban feel

This city is draining me
Sucking all energy out of me

Encounters and confrontations
Recurrent spaces of uncertainty

The hybrid, disjointed and unsteady
World that we are living in

The fixation on objects
The overlook on the substance

This city is draining me

I need to vanish into invisible space
I have a nostalgic longing for the unreal

Spiritless existence is as tiring
As walking bare feet from one continent to the other
Bearing all people’s sins in one backpack
Glued to the back of your neck

astray*

She looks to fill the hollow inside
With meaningless events
Serving in helping her escape
The path to which her life has led

inspired_

you are that sun ray
on a cloudy rainy winter day

High down below

High on his words
Her wings are lifting her up
To another reality
But her legs want to stick to the ground

Surreal space
Is not unknown to her
Neither is the downfall
That follows

Afraid of reaching the ceiling
Anytime soon
She will, for now
Stick to the ground

your vibes

Your vibes
add colors
to the white sheet
of mundane existence

Poème de Baudelaire*

"Je veux m'anéantir dans ta gorge profonde
Et trouver sur ton sein la fraicheur des tombeaux"

- Damien Saez

Cre[m]ate

Some things when broken cannot be fixed
And you cannot replicate what once didn’t exist

You can simply try to create
But creation is useless if the need is not collectively felt

To create is a process, not an end

A silent shout

It wasn’t until a year later
When she was in the bathtub
Shaving her legs
And accidentally cut her skin
With the cold razor blade
And saw the blood running down
Without feeling an ounce of pain
That she knew she could no longer feel
That she knew that cuts in her soul
Did have an immunizing effect
Even on her flesh