Void

Posted: Iulie 7, 2013 in Criptat

Am de lucru. Sau ar trebui sa am. In schimb, ma preocupa gandurile mele si incerc, nu sa invoc trecutul, punandu-l pe hartie, cat incerc sa il scriu si sa il las acolo unde e. Uneori iese.

Tabula rasa

You hated my hair, one way or another.
She now has what you want.
You hated my voice. I loved hearing yours.
Her childish whimper seems to please you.
You hated my clothes, nothing seemed good enough for you.
Inadequate as they may be, she has the right thing for your greedy eyes.
You hated my looks, I came to understand.
The greed in everybody else’s eyes must excite you so.
You hated my guts. I dared to criticize, to complain, to dislike loudly.
And you hated I had an opinion I could voice.
Your own lack of guts gets along so well with hers,
you’re both a sham.
You hated my fears, my inferiority complex, my nightmares, the threats I took for granted, my regrets.
Shallow, isn’t she?
Now you love to serve and protect,
and not throw in the trash the trembling one.
You hated my sincerity.
It’s better to say „black” when you think „white”,
to stab in the back when no one is looking,
to hit when the other one’s down,
to lie and deceive.
You ought to be pleased now. Façade.

You’ve made the worst of me, you’re tearing me apart.
Toying with your power, you want me weak,
you’re shaming me.
I feel guilty and distressed.
You got what you wanted, staying in shadows all along.
I had no patience, you said.
Look at it now, all that I took in, all these years.

Won’t you miss me,
miss all I knew (think of the Klan)
miss all I did (it would please you once)
miss all I was and you kicked away
miss all you loved about me?

Who are you, stranger? Slipping away from my sheets.
Who are you in the shadows? Bravely trying to put me down.
Who are you, son of man?
Who, what were you?
I know you no more, I fear you no longer.

(07/07/13)

Twist

Play me, oh, play me.
Cut my wings and watch me crawl.
Burn my feathers and let me fall.
Push me down to the ground,
step on me, squeeze me tight,
make the soil embrace me.
Take my air and ask me to laugh.
Cut my strings and make me walk.
Hit me hard,
fly me into oblivion,
mix up north and south for me.
Pull my veins and braid them nicely,
ask me if I lost my cold blood.
Pin me up on your wall,
like a prize you’d love to have,
forget me there, never dust me.
Drop me dead, check my pulse.
Hit me, am I still moving?
Lay me down,
I’ll be your first victim.
Silence me down and move to the next one.

(07/07/13)

Self

Posted: Iunie 18, 2013 in Ganduri

(18/06/2013)
I want you.
For the nights when you feel empty,
For the mornings that are hazy.

I want you.
To replace the mirror in which you see yourself.
To help you walk when your knees are shaking.

I want you.
When your body’s no longer material.
When the world crashes loudly right behind you.

I want you.
To show you beauty when you think it’s gone.
To show you you’re needed, when you feel you’ve let down.

I want you.
For the bitter morning coffee has no meaning otherwise.
For smoking will only be guilt.

I want you.
There are still cloudy days, and too much rain.
There are nights that are too long.

I want you.
Learning again how to walk, before running.
Learning again how to smile, before loving.

I want you.
For we need to discover new flavours.
For we need to meet new worlds.
For we need to find the places to hide, just to see better.
For we need to live on.
For we need to love on.
For we have dreams that haven’t shattered, we just need to build them from scrap.

I want you.
For our broken limbs that need mending,
for our broken shells that we still walk on,
for the misstrust we know too well,
for the desire we haven’t explored,
for the fears that still lie beneath our beds.

I want you
For we have to find ourselves.

Asa a inceput sfarsitul. Incepuse de fapt cu tot felul de minciuni pe care le simteam (cand stii sa minti, stii sa si detectezi minciunile), cu adevarul ce a izbucnit intr-o seara de 11 septembrie 2010, cu locuri ce m-au marcat, pe care am ajuns sa le detest. Am detestat vara aia, am detestat lunile ce au urmat. Acum incerc sa rescriu povestea, incerc sa rescriu locurile cu amintiri noi.

Imi spusese asta intr-o seara, nici nu mai stiu daca era live sau era intr-un mesaj, ca de obicei… Dup-aia au fost si sfaturi de genul „cand o sa iti iei masina…”. Pe langa „si ce daca poti sa mori de la anestezie? I se poate intampla oricui”. Retin detalii ce par minore, ce ma afecteaza major.

Au urmat doi ani in care am incercat sa ma repar fizic si moral. Crize de nervi, automutilare (scarificare da mai bine?) si calmante in diverse momente. Mi-am prelungit anii de facultate, cum poti sa gandesti un proiect cand nu stii in ce limite ti se incadreaza viata? Am castigat prieteni, unii plecasera cand fusese mai greu, dar asa e viata si cativa cred ca am meritat-o din plin. S-a intamplat ca tocmai unul din noii prieteni sa ma faca sa retraiesc povestea. Era tot intr-o seara de sambata, in mod ciudat. Era 1 decembrie, desi era mai degraba 2 decembrie, pentru ca era 3 dimineata cand am fost pusa in fata scenei primitive (termeni de psihologie, prefer expresia asta, uneia mai vulgare). Am clacat.

