What pierced through the cracks

[DreamGirl]

Multumesc mult de tot pentru comentariu, @DeDal N. , si ma bucur mult de tot ca ti-au placut. Ma bucur si ca ai reusit sa desprinzi din prima poezie imaginea unei regine. Ma mira si pe mine ca am redat asa ceva, avand in vedere ca inspiratia mea a decazut de mult timp de pe tron. De fapt, eu nu am cunoscut-o niciodata in momentele dinainte de asta, asa ca mi le pot doar imagina - in caz ca au existat. Oricum, multumesc :)

Nu le iau cronologic, ci le iau pe astea care mi-s mai dragi acum, doua mai proaspate, din perioada post-bac dar totusi pre-admitere. One about some aspects of one particular parenthood si cealalta... well mai mult o imbarbatare de sine care s-a transformat in ceva mai mult. Am descoperit ca imi place structura. Sau, fie, redescoperit. Hope you'll like them ^-^


copyrights

No one ever taught me
how to unzip
the unfamiliar margins of my heart.
There was always a bulletproof glass
lingering between the vivid pulse
and the eager fingers that wanted to squeeze the life of it
into their pores;
and no one could ever convince it
to shatter
because they were the ones who had put it up
in the first place.
Bolt after bolt,
one pin after another,
following instructions passed down through generations.

I have taught myself
to unlock fragments of what I thought to be me,
drowning past shame in little pieces of gauze
that I quickly threw away
for fear I had let too much weakness
pierce through the cracks.

I have taught myself
that loose screws won't mean you're falling apart,
only to fight their tightness
with my bare hands
for the wrench had been hidden long ago
by those who denied me a hug too much.

I have taught myself
to love
to hurt
to feel
while all you ever did was
to silently encourage me
in the strenuous process of building walls
around a soul
measured in praise and yellowing diplomas.

Don't congratulate yourself
on putting circuits together
and plugging me in
and then wonder why,
at the other end of the line, you'll only hear a void
"ok".

You have no right to sculpt me
from cold, raw stone
and then wait for me to offer you
the little burning heart
I have sewn on myself
with care and patience,
mustering up the courage
to show it to the world.

So stop saying "I love you" just so you could hear it back
caressing your ego
because common sense taught me no other response
and my heart cringes painfully when some mere letters of comfort don't come out as naturally
-- because I was taught they shouldn't.


I won't live for you*

Little girl,
stop scratching the heart-shaped scar
on your wounded wrist
with words of past ghosts
just as it was about to heal.
You never owed the world
the crimson-glowing stains
on the young skin you didn't shed fast enough.

Little girl,
stop whispering poison into the alleys of your mind
just so it could match
the venomous responses of the ones who claim
it's for your best.
You never owed the world
a saviour
who would act like a band-aid
just to find itself at the bottom of a wastebin
in the end.

Little girl,
stop cutting pieces of your willing heart
with a blunt knife
only to give away to those who resent theirs
and then drown your hope with blame
at the thought of a self-inflicted failure.
You never owed the world
anything.

That is why at night,
when you weep away dusty snapshots of past moments
and pick on the faults only seen by your tired eyes,
just remember, little girl,
to take care of your soul.
Our gods have ceased asking for offerings.
The Middle Ages ended a long time ago.
Don't burn yourself on a stake
for anyone.


*titlul acestei poezii este inspirat dintr-un citat care mi-a placut enorm din cartea lui Stephen Chbosky, "The perks of being a wallflower". Vine cam asa: "I would die for you, but I won't live for you."