sleep in her arms,
give into her charms,
and let her blow kisses
and hide all the harms.
play with her hair,
breathe in all her air,
and let her blow kisses
without a care.
sink in her skin,
and become her twin,
and let her blow kisses
from deep within.
beat in her heart,
even though you’re apart,
and let her blow kisses
when you’re afraid of the dark.
Take a little care of you,
Cause no one else will do.
Try breathing,
Sleeping,
Loving,
Forgiving
And forgetting.
Try spinach,
Soul,
And able bodies.
Try friends
And lovers
And sweet gifts.
Try hiding underneath the sheets.
Love fully
And completely.
Love hard
And deeply.
The rush of love
Smells like the word
I used on my guts as a sword.
And from above
It shines the light
Of thunders, wishes and of might.
Dear Marcus,
Sorry to be so blunt and leave you at the party like that, but you have to understand that my life, my party, my rules. So, even if I still think highly of you (no, I don’t) and even if my mom likes you (no, she doesn’t), I have to tell you the bitter truth.
Our relationship was fun and carefree for a moment there, but it lasted way too many hours and it had way too much drama for it to be fun anymore.
You were always gone, be it in Egypt, or Denmark, or wherever, so I stopped caring in little while.
When you were at home, you did nothing, you fucking piece of slobby ass. You just paraded me like a horse in front of your 40-year old friends with wrecked marriages and bald spots to spare.
I guess I took our relationship for granted, because, since you were never home, you could never perturb my habits. But you did! You did, with your nosy character and your closed little mind, so you were always checking up on me and you were a constant pain in my ass, despite your long leave of absence.
So I stopped caring. Who cares? And because I stopped caring for you, I started caring for someone else.
Sometimes I wondered if it was ok from my part to be such a dick, but then again, the dick was you and you weren’t a particular good dick at all. So I continued my dick moves, because they made me feel better.
This whole situation, corroborated with your absence, made me feel young again. I was taking chances, and I was having fun, and I was in a happy place. Everything was new and thrilling and enticing, so why the heck would I stop?
Just because of your sorry ass? No thank you, my perfectly good ass requires attention and spunk from time to time. Both of which you were unwilling to provide.
So yeah. This is my letter. This is my confession. I started cheating on you, but is it still cheating if it’s over?
Because our relationship was over before it started, and my new relationship with the new and improved me has so much more to offer than your boring presence.
I left you, Marcus. I left you for me and believe me – it was all your fault.
Forever mine,
Jane
My boyfriend bought a ring for someone else.
He asked me once, but didn’t bring the bells.
Oh well, I guess we’ll never know.
My boyfriend married once this chick,
She was a horse, her thighs were thick,
But hey, at least she’s useful in the snow!
My boyfriend told me once that he’s in love with me,
And boy, these words made me so happy!
Unless I think of all the time I wasted
There was so much chocolate I could’ve tasted.
„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 keep writing letters to myself and publish them. I know what I want to say to me, but I keep telling it to you. It’s easier that way, because it’s almost a promise made to the world.
One day, I promised myself to learn how to love and how to be good and how to be a beautiful human. I promised I’d be everything that other people were not to me.
27 years have passed and I still don’t know how to love. I’m not good and I am not a beautiful human. I am still scared of people and secretly I wish I was dead, because it would be simpler.
I don’t hate you people, I just don’t care. I’m not sure how to love, but I’m hella good at not caring. It’s easy and clean and it lets me sleep at night. My mind does not bother with weird thoughts of unfitting.
I’m not bad, but I’m not good either. I try to act on impulses, I try to help as much as I can and I’m not the vengeful type, yet I’m not good. My existence does not touch people and I feel perfectly fine with that. In my book, this equals not being good, but I think I might be wrong.
I am not a beautiful human. There’s no denying that, because I don’t like my fellow people and I’m scared of them. I try not to be too visible, but I also try to not be the bug people think I am. I like solitary confinement with music and a blanket, I don’t like crowds, gossip and mean people, but I also don’t feel at home inside close knit groups of benefactors.
I just don’t belong here, and I’m afraid to find out where I do belong.