Pelēkrozā

Pelēkrozā mākoņos
Vakara saulītē lūkojos
Man acis sāp
Jo asaras nāk
Domāju par dabu
Par mīlestību smagu
Vai es gribu izdarīt sev galu?
Nē, tik zemu nekritīšu
Labāk atspulgu sitīšu
Tik ilgi līdz asiņos kulaki
Līdz vairs visi nebūs mudaki
Tu saki cik lieliska esmu
Komunikācijas kļūdu šeit saskatu
Es lasu, lasu, lasu
Katru dienu
Rakstu,rakstu,rakstu
Gaidu zvanu
Miers, patiesībā
Klusumā rodas
Vientulīgās ainavās iezogas
Dažreiz degvīna pudeles apakšā
Kristalizējas atbilde ašā
Uz jautājumu mūžīgo
Par dzīves jēgu sūdīgo
Smieties vai raudāt
Es nezinu
Jo dzīvot es gribu
un negribu
Ikdienu es,
Savās asinīs mērcēju
Citreiz naivi cerēju,
Ka pelēkrozā mākoņi
Būtu man ar kādu kopīgi
Vai daba mīl sevi,
Kad jūtas vientulīgi?

/By me, 2020

This will never be a love letter
Don't ask me which flower I like better
All of them bloom so pretty
& die as fast equally
Every lovely flower can touch
my soul so deep
Each one has it's own story
There's no need to put only one to glory
It's the natures way
Sun rises and sun sets
There is always new beginnings
and new ends
Appreciate every little flower you touch
Their bright colors wouldn't make grass seem so green
Without love letters there wouldn't be hope to be seen.
World is purifying now
learn from it how.
This is not a love letter,
Don't use your power
just saying,
Never ever pick a flower.

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.