This fear has clothes,
This smile is swords.
I enter the voids
And listen so close
The meaningful words,
The ugly steps of the herds,
And I count the guards
Outside the wards.
And all I’m left with is shiver.
Remember when I died in the river?
I started from pebble and rust,
I felt no lips,
I was covered in rust,
There was only darkness and moisture
And longing for a fixture.
I had time to rummage the words,
Time to get even in my head
And piss my own bed.
I had no reason to be ashamed,
Since it was single and despaired.
I had time to become the broken,
Lost in a pile of ashes and death,
Covered in screams and the ugliest breath
Life has to give you for free and to keep.
Oh god, you are neck deep
In this little child’s game of horror and tremor.
„Have a cup of tea
With me”
She says really
Nonchalantly.
Yet, I know that what I see
Is just bitter loyalty.
She grabs my arm,
And I am just staring
And hoping she can do no harm.
Her life is straight
And poignant
And sublime.
Am I even caring
About mine?
She kisses
Gently,
Then she hisses.
All my reasons plenty
For not missing,
Wanting,
Needing
All the rest that she’s not giving.
Do I really want the pieces?
„Listen, now we really need to talk”.
I can’t stand that mock.
She lets go,
Pretends she cares.
I am left with all the stares,
All the pity in the world,
I feel like I ate a sword.
I don’t know. But I bet they’re thinking about it.
I’m not sure of how many girls cheat, I’m not sure if I would cheat like, ever (Valley girl-like tone)! But I know one thing for sure.
Everybody is thinking about it.
I thought about it, even if I was single or not. It’s a question of morale, but it’s a hard test to pass in real life.
You have to think about it, if you wanna lie, or come clean, or just plain forget about it. But you also have to think about the other option – do you want to know? Do you need to know? What would you do if you have a cheater next to you?
I sometimes wonder how would it be if I were to cheat on someone. Based on my past experiences, it would be someone who’d I think of as a good partner, a steady rock or something. I’d also like for the one I’m cheating with to be a girl. It feels more safe, a little less prejudiced and a little more loving.
But I also wonder how would it be if someone were to cheat on me (note: I only know of this one guy who sort of cheated on me, but not quite). I am the forgiving type, not a big fan of revenge, so I guess he’d be clean in no time.
Do all people cheat? Who knows? People aren’t true to themselves, do you really think they’re gonna tell you their darkest secret?
PS: This piece was supposed to be titled „The Secrets of Liking Britney”. Somehow, that extra glass of wine (or is it whine? just kidding!) made me rephrase it and mask it in one of my reviews.
Yeah, there’s a secret! Didja really think this is selfexplanatory and not-at-all ming boggling?
No! Liking Britney sits up there with other ideals, of making people more than their decisions. It’s like liking a fat girl for her personality and a nerd for more than his bank account.
You have to see past the techno tempo, past the glittery S&M bras and past the nakedness. You have to be deep and to pay attention.
You better work, bitch!
PS: that comma is important. Don’t let no one tell you otherwise.
I live in this part of the world where autumn is not adored, but met with „ah, dammit” from people trying to stay dry on their feet. Bucharest is a dusty, dirty city, where drivers step on it and on us (the pedestrians), where people on bicycles do not comply with the simplest of rules and where the air is polluted 99,99% of the time.
I, myself, am a girl of the summer. I like dresses and sandals and the ease that comes with all of that. I love walking and I’d do it all day long, if not for this little thing called job. I like to see happy people enjoying a drink, I like to go shopping, I like to feel free, and summer gives me that opportunity.
I also enjoy springtime, when the bees and the birds and the trees and all that. It’s the magical season of rebirth, so what’s not to love? People are happy, the grass is green(er), so let’s get a movin’, then.
The winter is ok-ish. That’s because I am born in this cold season, but there are also different reasons to celebrate. Starting with Saint Nicholas (Mos Nicolae, for us), going through Christmas (3 days of Christmas are more than enough, thank you!), New Year’s Eve (that’s spelled party), New Year (the after party) and my birthday (just a few days apart). I also appreciate the fact that Bucharest has mild winters, but I wouldn’t rely on that. (We sometimes end up with muddy streets and/or windy days and/or below zero temperatures several days in a row.)
So, why don’t I like autumn?
I love the fashion, though. I love the scarfs, and the tights, and the skirts, and the jackets, and the coats. I love all that Oxford-y vibe autumn has, it makes me want to wear Oxford shoes with over the knee socks every day. But I hate the frickin’ rain. It rains, and when it rains, it pours. And when it pours, I feel like Noah left me here to drown. And Noah, I don’t know how to swim! What the fuck, Noah?!
So, no. I don’t like autumn. Maybe if it were a little bit nicer to me, maybe if it had positive temperatures or if it were to rain only at night, I’d understand. But I hate getting soaking wet. I hate the awful cold. I hate not being able to wear my skirts.
This autumn in particular has the kind of weather that makes me think that, if I leave my coat on, I’ll get severely ill, but if I put on my winter jacket, it’ll be too hot. It makes me think that none of my shoes are fit for this weather and wetness, but I can’t start wearing my boots just yet.
And I hate your pumpkin spice stuff! Stop throwing it into my face!
Preferred content of circly stuff,
I don’t know if I’m enough.
I keep getting my head stuck
Inside in and without buck.
Safety’s not the word to say,
I have nothing, anyway.
I just wish I’d be a dream
And I wish you’d die within.
I don’t know which words are true,
„Baby, baby, I love you”.
This is all just a big lie,
Now stop sticking out my eye.
Floors are wet and floors are hard,
I am ashes. I am lard.
Sing me songs of desperation,
Sing of holy desecration.
Memories of what and where,
Dressed in blood and red despair.
Centerpiece of hate and love,
As below, so is above.