heartbeat

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te-am cautat. nu te-am gasit,
dar tot ce nu am simtit
se rascoleste de la sine-n
mine
si cauta tot felul de poteci ascunse,
iar eu n-am decat feliile de paine unse
cu unt, untura, margarina,
si inima mea-i doar terina.
ascund si fierb in ea
imaginatiuni traite,
dar mereu de altii,
ascund si fierb in ea
ganduri nedeslusite,
traite doar de altii,
iar eu am in mine viteze nebanuite,
ganduri neobosite,
creiere pe repeat si sentimente mii.
sunt toata ghem – senzatii, nebunii…

I’m trying to put it all back together.
I’ve got a story and I’m trying to tell it right.
I got the kerosene and a desire.
I’m trying to start a flame in the heart of the night

creier

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dezavantajul creierului meu
e ca ruleaza in continuu,
verifica si pune bife-atat de-aiurea,
se zbate-n mlastini nestiute,
incat ma simt de parca doar padurea
e locu-n care ar putea sa stea
oasele mele obosite, moarte.
dar si padurea e asa departe,
ca n-am metrou s-ajung la ea,
si stau pe loc, blocata-n noapte,
ma lupt cu mine si cu mintea mea.
dezavantajul mare pe care il reprezint
e ca respir si, uneori, clipesc,
caci nici un gest din asta mic
nu v-ar putea scapa de ce traiesc.

prostie

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si-mi plac minciunile cu tine,
ca au aroma aia de dialog fierbinte,
e ca si cum ne-ar pasa de ce ne spunem,
ce simtim,
ce ne-amintim,
iar seara, prinsi sub plapumi, amandoi,
ne dam mesaje cu substanta,
si scriem cuvintele pe care le credem potrivite,
fara sa mai simtim nici frig,
fior, placere,
atingere,
durere,
si niciunul din noi nu mai crede ca vreodata
o sa mai ajungem in punctul ala in care
o sa ne spunem ca iubirea invinge tot.
e doar o prostie de copii, si-o stie lumea toata.

Fifteen, or Maybe Twenty Years

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When we are born,
we lose ourselves.
Our parents take us,
nurture us,
or maybe torture us,
stalling our memories of former selves,
keeping us from finding ourselves.
All they seem to do is shaping us in ways they think are best,
or ways they wish they could’ve taken long ago,
but mostly ways that other people told them about.
And all those ways are usually nothing like what we want to become,
and it’s confusing,
and it’s hurtful,
and nothing here seems to work,
because we wait fifteen, or maybe twenty years
to regain that sense of self that was taken from us
long time ago.
We don’t deserve the stalling and the tears,
but thinking about what we could be gets up through all the years
of pain and suffering and not being ourselves.

Maybe you found yourself today.
Go on, talk to yourself, see what you have to say.

Pic.

younger

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when i was younger i abused my dreams,
i’ve lost count of times spent with wrong people,
giving the wrong hugs,
losing precious moments.
when i was younger i forgot a lot about myself,
and felt like my value was somehow less because of everything i never was.
i made a habit out of waiting for people to become
what they never truly were.
when i was younger i lost myself so many times,
tearing my heart and dreams away,
giving them to people who did not deserve me,
instead of giving them to me.
when i was younger i was so foolish,
but i don’t wish i’d live that time again.
cause this is the time i am me,
and this is when you’ve met me.

Casa in trei

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Like, dude, as vrea sa-ti zic ca tocmai ce-am vazut-o,
si nu m-ar fi interesat
daca n-ar fi dansat,
si am dansat, si-am tot baut,
si cred ca pe-undeva pe-acolo am uitat
ca poate n-ar fi trebuit
sa tot dansam, sa bem
si sa uitam.

Pai bine, bro, asa se face?
I mean, doar stii si tu ca-i greu cu lumea,
cu vorbitul,
ca-s mai mereu in friendzone si-s lasat in urma.
Imi place sa cred ca nu mai fac parte din turma,
dar in acelasi timp,
acelasi fucking timp
nici n-am stiut ca existati.
Si cand dansati,
o doamne, cand dansati,
eu doar voiam s-o iau de-acolo,
sa fie-a mea.
De ce nu mi-ai lasat-o, bro?
Macar de data asta…

Dude, da’ e chubby si urata,
si nu stiu daca ai vazut cand rade,
ca fornaie pe nas,
ca…
God, si-as vrea sa zic ca nu imi place,
dar e ceva acolo care nu-mi da pace.
This fucking woman, man,
ne-a pus capace.

O vreau si eu, si-o vrei si tu.

Si poate c-o sa va zic nu…
Sau poate te pastrez pe tine, jucarie,
un pic rebel si numai bun de-ascuns de mama,
in timp ce tu ramai baiatul cel cuminte,
pe care-l tin de mana.
Poate ma joc cu voi si eu decid
ca niciunul din voi nu are vreun cuvant de spus
in imparteala asta de emotii.
Sau poate ca alegeri fac doar prostii,
si noi nu suntem prost, sau cel putin asa vrem noi sa credem.
Hai sa ne facem casa-n trei si-apoi o sa mai vedem.