a land of trivial stories
Through a dirty window
I see a blurred city
Each light and shadow
Tells a trivial story.
And I, wearing a brown sweater
Stains in my shower
From when I washed the dirt of my old life,
I contemplate outside that window
Almost ignoring the reflection
Of my silhouette
That I thought was shaped like sorrow.
But I know who I am
I can see the city lights on my forehead
My eyes like two stars in the sky
My cheeks shifting from green to red
I am colored according to the streets
I am colored according to all those stories
But little did I know they were mine.
And these colors remind me
Of trivial things I gave too much importance
And trivial things I should make more important
Like my brown sweater or my green cheek
Not the dirt stains or the dirty street
Not the disease and the fear
But those moments of peace and cheer
Moments when I breathe
Without expecting to stop breathing
Moments when I fall asleep
Telling myself that I’ll wake up
That I am fine
And I have woken up.
My lips touched the mud of this beautiful world
On the bed of the river
That was inside my mind
Where grass is tall and trees hard to find
Where you gaze at things that don’t matter and forget about what makes you blind
Blind because you’re not scared and dare
With love in your heart,
To close your eyes.
It could have been a heartbeat ago
When they last looked up at the same moon.
But time can also be counted with tides or cries
Daily sunsets or the blinks of their eyes.
Sometimes can be never and someday could be soon.
Time stopped when the prince came back from his journey
Back to his planet, back to his flower
Where the moss on the ground still had his footprint from where he flew
On her petals still dripped the tears from that cold morning dew
But it felt life forever
Since they could look at the stars at the same time
Without wondering in which one the other slumbers.
And now they can.
Now they can touch and smell and taste one another
Fill the irregular texture of their bare skin
And now they can count time with the rythmth of their breath
Warm whispers that melts the icy tears dripping from their chin.
The silence has filled space
For a time that feels pleasantly longer
Than the tides and sunsets spent lookimg for each other
As they were torn asunder.
Suddenly everything stops
Things start making sense once more
And they can show their true colour.
Leur couleur, leur odeur
Particules qui tirent de leur sommeil l’espace d’un instant
Leurs sens emportant
A la dérive le prince et sa fleur
Comme ces cours d’eau
Qui serpentent sous leur peau
Mais au loin, invisible, inaudible, cette figure qui attend,
Inodore, incolore, assoiffée de sang,
Qu’il se pique le doigt sur sa rose,
Afin de saisir sa chance.
But the prince doesn’t need
The rose to bleed.
Now that he’s back, awaken
Time flows again, and so does his blood as his chest moves once more
But he still has scars that are open
Oozing on the shore
Near a sea full of foul souls
And now the wind blows wild
Cold or warm
It stabs every inch of their being
A hooded figure walking.
Reunited in this chaos still prospering
Seeds thrown on the fields will be growing
In an instant, the time has passed
They’re back together but he has past
Reunited with love, reunited with more
He’s back and she’s coming.
the prosperity of hatred
The forgotten relationship
With a distant past
Allegory of a painful reality
Poise and composure
A dark cloth dragging on the ground
A garden a abravise roses
Sadness ane desillusion incarnate.
She chose not to care
Because she couldn’t bear
To get hurt
She is scars and she is damage
Wielding a magic called rage
That boils people’s blood
That leaves a sour taste on your buds
She is fear of death and yet she draws you towards it
A toxic mother
Taking children and bathing them in the murky water
Leaving them drifting on the river
Going nowhere, lost forever
She is the queen
Of the desert of the little prince’s mind
The reason why nothing grows
She feeds the blight that kills the tree
She makes the planet cold and foggy.
She is wrath
Everything she touches
She turns into crystal that so it burst into smithereens
And she loves to put her silky fingers on happiness.
But her heart she keeps cold like stone
She is depression and loneliness
She makes the room silent so you can hear your own breath
Until you pray that it stops and call upon death
Bleeding through your veins
She is even worse than the snake
Who slithers away under the sand.
She came for the prince and the flower
She came for the tree that has now been dead for an hour
Now the planet is dark
The little prince wants to live and love
But she wants to hate
And blame the world for her fate.
both the same
Wonderful blue and withering yellow
Beaten paths and similar patterns in the sky
One will find comfort in the dark and sorrow
One prefers the stars and a perfect lie
Hate and wrath, a windshield against the storm
Profound desire for a perfect illusion
Together they make a shade of green
They weep the same tears and wipe the same dirt
They want peace and wish to ged rid of their perverted vision
The same story, the same scars.
But one deals with the demons of the past
When the other wishes to walk ahead
Blindfolded eyes and imaginary oblivion
A showdown between the neon lights
Blinking in the streets to the sound of their broken heart
For no one could ever reconcile old and new
Good and evil, yellow and blue
they walk away
She cast a curse.
The prince ran all the way across the city
To a dimly lit park
Where he fell down
Whilst murmuring the lyrics of his final song
Now here comes the encore.