A doua zi Denisa m-a tinut in brate cand eu plangeam in hohote si ii spuneam ca nu mai pot. Tremuram si nu mai stiam sa pun un picior in fata celuilalt. S-a sacrificat pentru mine si dupa o saptamana urma sa inlocuiasca unul din tradatori. Dar am ramas cu ambii tradatori in casa. Durerea era de nedescris. Fizica, pentru ca simptomele precedente au reaparut, cu dureri greu de descris (variau intre „cutite in stomac” si „pietre, bolovani si pumnale”), ce a dus la zile in care nu mancam, slabit destul de mult incat sa ma refuze la donul de plasma (asta ma doare cel mai tare pe mine) si o imposibilitate de a gandi la altceva in afara de ce se petrecea in spatele meu— deci si durere psihica. „Cum poti sa stai acolo? Cum poti sa ii suporti? De ce faci asta? Trebuie neaparat sa faci ceva! Nu mai fuma!” Atatea sfaturi… multumesc pentru ele, dar sunt futile, imi pare rau. Nu am avut de ales. Nu am de ales in continuare.

Cu alte doua ocazii am clacat si fizic. Intr-o seara, daca eram singura, as fi fost dusa pe cealalta lume, oricare ar fi ea. Calmante aveam, alcool aveam, obiecte taioase aveam, motive?! ha! motive aveam. Dubla tradare, combinata cu faptul ca am fost luata de proasta (cel putin asta a fost incercarea lor) ar fi facut ca asta sa fie singura solutie. Lasitate? Oh nu. Tremuram, imi clantaneau dintii in ultimul hal si nu mai stiam pe ce planeta ma aflu. Ultima data, acum cateva saptamani, am jurat ca nu o sa ii mai las sa ma aduca in starea asta. Nici nu are rost sa intru in detalii scabroase, in care vina tot mie imi revine si ca tot eu as fi ranit pana la urma. Cate nu am auzit!

Cineva ma intreba, ezitand, daca nu mai sunt sentimente. Raspunsul meu a fost sec: nu. Nu, in momentul in care cutitul ajunge la os, rupem membrul dureros si plecam, sangerand, dar plecam. Pentru ca asa e mai bine, pentru ca doi ani de agatat de sperante, doar ca sa fiu injunghiata pe la spate, mi-au ajuns. Altii au intrebat in diverse moduri (hahaha chiar si unul din tradatori) daca ma gandesc la o posibila reparare, daca un viitor ar fi posibil, etc. Nu. O data a fost de ajuns, dar am zis ca poate e ceva de reparat. Dar cand mi se arunca un „timp de doi ani am incercat sa fac eforturi si tu nu ai facut nimic”, imi vine sa continui „deci ti-ai spus ca cel mai simplu mod de a scapa de mine, ar fi sa ma omori, rapid si sigur”. Nu.

Viitorul meu se afla altundeva, chiar daca prezentul face sa fie greu, chiar daca depind in continuare de minciuna asta in fata legii.

A trebuit sa impac si lumea cu decizia mea ulterioara. De fapt, nu am incercat nimic. I-am pus in fata faptului implinit. Ma asteptam sa fiu respinsa drept eroare a naturii, drept una care nu e „intreaga la cap”, dupa cum ma intrebase mama. Nu e vina nimanui pentru drumul pe care l-am ales. Am ales fericirea! Daca ea depinde de aprobarea cuiva, cred ca e o problema. Deci daca sunt probleme cu cine imi poate accepta fericirea, usa e usor de gasit, e simplu sa iesi din viata mea, altii au facut-o cu atata usurinta. Imi iau viata in dinti si ma inarmez cu mai putina ura, mai multa rabdare. Ma schimb, ma adaptez si mai nou, incerc sa gandesc un pic altfel: nu mai trebuie sa fac totul singura, nu mai trebuie sa duc totul in spate, am pe cineva alaturi. Cum nu am cuvinte sa descriu durerea, nu am cuvinte sa descriu nici fericirea pe care o redescopar, invat iarasi ce inseamna sa contez pentru cineva, sa fiu iubita si sa mi se permita sa iubesc, fara sa-mi fie teama ca sufoc, ca sunt detestata, ca sunt nedorita, ca sunt neplacuta.

Nu o sa iau niciuna din pisici. 

20130225-180526.jpg

( 17.02.2013)
My greatest fears and demons
Hide behind locked doors
and all the unknown.
No, ignorance is never bliss
and what I do not know will hurt
me more
than what ypu’d like to believe.

My greatest fears and demons
have human face and
wear their smile perched way up and
smell of sweet, rotten betrayal.

My greatest fears and demons
awaken other fears, summon other demons,
sharpen up my claws and
make all my thorns
poke through my skin.

My greatest fears and demons
are locked behind faded light and
keep me awaken and
thinking of all
that I do not know.

