Pain No One Cares About

chunks of life. episodic memories. lovers lost then found. claustrophobic-narrow-hallway affairs. the curious couple and strange mirrors. emotions shut off, relived, reserved. stories shared and forgotten. pain unseen. pain no one cares about. this book, secrets and for keeps.

it’s here.

The Californian Widow

There was the story of a central California widow who had fought to have her recently dead husband exhumed, pleading her case that before he had died he had swallowed her diamond ring in some sort of spite and that she wanted this jewel returned. But in the end she confessed that she had not slept for many many weeks and that she had been spending her nights lying on his grave, trying to speak to him, and that all she really wanted was just to be able to see his face one more time.

Life After God, Douglas Coupland  

And There Will I Be

for-ever

I dream you still. And there I will be.

You don’t know my name. This is the past. And us is just a butterfly effect that didn’t happen. We are apart and at peace, just as before your eyes met mine, before our hands brushed and our words hushed. Before our secrets born into judging eyes. This is before everything.

And I am telling you this so you will search for me no more.

“I Want These Dreams Inside of Me”, When I My Own Daughter

In My Dreams, I am You

claude lazar

When I look into your eyes, I realise I came from a long journey across time, before yours nor mine. I knew this from recurring dreams. They’re so vivid that when I wake up, my arms my feet my body’s broken, sore and tired. These dreams are more than just a realm in my subconscious, they’re real.

In my dreams, I have your eyes, your smile, and everything’s new under the sun. In my dreams I am lost looking for something, anything feels like a mother. In my dreams, I too am abandoned, unwanted. In my dreams, I am you.

When I Look Into Your Eyes, When I My Own Daughter

I Can’t Grow A New Heart

kurt cobain baby

these stories, they come to me in dreams the first time I fell asleep since they told me you’ve fallen into flatline

I dream you

sometimes in colours, green and oranges, purples and blues, and not bleak nor dark, we are not in the shadows

in these dreams, our children they’re born. they’re not sucked to death, they’re not stillborn nor bled away

they live and we give

names to their innocent loving faces

the eldest has my eyes, her brother has your smile

in these dreams we’re not bitter

we’re not numb from pain

in these dreams you are standing tall

little daughter dances on your devoted steadfast feet

her brother clung to your arms, his head rests on your secure and sturdy shoulder.

he’s falling into another dream.

in these dreams, I dance with you under the chuppah

and you recite a long vow, a song we used to hum

before we went to sleep

about lovers

lost

and again,

found.

 

On birthdays that are wiser,

On Letters to Lovers Lost. 

 

Morning Song

Morning Song

skin to skin I could feel us

-the liquid beneath our feet,

trampling into endless vacuum,

bleak and emptied I barely

recognise your bald cry, a far sea

distant and I am no more

your mother–

 

you have arrived into

a morning song

 

“It’s Him”, IV, Letters to Sylvia

hello, goodbye, i love you

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you are

hope, hopping

you trample here

and there and in between

existence

for absence is what

you do best, to make

the heart grows fonder

resilience

isn’t your strength

you’d stay in bed for days

for tiny heartbreaks

persistence is

when you speak

of love you never

speak low

even in silence

your screams

aloud

loving to the end

longing to be

found

again

 

you’re my star, my big big shining star, I met you

one night, I met you under the limelight

your oversized shirt and my boots a number too small, they hurt my feet I’ve been limping dancing my years away

if only I knew how to tell you how I long

to hold your hand, but your fingers show me you want nothing but to slip them into mine and be vulnerable

so I held my guard down for that one. minute.

you didn’t turn the lights on and sat in the dark with me and I turned sluggish swimming an ocean of pride,

where’s my life-jacket?

still I let you

I let you love

you’re something big and I am

nothing more than forgotten dew in

a windy morning, but you,

you are sunlight

you are a new day

you have that smile, that

held back smile and a twinkle

in the eye

that says that I am

more than what I show

and I feel that I am more

than I want to be

hello hello, you said hello

I said goodbye, I love you, goodbye

-hello, goodbye, I love you

from Letters to Lovers Lost, re-published just now.

Everyone Wants A Piece of That Fame…

Rachel Galindo.jpg

everybody wants a piece of that fame

you bring to the table

so they put you on a silver plate at first

but then they feel it’s too fancy for

a hollywood roadkill like you so

they move you to

a worn out wooden cutting board

slice you up real nice into tiny bits of pieces

each to their own but

you’re there for everyone, suit yourself!

they happily

chew you up real slow

saving every flavor splattered on

the walls of their mouths their gums they lick

their teeth and lips everytime they got

that fancy exposure

they swallow you and finger the rest

of your blood

on their knives

 

and I sit there watching

thinking if I should get

my share

of that fame

but I am not

made for the public eye

I spill your tea on

everyone’s table

this fame of yours

hardly fits

my brain, should you

know what I want, it’s

your crimson blood

rushing through

                  my flesh

I want that             lush

         I want that    rush

when i you                       and you,

                                            me

“Mirrors”, Letters to Sylvia, 2019

There Are Clouds in These Dreams

Letter to Sylvia Cover “…there are clouds in these dreams and i am flying hard between ashes,

did you not get burned at stakes?

there are words in these dreams but I am not one saying them,

to swallow alone is pain. to breathe, a sin.

not one word out but here are letters for when you wake up,

she said, you will tell them how to say it out loud,

even with tears in their eyes. tell them.

and so I write.”

 

Get this book here.

Remember This, Love, for Time is a Loop

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Right before our parting, mother sat me down in a meadow. She apologetically held my hands then placed a flower crown on my hair.

She said, “Remember this, love, for time is a loop. You will come back for me.”

Little did she know, time was in denial.

So suddenly as I realised this, she turned into a montage of old photographs between flashing lights.

I saw her,

the staggering girl between

dark webs,

I saw her vague fingers inside

his feathered glory,

such indifferent beak cloud,

white rush oh there there

brute brute blood!

here’s burning roof and tower

the centre cannot hold,

things fall apart…

____

Phrases in W. B. Yeats’ poems “Leda and the Swan” and “The Second Coming”, in this part of my book, are rearranged in an attempt of deconstruction. WB Yeats poems are an integral and essential part of my book, When I, My Own Daughter, available here.

Photo Credit: Alessio Albi

 

Forgiveness and Revenge, All in One…

New Upcoming Covers (6)…But death, death was real. She and mother, they made a promise to see each other. They waited patiently and then the one day, that one day she’d knock on her door and not the other way around.

She never counted me in.

In her stories it was always her that was lost (and found), but never me. I was always here and there, existed in static equilibrium, already defined, captured.

She was the one who decides where to go with her words. She was, to me, knowledge and ignorance, forgiveness and revenge, all in one.

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