A flower that could only watch him break apart
Stuck in the ground
Giant thorns rose
The dryness conquering the land.
She fought hard to bring the light
To alleviate a pain that she, unbeknownst to her
was responsible for
Even though she did her best to cover her spines with her delicate petals
A tree has gone to sleep
Tired of fighting a blight endlessly growing
While it wasn’t worth it
Turned gray, a last blast to end its dying.
Big cries and screams at night
Nightmares playing a game of chess
Walls like a fortress
With no window this time
No trivial story
No story at all.
The little prince
Grew a bitter taste
Started once again to give in
And flew from the land
Leaving it to the witch
He gave up on finding his path
Crawled back in his shell, afraid of the night.
Like a child
Safe in his loneliness.
Now here is darkness
Demons from the past.
The street lights start flickering
Trivial stories gone to the wild
Eyelids tickling one another and dying whispers in the wind
The tides hit hard on the shore
But no sound comes out anymore
The rain pours on the floor
Making skewers overflow
With all the shit thrown over the bridge
Like baobabs finally blossoming
Now too large to uproot.
Brownish fruit, that smelled like hot chocolate
The beverage of a traumatized child
Now the city is filled with rainbow colored pukes
The bones of the antagonistic mother
Stones that remember
The time when there was no love and uncertainty
As the prince drifts apart on his shell
Floating under the red moon
On the murky water
The same one running from the shower
Scales moving on the cold metal of pipes
She’s now alone and the world feels better
Now that happiness once again had to surrender.
this one is bright
Fresh paint on the walls
Sometimes still gives a way for the colours underneath
To be hit by sunlight.
Once upon a time, a child with none of those walls
Had to pile up pieces of himself
To make a shell.
Leaving a tiny window whose glass polarized reality in a way
That it didn’t cause pain.
Lenses to make sense of the chaos out there.
They bend the beams of light
Kiss your cortex and hug your soul
Spells, illusions, rear-view mirrors that makes threats appear further away than they truly are
And they seemed far in the past
But they’re playing with you right now.
Still haunting your head.
Slithering behind and yet so close to you.
Witch, a childhood friend
The mask we made out of hay and strings of worn out jeans
To fight the battles that we never could
The one who can deal with the green scales coming at us.
She is part of us
She is the filter we needed to look at things on the bright side
The gloves we needed to handle fire
But now we want to touch someone’s soft skin
The fresh grass and the crops of the wheatfields
With our bare hands
She is us.
And now you must ask yourself what really matters?
The flower is not like the dependant and toxic mother
But we fight to make it that way
The landscape is not the dried desert that it used to be
But we can’t help seeing it that way
The tree is not doomed to be dead forever
But we are used to things being that way
The snakes are not as venoumous as they seem
But we secretely wish they were that way.
That is the witch within us
Who protected us in this dry land
Who gave us water
Put a hand on our eyes blinding us from the threat
Of the many reptiles all around
Serpents, the hardships of life
Abuse, addiction, anxiety
Pain and death
But it is time to open our eyes.
It is time to heal.
It is time to give some rest to the wicked
Make peace with the witch.
The witch, our childhood friend
We don’t have to make her our enemy
We have to understand her
Kiss her on the cheek and say goodbye.
It is time to heal.
You, little prince
Standing with thirst in your throat
And the witch
Your own reflection
Clear and still in what’s left of the river.
It is time to say goodbye
Even if she will never die.
It is time to let things be
To let her grow
To let her become a rose in your garden.
Now hear the cracking sound of your fractured bones
Growing and welding to one another
The snakes now can slither away in fear
From what you have grown to be.
Time can never go backwards
But for once entropy gets a little twist
Soon the windows of trivial stories light up
Without distracting you from what matters
The grass that grows bigger than pines
The river that flows and flows
The tree is revived and the rose
Blossoms in the sunrise
Bushes, ferns and green ponds
Open your eyes,
Unscarred by the shatters of glass
Can you see it now?
Can you see the colors of the wheatfields
You always thought to be an arid empty place?
Can you the shades of the wilderness?
The life you had sown for yourself
It is enough
This will be enough
Yes there are snakes chasing the mice
Yes there are winters that turn fresh water into ice
Fruits that are poisoned
And willows from the past
But there is so much more.
Moss as bed linen
Streets leading to more adventures.
Stars that laugh
Ruins that decay
Roots that spread.
The beautiful trees
Yield healthy berries
A shy flower hiding its spines
A wind blowing their scent.
The little prince.
Our inner child
The allegory of our most genuine way to see life
The recipient of our most intense emotions
The little prince,
Who now sits down on the floor
Being one shade among the others
Next to the blooms he waters.
They all admire the flowing of time
The nature growing back
They all look at their reflection in the stream
Wrinkling and twitching
They all feel the wind blowing.
