What pierced through the cracks

[DreamGirl]

@DeDal N. - ma bucur mult ca ti-au placut ^-^ Te inteleg perfect, si eu am luat o pauza buna de la poezii, care va mai dura ceva din cauza perioadei asteia, dar incetul cu incetul ne revenim noi. Apreciez in special comentariul legat de forma - indeed, I love working with that one, si imi place sa ma joc cu diverse structuri atat in proza, cat si in poezie.

Nu am mai scris nimic in ultimele saptamani, dar am cate ceva de dinainte. Prima e uhm, kind of foarte personala and dear/real to me because of that. Iar a doua e o simtire de moment care m-a cuprins dupa ce am terminat de citit si corectat chestii scrise acum multa vreme, atunci cand mi-am dat seama prin prisma lor cat de mult m-am schimbat. Hope you'll like them :)


"inheritance is accidental"

her presence casts a timid shadow
that makes my soul crush
into walls unknown to me
that had been separating
ambiguous concepts for ages,
lingering between the gentle touch of a key that fits
and the confinement behind your previously assigned ward.
so I wonder -

i) was there a time
when the white strands of carefully covert memories
didn't crown your hair
forsaking past grace for present caducity?
you burnt those pictures away
without a second glance,
you sacrificed piece after piece,
ripping it off your healthy bones
without building a new self in return
and, while others blamed the lack of mortar
on the rotten cells of your labile mind,
never fighting the imminent disintegration
cast upon yourself with cruelty
by chance,
no one cared enough to realise
that maybe
you only set fire to yourself
because the vivid photographs of the days
before you kneeled
froze you in a time
you could no longer control.

ii) how long have you been standing there
in the doorframe,
hands behind your strenuous back,
mouth barely curling in a whisper?
have you drowned your thoughts
under the glimmering surface of deceiving judgement
or are they only spoken
to the particles of dust
floating through a room
stuck with a peculiar scent that kept us all away
amid all compassion?
you never opened the windows,
afraid the wind would blow
the little that was left of you
away.

iii) why won't you just leave me alone?
anger rises in veins that can contain it no more,
so I burst at you carelessly
because it's easier to step on crooked hearts
than acknowledge their mere need for affection;
because the uneasy step
someplace, sometime, before someone
as far away as everything I've ever known
had rendered my empathy inexistent.
your fragile beingness baffles me,
the sudden void you'd leave behind would do
just the same.
I love you
but I don't know how to,
so I close another door
and become complacent in the venom
of my own futility.

iv) they say schizophrenia
can be inherited
quite easily;
so am I shutting you down,
for fear of what I might become?


"everything is transformed"

reading particles of your old journal
is like watching the negative
of lost matter and conserved days
as it drips
into the realities
you have outgrown.

[DeDal N.]

Nah, pana termin eu de plans ca nu pot sa postez in topicul meu, m-am gandit sa trec pe aici. Am stat degeaba prea mult timp, deci ar fi cazul.
Prima poezie ma face sa vizualizez o regina si nu neaparat la propriu. Modul in care este descrisa si modul in care ii deslusesc puterea ma duce cu gandul la o luptatoare, pana la urma, la cineva ce prefera sa isi termine viata in chinuri, dar cu capul sus. Nu stiu de ce, stiu doar ca asta vad. Si daca am dreptate si daca acea persoana e cea care cred eu ca e, then may The Gods bless her. Fie ca e fictiune fie ca vorbesti de acea persoana in particular, un suflet, ai nevoie de multa dragoste pentru a o descrie in felul in care ai descris-o tu. Trebuie sa o privesti intr-un mod in care pana la urma, nimic nu mai ramane ascuns, astfel reusesti sa scoti la lumina fiecare sentiment, fiecare traire. Sincer, in spatele cuvintelor alese si in spatele metaforelor, simt o tristete mult prea mare pentru a fi cuprinsa in rime. Apreciez foarte mult aceasta creatie si tin sa mentionez ca e una dintre cele mai reusite si asta spune multe, tinand cont ca pentru mine e mult prea greu sa aleg o favorita din toata arta ta. Cat despre a doua poezie, fiind scurta si la obiect ma ajuta sa trec peste forma ei si sa ii vad continutul. Totul e diferit, nimic nu mai ramane la fel, din pacate, cateodata.
Sper sa apreciezi pana la os persoana care esti si care ai devenit si sa nu regreti faptul ca te-ai schimbat pentru ca, pana la urma, schimbarea e necesara intr-o proportie pe care o poti alege tu. Keep going xD!
Edit: Thank Gods, I have my poems back xD.

