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I used to write poems. I wrote some in English, too.
I re-read my collection today and wanted to share some. Hope you don't mind. I want to get back to writing poems.
When I say that I do not believe you,
I actually mean it.
That's because I know well - all too well -
What you really think.
Cause I'm not anymore blind enough
To accept and believe it.
You're deluding yourself.
You're afraid.
You deny.
You are sick.
Do you hear me?
Everyone is sick.
Throughout childhood we are being told
And insisted and lied to
That we'll figure life out,
That it's not an unsolvable task.
Now you stand before me and pretend
You're grown up and enlightened,
But you cover your truth
With a whole,
Impenetrable mask.
Did you know that?
Every face's a mask.
In your mind there's a child,
Disappointed, confused and conforming,
And afraid to admit that adults
Do not really exist.
Though you're acting day in and day out,
Though you're good at performing,
Leave it for someone else:
I'm not buying it.
I'm not convinced.
And I'm wondering
If you are convinced.
So if you want to talk, I demand
That you take a step down,
Throw your mask out, reveal your true self
And admit that you're lost.
Then your desperate voice for the first time
Will actually sound,
And this voice I'll believe,
And this sound I'll cherish the most.
Come and whisper:
"I
am
lost".
My new pen scratches the paper.
I will have to get used to this sound.
I will have to get used to a lot of things.
In alarming proximity
Stands a bottle with ink,
Which one day I will spill over,
Because this happens to people
Who use ink.
I still won't give up writing.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Each line makes me less sensitive
To this sound.
Maybe one day I'll get used to it.
My new life scratches my soul,
Crushes my heart, blows my head,
Cuts my skin.
Cut, cut, cut.
Each cut makes me less sensitive
To this life.
I might as well get used to it.
I should have foreseen
That our life will spill over
This bottle of problems.
Because this happens to people
Who live.
We still won't give up living.
There are always those people
Who keep telling me that I need to grow up.
And I keep nodding and smiling
Instead of answering.
I could answer, of course.
I could answer that the very same people
Then quarrel at their homes.
They abuse and offend
Whom they were meant to love and defend.
They tell me that I need to grow up,
Then they go home and consume to oblivion
Substances that will never mend or fix
A life broken,
A love lost,
A dream forgotten.
They spend year after year doing things they hate -
That's called work.
They spend week after week buying things they don't need -
That's called wealth.
They spend day after day amusing themselves,
Cause otherwise
The void at the heart of their lives
Becomes apparent.
If spilling blood and making war is being grown-up,
If spilling oil and killing a planet is being grown-up,
If spilling tears and losing dreams is being grown-up,
Then I don't want to grow up.
I could answer of course
That "You need to grow up" I translate as
"I'll feel like a failure if you don't".
But I keep nodding and smiling.
Asking out-of-place questions
Is my guilty pleasure.
I love it when small talks
Suddenly grow into something bigger -
It gives me goosebumps.
"When did you get up?"
"At 9 A.M."
"Why did you get up?"
"What?"
And, yes, I mean it.
I'm merciless and soulless enough to mean it.
Or, maybe, merciful and soulful enough.
I don't know. That's another big question.
I like it sudden. I like to take people off-guard.
And I don't care what'd they think.
Because somebody has to do it.
Because if nobody asks these questions,
The status quo will remain,
And the status quo means death.
Are you sure you really own your life?
Because if nobody asks these questions,
All talks will be small talks,
And real talks will haunt us from inside:
Them - too uncomfortable to bear,
Us - too afraid to bring them to life.
Because if nobody asks these questions,
Whoever kills us will keep killing,
Whoever owns us will keep owning,
Whoever lies to us will keep lying
And hoping we stick to small talks.
So, how's the weather today?
Want to go eat out this evening?
What do we do with our lives?
Who benefits from the worldwide misery?
Does this green jacket look good on me?