When I was a lil girl,
I used to play with the idea of flying
I used to dream that I was flying over a town of witch-burners
Opened my arms breaking thru the clouds
wetting my hair passing across the sun
looking down to where all the tiny spots of hate
where waiting for me
to fall
to eat me
to tear me apart.
And spoiler alert
at the end
i did fell.
I find curious the way the night gets inside the recepient that we call body
How every corner of our bodies turns black
the natural feeling of loosing sight sec by sec
the jump we do in total confidence that the abism is not going to eat us
the memorie of the last face i saw when im forgetting the dreams i had
the confused soul that for a heart beat leaves our presence and gets back scolded to where it belongs...
Sometimes for short periods of space i feel like im not giving up that much as usual.
this will not be poetry, has never been, but it seems easier for me in life spans to explain myself in a language that does not belong to me bc i dont belong to myself anymore.
it feels like when the wind goes right thru me, right into my spiral shape ear round and round towards a tiny universe inside my head where nobody knows me, they speak words of wisdom and faith and love.
In the obituary behind my eyes u can read that i died in search for a sun that would not fuse me.
