WCT (Please)

Today when I saw my "first star" I closed my eyes

And I wished very hard that you would be closer again

It put a smile on my face

When I look up the star was moving!

It was an airplane

A tear dropped out of fear

The smile went away...

A week ago I saw a flower wrapped in a plastic bag

That seemed suffocating, kind of bad…

I wondered for a bit if the flower was a little sad...

Yesterday I ate a candy that tasted like sauna

My brain became hot and sweaty

I hoped it was not glaucoma

About 10 days ago I got a new skirt

It is short and certainly elegant

I bet it will make it easy to flirt

24 days have passed since I made a mistake

It was the smallest one

It was the one that I so wish I could dismake

Half-hour ago I drank soda out of a can

I imagined the burp before it came

I know I could fry it all on a pan

I don’t remember when I found a book on the street

I wrote a poem on its first page

I question if the book is now more complete

2 days ago I got so lost I disappeared

I took a ride and found a clue

I try now to glue it back and it’s goodly weird

This afternoon I wrote nonsense

I strongly tried to keep myself strong

And through empty sense make you a past tense

Late afternoon I made nonsense even bigger

I dada the getting rid of all together

I still hope the mess becomes colorful

Since that last kiss I saw flying in the air

I robbed stickers and stick them around

I still consider reading Baudelaire

Tomorrow have all my rhymes and good words

I put my entire wish between the lines

Hoping it can catch your eyes

Now I realize that the fear I mentioned before

Is that that airplane can lose my wish somewhere on it's way...

Ops, a lapse on the narrative and I am back to the beginning again

Today when I saw my first star…

I wish you here again.

some times some more times or An Attempt do Dare

And they keep asking me, the voices in my head: why do I like you?...

I keep answering: it's his voice, his voice is so strong and specific...

His voice is calm and explanatory, you know?

And even the "you know" I say is yours.

It is a copy of yours, cause I used to like the way you used to say "you know", you know?

See, I keep repeating it, as if it is bringing you closer.

But right after I say it, you're not there, and instead I get tears as a replacement of your voice.

And all is fine, you know?

It is just little lapses of time during my day when I feel my face wet by surprise.

It happens randomly, anywhere, especially where it shouldn't, you know?
And the voices keep going, asking: do you like him only for his voice?

Well, I must say, I think that's reason enough!

But, no...

There are other reasons, like the way you explain things.

Every little story becomes so magic coming from your eyes.

It is all so special, like a kid looking at a toy, thinking that if he doesn't catch it right away, he may never catch it.

Kids are so right all the time.

How can you know if you will ever have an opportunity again? Any opportunity...?

That's how you explain things, like someone who knows that not having another chance is so real and inevitable, sooner or later.

Arbitrarily, a voice escapes from a hidden place somewhere, placing a thought like: but remember that he had something you didn't like...

And that voice tries to find an example of what that was, unsuccessfully...

So another voice jumps in saying: see, that is typical and cliche, you have this naive passion and cannot reason properly. How can someone have no defect?

I ponder for a bit...

The only thing I come up with is: I had fun even with your defects.

They seemed to be there to highlight your qualities.
"What qualities are there to deserve so much attention, so much liking?"

At first, all I can think is your smile.

Your smile lives in your eyes and hands.

It get spread with the sounds you make...

There's also the way you walk and the way you care about the ones lucky enough to cross your way.

And I could keep going on but the freaking voices are restless:

"Ok, so you know that... Is there more? Aren't you only fantasizing about him? Are you not just creating something you wanted to be real?"

I keep saying no!

Sometimes maybe...

But I know that I don't like you for anything you never showed me.

All my liking for you comes from something I experienced.

The voices never stop!

They insist!

As if I don't deserve to like you.

As if trying to keep me from falling, not realizing I already fell.

And tired of screaming, noticing I resist, they breathless say: then please dare!

(Pause)

Dare!

(Pause)

They win.

They win seeing myself hiding behind words and phrases I don't dare to say. You know?

You Know?

I know you made me more than what I was before and I learnt the pleasure of enjoying opposites, of not having to judge to like a person... or just to like.
But you were like my poetry, sometimes the end comes before the beginning...

And coming before, I cannot end it even when it is already done...
You know?
Can I tell you something?

Your qualities only make the other's look like defects...

Sometimes

You know

As Promised

Finding ways to define what you show only kept me busy in vain...
Bla bla blas, and empty words again.

Poor rhyme is all that was made out of our superficial complicity...

There is no more whys to save that bizarre simplicity...

And poor rhyme is all I can create from our lame musicality...

We were a mere copy of a boring pop song;

Those ones that move teenager's plastic glossy brains at dawn.

We moved in a instantaneous rhythm combined together,

And as any momentary ballad, the boom of the hit was burnt too soon...

As promised, beautifully mysterious verses were composed...

Maybe not the sound I wished to be played;

For they stretched their spaces too far apart for me to keep up all the way...

And that is how it went:

The tune was too high,

The melody extremely unbalanced,

The words came out as wrong as a hurt heart,

And as fast as a lost bullet,

The energy went off,

No power to pulse,

It was too dark to keep singing...

yet, we were my best composition...

a dream of a nightmare

You are the beat of my new pop song

You are the ploc of the bubble of my bubble gum

You are the scratching of my itching

You are the tourist over my bridge

You are the hunger after I eat

You are the number under my dice

You are the little too soon closing of my subway door

You are those 5 more minutes I so desire when the alarm wakes me up

You are the maybes I ignored

You are the joy of my grammar's mistakes

You are the wave of my emotions's tail before great art

You are the sound I can not record

You are the questions I am always forgetting to ask

You are the doubts before I give in

You are the desires I never imagined to exist

You are that one more drink before I am gone too far

You are that so liked song ending when I turn the radio on

You are the first drag of my last cigarette

You are my thought between awaken and asleep

You are the relief of the hot weather when I jump in the water

You are the memory I can barely recall

You are the space between my poem's words

You are that lasting instant yet already passed by me

You are the enough for me to wish some more

You are my all most

And all most almost is

And almost never was or will ever be...

July 08/09, 2010.

The Stare of The Mole

In the curly manners of your eyes she allows herself to get lost in your trapping smile.
Laying with a soft look, she stares at your back, feeling comfortable and alone, while trying to decipher the poetry of your moles.

They stare back at her as she falls asleep ignorant to your verses.
Waking up is a constant event during empty nights.

She falls over and over as if her soul is constantly running away only to come back on the next second.

She guesses it leaves her to stare at her staring at your back staring at her.

They just stare, and, for now, that is what makes what they are available to the presence of everything.
It may be true that love may not fit the reality of this instant, but love is the essence of all that was ever made.

A chair only exists because love was there when someone created the first one.

The same with dreams, frogs and clouds.

Love is always staring at everything, just waiting to be noticed and used.

Love wants to be used, and that may be what moles try to say when they look at her so strongly making her fall in the middle of her sleep.

Falling when asleep doesn't hurt, it just makes her aware of what else is out there, staring back, wondering what's out here staring back...
And messing up the waters of such turbulent sea of potentialities, she rejoices, laughing at all that stares at them, hoping the same is happening at the other side of the invisible mirror reflecting opposites.
I wonder if they know I'm here, helpless in the middle of such sublime composition, hoping she will never take her eyes out of the moles and realize she was staring at his back...