Adolescence

I liked myself today.
I looked in the mirror, I tried on clothes, and I actually liked myself.
I liked myself – it’s true.

I felt alive too!!
I feel like I’m alive, and even if I’m not, I feel that the now I am experiencing is somehow worth it.

I feel like dancing, running, laughing.
I just feel like a giddy idiot – but an idiot I could actually like you know?
I feel hopeful too.
Like without stopping myself things will loop to the better
That the present – the middle – will sink and just form this perfect parabola.

It is true. Perhaps my mouth will never form that shape. Perhaps I will never be truly happy. But right now, as the rain falls and the light shines
I feel rosy.

Rosy, surprised and flushed.

Thought of food

I felt hungry today, really hungry.
So I buried my head in food.

Now it swims in the viscous skies
Echoes of your lies, goodbyes.

I felt fat today, really fat.
My knees buckled, ashamed
My cancles bellied – defamed.

So I engulfed myself;
Switching between caffeine and dopamine,
Twitching because I am alive and need to be seen.

There are too many things I need today yet
I have no strength, no manner, no way
To achieve my greatest wishes, concerns, to achieve
Even that which I am too young to yearn. Give me a chance,
Give me day. The new year is here my love, and
Sadly my figure seems stubborn to stay.

If I must stand still and firm, make it at least
Bearable.
Take away this urge
And add to me beauty of this sunrise comparable.

Origami.
Eyes red, skin skied.
Fold me
Mold me
A perfect square.

Hold me
Control me
So that I’ll stop, ill stooped.
So that I’m here - quite near - not there.

So that I am here,
And the ladies and gents will gasp and swear
At the sight of me...
Beware.

A short note on bathrooms, lines and feet.

You are a shrub, a cigarette bud – popular amongst the thieves the dark the drugged, the shaded circle – all of the above.

You are white, but the last to be seen of you is black. Smoke rises – dude that is whack.
I have a stain on my bathroom wall. A sterile locale – a place to clean up.
I have a stain on my red bathroom wall.
A flaw.
A reminder that where there is water there is also crap. Where the blemishes are concealed. The only place where my true self – tada – revealed.

The door is locked. Guess what is found inside?
Knock knock
Rapity rap rap rap
No answer.

What did you expect after a night like that?
You may bang at it all you like. There are no shortcuts, no sliding doors.

I’m sorry sir, but I will have to please ask you to wait at the end of the line.
And what a long line indeed – the family cry, and beg, and plead.
But still I stand and rise above from that rotten tub,
I stand and stare as filth is scrubbed.

There is a black stain in my swollen carcass. Double chambered, and pumping blood.
It keeps me alive
The darkness, it keeps me well, it keeps me immune,
It keeps me dumb.

Eye on the clock.
Door – did it finally yield? Unlock.

A smile steps out barefoot.
Apologize, apology – I must have nodded off. Apology apologize - for the heat, the smell, whatnot.

Please come again

Relationship – code for feeling like a complete idiot half the time. I don’t like being an idiot. I spend half of my days and most of my nights studying so that I won’t think and keep myself contained. I spend most of my life studying to get into college because if only I were surrounded by people who are smart, and I keep the conversation going, understand and get them, if only. Then, I too must be smart. I too, contrary to much of what I have been told, am not an idiot.

But I do I feel like an idiot now. Deluded and misguided by the wonderful world of lies. Foolish and mislead by lies, by lies, by lies. I hate lies. I do not ask for much. The only thing I need is honesty, and you cannot even give me that? The only thing I ask of you is honesty and yet you can look me in the face and lie. Was it not I who was yellow? And rotten, and cold? Was it not mine the distant watch, the ticking clock?

Smile. Smile. Good morrow!

Oh forgive my manners, I forgot to introduce you to the woman of the manner. I must be out of my mind. This here is the incognita Miss Moraes. Do not worry, she cannot hear you, her brain went splat last summer. And there, in the corner, no no, more to the left. Ai, now that she turned it seems it is not. Well I am not quite sure where she is, but she is wearing white. If you find her and need me to properly introduce, it is Lady Legitimacy I talk about. Such a wonderful woman. I would have given anything to give her a tap, but she is hard to find these days...

Ah yes, you are probably right. She must be out snogging some stranger; some shady sap, with his head so far up his ass that his insides are meshed and crap.

Can you not see that if you cannot be true, you cannot be anything at all? I don’t understand you. Light the thread - show me dynamite. Make me feel, implode. I implore of thee. Shake me up for I quite dislike this version of reality. Prove me wrong. Please. Prove to me that you are not the walls to my box. Or, if you must be, then let you at least be concrete. Prove to me that someday my room won’t come tumbling down, that I won’t be squashed, that I won’t become a tightly packed piece of baggage: a stomped tiny thing, a stress with a zipper, bouncing front and back whilst you go off and have fun, until one day I carry too much. And Bam. The suitcase is no use now, no need to be sad. Discart it! It was a leap away from happening anyhow.

No worries. No regrets. No problems.

Down the corridor to the left, then yes, left again, you’ll see it, the store, open 24.

Smile. Smile. Good morrow!
Suitcase? Backpack? Briefcase? Okay, just at the back.
Oh nice choice, the leather. And it is your lucky day. See that stain? It won't go away. But I'll get you a good price for that. Just $9, 99 and I'll even through in the matching hat.

No. Laughs, Laughs.
Thank you! Hair twirl --
Please come again.