My greatest fears and demons
stick to all the unknown and
fake their smiles, their cries.
But my greatest fears and demons
will always be more than a faux-self.

Imagine  —  Posted: Februarie 25, 2013 in Ganduri

I will

Posted: Februarie 8, 2013 in Ganduri

Unele lucruri nu o sa se schimbe vreodata, orice ar fi.
O sa plang la fel de usor.
O sa imi simt inima in gat de fiecare data cand o sa sun pe cineva nou, sau pe cineva a carui voce nu am mai auzit-o de mult.
O sa fiu stresata din orice prostie.
O sa aud rau la telefon si de-asta nu o sa sun.
O sa incerc sa fac ceva din timp si o sa termin in ultimul moment.
O sa dorm rau, orice ar fi.
O sa ma enerveze oamenii.
O sa tin la detalii, indiferent de cat de rau imi fac.
O sa imi placa muzica la care tin cu dintii, pe care o ascult intr-un mod obsesiv.
O sa citesc si o sa am mereu carti necitite, pentru ca nu-mi place sa fiu nepregatita.
O sa am mereu un interes fata de orice meserie.
O sa accept trecutul, o sa il regret pe alocuri, dar o sa stiu mereu ca datorita lui sunt asa.
O sa continui sa desenez, asa obsedant.
O sa visez la a scrie.
O sa gasesc somnul inutil.
O sa adun obiecte si amintiri si o sa le dau drumul doar cand nu mai stiu de ce sa le leg.
O sa ma enerveze miscarile repetitive facute fara rost, cum ar fi bâtâitul.
O sa imi placa ce scriu altii; nu carti, doar ce scriu unii si altii din placerea de a scrie, dintr-un preaplin de idei.
O sa imi placa trenurile, ceaiurile, mancarea, plimbarile.
O sa detest mereu lipsa de bun simt si tot ce inseamna o insulta la adresa unei alte persoane, la adresa societatii.
O sa imi placa sa traiesc, dar nu oricum.

Dar cel mai mult, stiu ca nu o sa renunt. Asta in nici un caz. Ma retrag din joc, dar nu mor.

What if?

Posted: Ianuarie 30, 2013 in Ganduri

So what if I don’t believe
in your God?
So what if I don’t believe
words anymore?
So what if I don’t believe
in „I’m sorry”?
So what if I don’t believe
in karma anymore?

I still believe in details.
I still believe in making up.
I still believe in never forgetting.
And I still believe in keeping word.

What if I don’t know trust?
What if I know too much pain?
What if I don’t know forgiveness?
What if I know too many scars?

I still know hope.
I still feel love.
I still know smiles.
I still feel anger.

What if I don’t believe in human kind?
What if I can’t buy lies anymore?
What if I don’t believe in genuine kindness?
What if I can’t be what others want me to be?

I can still fly, just as I can fall.
I can still yell, just as I can whisper.
I can still love, just as I can still hate.
I can still fight, just as I can kneel.

So what, tell me, so what if I am hurt?
So what, tell me, so what if I shook hands with dark angels?
So what, tell me, so what if I was stepped upon?
So what, tell me, so what if I am still here?

I still don’t know.
I still don’t get it.
I still can’t move.
I still can’t stop.

If I am more, if I am less,
If I am not enough, if I am too much,
If I am, if I am not,
No matter what if,
I won’t be other than me,
I could never be you.

It takes two to tango

Posted: Ianuarie 27, 2013 in Ganduri

Dear Mr. Sawyer…
…wrong picture, same story.

It all begins with a good deed,
which never goes unpaid.
It goes on with stories and secrets
which always had their place.
But it all ends with seeing.
Seeing what should not be seen,
seeing what cannot be unseen,
hearing what cannot be unheard,
feeling what cannot be unfelt,
smelling what reeks of a sweet perfume
on the wrong skin.

Dear Mr. Sawyer
you have stolen a part of my life.
Dear Mr. Sawyer
you stepped on what I held dear.
Dear Mr. Sawyer
I’ll never have the guts to spill out my heart
in front of you,
my words will never cover it all up.
Dear Mr. Sawyer,
you wished you could do something big,
you just did.
Dear Mr. Sawyer
you have betrayed me.
That’s what it’s all about,
treacherous words covered up with smiles and pretenses,
touches and looks,
promises and vows,
all crumbled, all burned to the ground.

Dear Mr. Sawyer
you failed to kill me.
You did kill ten years,
but those had passed anyway.
You did kill all hope I could hold
in you, in the others, in human kind.
You did kill more than I could ever
make you imagine.
You have more blood on your hands
than your fake self wants to admit.

But dear Mr. Sawyer
you will stay the other one.
You will be the one that came after.
You will be the filthy one.
You will be pointed at.
You will be weighed and compared.
You will be the other one that cannot be.
You will be the stain, the sin, the shame.
You will be all I could never be, all I was desired to become.
You will be the one that stole something that you cannot own.
You will keep on wishing for what others have,
what they had built.

Dear Mr. Sawyer, you are nothing but the other one.