so why should I

there’s a big spider on the other side of my window. it might be a sign from the universe that if i look at myself in the mirror i can see something else. i can see someone else; a change that hasn’t been there; maybe it wasn’t supposed to be there or maybe it was; it’s windy and the spider is hanging onto its web, just stays there; it doesn’t move right or left, i don’t know what it’s going to do next; i can’t move.

so i’m just going to be a cat. cats don’t give a fuck. so why should ? the body knows what to do, so why should ?

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that’s a lot for a tiny person

​a noise in the silence and the unbearable lightness of being
i am here, with all the fears and thoughts and emotions and the wind blowing them all in my face

that’s a lot for a tiny person

a smell of roasted peppers and silence filled with noise like swishing leaves
except that they aren’t leaves; they’re people trying to knock down a door locked from the inside
trying to get in with a screwdriver and a hammer
—————
and how do you know you made the right choice? you don’t. and you did. because all the steps that got you here are every step you took so far
this is your universe
it could be anyone’s though, but it’s not theirs

The dandelions

In the British Isles alone, 234 micro species of dandelion are recognized
to gravitate around the moon

since yesterday my chest has opened and it looks like a glass box
transparent and you can see my heart inside
an air bubble
around it dandelions lined up like planets: it’s good, I feel like I haven’t written in a long
long time but I can see inside the box now
deer and stags, leaves, humidity and deep green, a forest

I have forgotten how it’s like to write a poem but it’s easy to breathe now that they’re all lined up

the dandelions

(varianta RO aici)

glimpses of being whole

where is your soul? it is (in) my whole body, like a circle in a poem
or a song
“where you heading, little lamb?” my grandpa used to sing

you’re in this circle; what’s it made of? what do you see?

I can’t see anything but emptiness and silence and it’s not me, it’s me at 12 years old
and I can’t see my face but you can

I’m alone with the circle right in the middle of it; it’s drawn on a wooden floor, maybe walnut
and it gravitates like a planet around the sun, this floor floats in space like I used to float in my dreams above the houses

my face is my soul my whole body and in this circle there’s just a tiny figure that I imagine being me

painbody

If my pain-body were a book, it would be a dictionary explaining
words like “heartbreak” “promise” “little princess” “love” because there are no dictionaries to explain them
there’s only silence and sounds in between

until you surrender: you are no longer your mind

and if it were that dictionary the gaps between the words would be coloured
by the unmanifested unwritten feelings of their “heartbreak” “promise” “little princess” “love”
you see
my pain-body is still here making itself comfortable he doesn’t mind the gaps he never did although I shout at him with silence
and splashes of yellow blue pink purple cover the pages
it is still here, unborn like a fetus
unborn forever
so I will have eventually to abort

what a relief, stillness within

I exist.