[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."

[DeDal N.]

It's been a while, isn't that right? Nu are rost sa bag scuze asa ca am sa trec direct la subiect. Adica la comentat si apreciat. Inainte de asta, vreau sa iti spun ca ador modul in care metaforele folosite de tine ajung direct la subiect si nu sunt greu de deslusit. Chiar daca unele cuvinte imi sunt noi sau poate le gasesc prin memorie, ajungi mereu la subiect si reusesti foarte bine sa descrii emotiile traite. Nu stiu daca am mai mentionat asta in trecut. Ca si in prima poezie, vad clar imaginea unei fiinte ce a trecut peste situatii dificile folosind propriile puteri, fara a cere ajutor chiar daca uneori ar fi avut nevoie de el. De asemenea vad cum aceeasi persoana nu accepta shit de la nimeni altcineva, chiar daca ar fi vorba de persoana iubita. Am folosit acel cuvant pentru ca avand in vedere subiectul poeziei pe care il observ, acela ar fi cel mai potrivit si cel mai direct. Cat despre a doua poezie, inainte sa incep, trebuie sa spun ca spre rusinea mea nu am citit cartea insa am vizionat filmul si nu are rost sa incerc sa vorbesc de rau, a fost extraordinar de emotionant. Poezia ta ma duce cu gandul la un alt citat din aceeasi carte, ma gandesc ca a aparut in carte daca a fost prezent in film si anume "We accept the love we think we deserve." Mi se pare ca prin versurile tale incerci sa schimbi ideea citatului in sine si sa ii arati adevarata valoare. Iarasi cred ca aceste doua citate, cel mentionat de tine si cel de mai sus se bat cap in cap si e la alegerea sufletului cu care vorbesti in poezia ta, pana la urma. Love them, keep it going xD!

[DreamGirl]

Thank you so much, darliiing *suffocates her with hugs* Ma bucura nespus sa vad ca trezesc emotii.

Realizez ca nu am mai trecut de mult timp pe aici, timp in care am strans o mana buna de poezii, atat inspirate din propria-mi minte, cat si ca urmare a proiectului cu Secret Series de pe blog (I get secrets from people and try to make poems of them ^^; ). Pentru moment insa, voi posta doar poezii din prima categorie, as they are more personal. Prima a ajuns sa fie preferata mea, din toate cele scrise pana acum. Cat despre a doua... e inspirata, printre altele, din melodia aceasta, which has been forever haunting me. Sper sa va placa :heart:


boys will be boys

I was seven
the first time a boy lifted my knee-length uniform skirt
but my shriek was only met
with laughter
because boys will be boys
and why can't you take it more lightly
as the joke it is
and the joke you are,
don't you know it's no fun
to show even the slightest drop of resentment
against the apparently righteous hands
stripping you of the intimacy they decided you didn't deserve?
ultimately, cool girls laugh at it,
while waving the shame away
and locking it beneath a layer of thickening skin.

I was thirteen
the first time an unfamiliar hand grabbed my body
in places I never dared to let anyone touch,
let alone claim their own
and my arms still bear the burning reminder
of my futile attempt to resist
even though the purple galaxies faded a long time ago
for lack of someone to view them
as something more than just
child's play.
Boys will be boys
so in the end I should have been thankful
one of them rendered my body
worthy enough
of their careless profanity
because it doesn't matter if you wear turtlenecks
and two layers of clothes
to hide the early signs of puberty society already labelled as shameful,
it doesn't matter if you're still playing with dolls
or believing in princes from faraway lands,
if you still blush at the thought of a kiss
or wait for Santa each and every winter,
there might be age limits
on intriguing movies and mind-numbing drinks
but there's none when it comes to
the ease with which you'll learn
you're only an object on display.

I am nineteen
and I still remember to call my friends when I get home
so they would know I'm safe
and I still choose the well-lit alley
and walk with my head down
past the menacing shadows of strangers
and I still hear the distant voice of my mother
telling me boys will be boys
so if you insist on going out
in that scandalous shirt,
that shows your pale shoulders
and maybe a colourful glimpse of your laced bra,
you have no right to complain
about wandering hands
or staring eyes and witty remarks.

and baby, don't you recognise a compliment when you feel it
piercing through your skin?
you know, honey,
all I recognise is a hint of aggression
in an attempt to own what was never yours
so maybe instead of teaching our daughters
to hide and cringe and fear,
we should be teaching them
that they're not frail beings, but powerful thunderstorms,
that they are not a vapid object
on the rusty shelf of a convenience store
but walking pieces of art
and "do not touch" signs should be taken seriously,
so maybe instead of teaching our daughters
to conceal
we should be teaching our sons
to respect
because something as careless and immature as
boys will be boys
will never suffice to justify
anything.


