Tin Woman

Amongst deep secrets and shallow sleep,
only him I hoped to keep,
from the ground I took a leap,
falling,
it was awfully steep,
my impulsive heart, I chose to reap,
sold it to him for very cheap,
not of value, and none to seep,
I found it in a dusty heap.

Pulling the shades.

I’ve been kissed by the sun, but no longer glow,
because the ripples of what has not been,
move through my mind,
while I gaze at a canal in Amsterdam.

The beautiful reflections of my illusions are cruising,
often crashing into the stones of reality.

I envy these office buildings,
for the sun always comes back
to give attention to their every floor.

You are a ray of light
that chose me,
I am the window
you pierced through,
warmed,
only to rise for another.

Now I am cold,
and I’ve trapped myself
in my cubicle of dependence,

Yes, I’ve been kissed by the sun,
and although I don’t glow anymore,
I’ve pulled the shades,
and won’t be waiting for you
when you set.

 

Masks.

Although aware I can not see,
a path that will make me happy,
and for the volatility I endure,
I truly wonder if there is a cure,

Tried to love, tried to care,
It sculpted this mask I choose to wear
for I love challenges and dislike conflicts,
but don’t always realize this contradicts

Why do I try to simplify
in a blink of an eye, demystify
myself into something that doesn’t satisfy
the ones I love, the rare,
leaving me alone, as I stare,
at the new mask I’ll wear..

 

The morning after. The “afteropaque”.8

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I awaken rather early from superficial sleep. My tired brain immediately tries to amplify the faint scent of last night. I can still smell his cologne. I move my legs up and down, feeling the texture of my bed sheets with my feet. It’s another one of my ticks. I stretch, arching my back until my vertebrae softly clicks.  I lied to myself again yesterday, and now I feel as if I’ve lost something.  I’m quite familiar with many of the tactics people use in order to get your heart to beat a little faster and your skin to rise. It was too perfect. He was too perfect, but I felt a huge void in my chest, so I chose to believe him, in detail. It’s extremely erotic to be understood. I think that may be the reason I’ll never see him again.
I get up, open the curtains, and face my window while letting my tired eyes shift to a blur. The sun is shining bright, but it brings me no joy. I walk towards the kitchen. Coffee. I imagine walking in on him making it. Placing it on the table. Those big hands grabbing me, lifting my legs to his waist, pulling me close while adding extra pressure right where the empty feeling is, and kissing me. I… don’t even enjoy kissing much. My coffee machine starts making noise and I immediately snap out of my fantasy. I add a teaspoon of sugar and search for my phone. I try to ameliorate things by calling a friend, no answer. Tears.


I have to stop letting people see into my soul, not because I am afraid of what they will do with this information, but because it hurts. I give them a part of myself and it indeed feels like a part of me is missing afterwards. I almost want to thrust a knife through my chest, and leave it there, so it fills the hole, a decoy of what is missing.