He takes a deep breath
The warm sea in which some people drown, the clear sky of the desert in which I got lost, the color of my backpack, of the weight of my story, the ink in my diary, the color of a 5-dollar bill you can use to buy things that kill.
Blood flowing from my scars, the wine of which I drink too much, of which some people always drink too much. The stains in my shower, the color of monochrome photographs I take, after a long night, blurred color of the fruit I ate. My mother had a cherry print dress.
The desert sand, my teeth that feel like they decay. Beer. Golden summer day. Spent crying in bed, alone in the dark. The gentle stroke of sunrise, sneak peeks of the life I should have…Yellow the wheat.
Your skin. Your hair. The mud. The bed of my mother, some feet under, where I stand. Brown the fields after they die, the cold winter. Your skin. Your eye, and so is the other. Naked bodies. Mixed together
The mountains. The beauty. Forests. Hope and dreams. Universal shade, shared by plants. Also the color of my shirt; stained by my sweat; sweat of anxiety and worry, sweat of walking it off, everything that hurt me. My path, footprints; trivial stories. Obstacles I walk over, my sweat from traveling across my mind. Healing healing.
Roses, flowers blooming, my gum is more a shade of pink, your tongue and your lips.
Green and blue twirl together, yellow and blue is green, pink is red just lighter!
Orange the sunrise…and sunset. Orange my morning juice, the medicine I was given as a child.
My mother’s rings, that rang like a bell on wine bottles.
My mother’s rings…Are the music of wine bottles.
That’s why I tap them with my nails, when it was my turn to chug them. Gold the letters on graves, gold the little prince’s hair, orange the fur of the fox. I remember the fox! Walking on water. Black; black the river. The swan, black is a color! Orange from the fire, fire can be red and yellow also, fire burns, fire feels warm.
Goes well with green and black and yellow, purple the paint on my walls. Purple is like watching the sky through a glass of wine. Purple is a filter, lenses that blur.
All the shades in between. Those of being neglected. Making you strong. But strong bones that can never be bent the same way. Lack of affection, you build up those walls, swearing they’re for protection. They crumble, crumble! Lack of trust and self preservation. Colors have an aftertaste, and it lingers, it lingers.
Now something that rhymes
I would have been fine
Hadn’t I chugged this bottle of wine
I shouldn’t have let the voices in my head draw a line
On my forearm telling me…
“This is where you slice away your worry
Cut it! cut it! And you’ll bleed and feel happy”.
I shouldn’t have hurt and told everyone to go
Kept for myself the thoughts that overflow
By kissing you goodbye
I wanted to make sure it wasn’t worth the try
That I didn’t deserve love and kindness
I wanted to validate my feeling of nothingness
To convince myself
That I could be happy with my life being a mess?
I shouldn’t have let them touch my skin
But maybe that’s because I didn’t want it to be skin
I wanted me to be dust and they would call my next of kin
And say your sibling finally gave in
I think they’re crazy they let people kiss their chin!
Even when their mind says no
Oh wait my voice says no, also
I didn’t let people do anything to me, I only responsible for what I tame, not for the people who try to shame me.
But that doesn’t matter,
I’m at the end of a journey, the starting point of another,
Standing on the shore.
Yes, I do remember,
There is more to come, more than one color.
Blue, blue the beautiful sky, blue the sea, the ocean, the lakes and rivers, blue my travels, my crossing, my path.
A landscape that makes me happy.
Oh dear life you haven’t seen the last of me.
i’ll be whole again
I am a spirit
I can be nothing more and nothing less
So be it.
They’re my weapons against life
But they will be my undoing
If I don’t discard them soon
They helped me when my mother was soaked in juice and her brain was all fluffy
When my father and the sea became one. Moving at the same pace.
Or when I felt unsafe with no walls to protect me
Mental illness feasting on me
They allowed me to filter the shades
Just like everyone with a brain
We come up with a way to bend reality
To deal with the pain.
They’re old rusty spectacles.
But now I can’t live with the same fears
Now I have to put off those glasses and focus on healing
Healing means being naked on the street and breathing in
I know it is chilly.
But the texture of my skin
They remind me that my body can handle much more than I give it credit for
The same goes for my soul
I am tired of the dissonance
Of the shatters
Of broken things
If my lenses are going to fall apart I’d rather chuck them away
But if my mind, spirit, body and souls want to spread apart
I’ll take the rope that was attaching my feet to stones
And I’ll tether myself to nothing else
Starting over and doing what’s right,
And this is where I am now.
The dimmed light of a bar
My skin is wood and the wood is sweating
My soul is drenched
Frozen, solid or boiling liquid
I have the same volume, the same mass
The same number of atoms dancing with each other
Air flows and it lifts the pages
Air flows with the scents of accomplishments
I am all the sounds and all the colours
For I hear and see them
Today I take a bucket and clean the shit from the river
Today I clean the stain
And tomorrow I’ll be whole again.