Blue Pill

You leer at me lonely. Single handed in that box. Can’t say that I’ve missed you. Sorry. You’re just not my favorite candy to swallow. You remind me too much of my fears, qualms and sorrows.

You leer at me lonely, and I try not to be upset; by the emptiness, your taste, and the distress. Last time we encountered there was no inscription. You just sat there –single handed in that box. Should I have been worried? I know not yet, perhaps it is something I will someday regret. I close my mind, try to remember. The frames I see are saddened, gray and blurred – an emptied CD, out of vogue, replaced by some hot thing as I, myself, putrefy or go rogue.

My stomach twirled, here I am, teletrasported to another world. So I see you again! It was bound to happen. But tell me, I’m curious, did you miss me? Yes, I’m braver now than before or perhaps I just care less if adversities come knocking at my door. You’d be proud, lonely. I sit as still as time. I wait. Not whine, cab riding to the disjointed other side.

See that’s only way to go, cause the direction I’m seeking is atypical – you of all people know.

Your whispers narrate what’s bound to come. My legs turn weak, and blue, and numb. Don’t be hopeful, there is still a test, a stop still. There it is. God knows – a wall. Mighty as ever, brick billed and tall.Your laughter shrills, my movement distilled. Almost there, just one final push.

That doesn’t motivate me anymore, lonely. I’m drained. Forswore. What more!? My eyes are small lonely. It hurts to keep awake. You promised me lonely I would not have to bare your tart taste. You promised me, that if only I chased you, you’d show me the way. I’m still here lonely. I’m still here. What do you have to say?

Under the Layers and Lies - Irony

It’s funny how one second I can feel so absolutely beautiful, so completely sure of myself and the next I turn back into this.

These pages were never really intended to be read by anyone, as I said before I need a hobby and I need something to prove me wrong and give me some sense that my story will live on. That I am not irrelevant, that I made a difference in this world…
Make a difference in the world?

Yes! I cannot bear leaving this world exactly as it is. I guess that makes me more religious than I ever thought I was, in a sense that I need to believe that I am here for some ‘reason’. I need to believe it matters what I do, not her version of “get over it – we are just a mixture of chemical reactions”. Humph, it seems ironic that she of all people uses chemistry against me.

Just in case, from this moment on I shall no longer make it easy for you.
There she goes again, always loved the challenge, but yet again so did I. The only reason our competitive nature never got in the way of our friendship is because we are the same person. I do love her, but if she was anyone but me – I’d hate her just as much as sometimes she hates me.

No more references to which personality it is narrating, that at least protects some of my long kept secrets. Do not worry; it will be easy to separate us from one another now, she is the ‘white’ - I am the ‘black’; she is the combination of all the colors in the universe, and I am the lack of them. But wait some time, see how much some twists and turns can conceal.

Lizzy

Most people don’t know this, but the lines in your right palm change throughout your life. I think it’s interesting. My experiences and mistakes are somewhat important for they shape and mold me. But why, why our right hand? Once more I have come to an endstop. No one knows.

Most of what I am curious about none of us know. Knowing aka possessing information. But is any information ever just yours? Yes and no. When the day comes and we acquire a piece of unexplored information, that data is ours to keep. But the little boy inside of us just wants to race out, bellowing at the top of his lungs for everyone to hear. It’s true, it’s true, it’s true. Then it’s out there, no longer ours to possess. Does that mean it suddenly changes? Metamorphosis into something completely different, something we do not know?

I am shoved onto the ground and no one stops to help me up. Christmas is in 4 days and the savages within us are released. The lady with the rabbit ears waits for the owl eyed man to show her where to find the latest hit, the noble prized, or some prominent cookbook. What was life before mass media? Before vampire novels, the great Wars, Ford, advertising… What was the point? Was there even one?

I feel like I am walking on the only strip of green left here. I am brought back to that used, polluted park. The sweet scent of dog crap and baby barf. A man runs in his flip-flops. Plop, Dot. His breath hastens. What does he run from? Why I wonder do I see him almost everywhere I go? Is he the meaning, the answer we search hidden in this drugged up world? A piece of crack, a pile of blow? If yes then why is he running? He should be sniffing, smoking, stealing or selling. The information is out there, and the demand is high. Why won’t he share it? Wouldn’t you?

Mold echoed in my mind – only time will tell. Yet again, time is not linear, but a folded convoluted nephron, carrying the urea and bodily toxins from one place to another. Everything is transferred, never destroyed. The inanity and idiocy I feel will always be hiding there like bad cholesterol. Always under threat of bursting, blocking, killing.

It’s like one minute you feel fine, you really do. You are in the third floor of a bookstore. People push, laugh, want. And so do you.
Then all of the sudden those wants are globalized into stone. Other views, transnationals invade you seeking for cheap labor, resources, and a multitude of favors. Before you know it, the skyscrapers have blocked the sun. The world is black, cold, stripped from anything remotely fun.

You see reality. He is running in his flip-flops. No convections, labels, fancies or perfections. No religion. No soul. You see actuality; she hides where the wind can’t be blown. It is in those times I think I am not awake, not even alive at that. I perceive the world behind a broken glass. Yes, I can see, smell, touch, hear. Do I feel? Yes, I can be observed, do people see me?

No.

People are pushing me, they are in a hurry, and I just stand here, on page 297 of an unfinished book. A blank slate. A battered plate.
You hug me and feel me twitch; take me by my arm, fighting off that bitch. Up, down, right, left. Just there! Only you can see me and shake me out of it.Your brown-eyed touch: the light at the end of the pit.