Little Tiger Girl

There can only be so much
muffled anger and carefully misplaced blame
because excuses may seem like the only way out
and self-proclaimed retrieved courage
might take you until the next stop
but eventually you'll have to get down
and realise you paid for your fare
with a two-faced coin;
a crumbled ticket was all you got left in the end,
a fading piece of paper,
forever reminding you
that you once held a pulsing heart
between your clumsy fingers
and decided
with lucidity
to let it go.

You never thought about the intensity of its impact
when it inevitably hit the pavement.

[DeDal N.]

Boys will be boys. Baietii vor fi pedepsiti pentru faptele lor asa cum toata lumea e si asa cum merita. Sexul nu scuza comportamentul indecent si mainile ce umbla fara voia lor pe unde nu le e locul. Mannn, prima poezie mi-a ridicat temperatura in modul cel mai serios. Nici nu stiu de unde sa incep cu subiectul asta si stiu ca daca incep, nu mai termin. Si daca o mama are sa imi bage mie, ca fata pe gat scuza pentru baieti si pentru nerusinarea lor, atunci acea scuza are sa intre pe o ureche si are sa iasa pe cealalta. Si daca tot am inceput, lasa-ma sa termin, cu scuzele de rigoare pentru tine @DreamGirl pentru ca nu stiu daca ai vrut ca topicul tau de poezii sa se transforme intr-o lectie adusa de un feminist. Pot sa merg pe strada imbracata in haine de calugar sau in lenjerie intima, nimeni nu are dreptul sa ma atinga fara voia mea. Boys will be boys, dar hai sa fim seriosi, e ca si cand ai pune o bucata de carne in fata unui rechin si i-ai spune sa nu o manance. Exceptand faptul ca nu suntem animale si ratiunea pe care o avem si de care *sper ca* ne bucuram ne deosebeste de ele. So, ca si o fiinta cu ratiune, you know it's not yours to touch, to keep without consent. I will not back down, I will not be shut and I will fight for my right. Asa cum nimeni nu are dreptul sa ma rusineze pentru ca sunt fata, pentru ca sunt una si egala cu restul. Si daca to am mentionat cuvantul feminist, am sa pun si definitia lui aici, pentru cei ce au inteles semnificatia lui in mod gresit. Feminism=miscarea ce defineste si apara egalitatea din toate punctele de vedere dintre sexe. Adica femeia e egala cu barbatul si are aceleasi drepturi. Pentru ca am mai vazut pe site persoane ce credeau in definitia gresita. Google it. Si ca sa nu bat din gura pe langa pe aici, consider ca poezia aceasta e perfecta si mult, mult prea dureroasa pentru mine, ceea ce ma deranjeaza pentru ca stiu cat adevar e in ea. Si a doua creatie imi e pe plac foarte mult, ador metaforele si cuvintele pe care le folosesti deoarece ele au mereu un impact greu si asemanator cu cel mentionat de tine. I like, like it so much, and again, if you mind, my bad dar ma gandesc ca esti de acord cu ce am spus mai sus, din moment ce creatia ta a descris atat de bine sentimente traite *hope not but still*.

[DreamGirl]

@DeDal N. - Thank you thank you thank you. You got it just right. Si ma bucura nespus. I'm a feminist myself, no worries. Stiu ca multi incurca conotatiile cuvantului si se tem de el teribil dar hei, that's why we're here: to educate. Ma bucur mult ca ti-a placut.

Am un writer's block de milioane, n-am mai scris nimic care sa nu fie eseu pentru vreun curs de vreo trei luni deja, partial din lipsa de timp, partial din lipsa de inspiratie. Too bad happiness isn't quite as inspiring, ca as fi umplut paginile. Pana atunci, mai postez aici niste lamentari putin mai de demult, da-de mi-or folosi ca imbold pentru creativitatea-mi adormita. Enjoy si sunt absolut recunoscatoare pentru orice parere ^_^


open letter to the oblivious

Dear world,
you always blame it
on the dark fog lurking between the cracks,
on the gravy clogging my arteries,
on the menacing figure
from the shadows past moments clothed me in,
the universal antagonist
dreadfully feared
before even coming into being;
you always tell me
to tend the graveyard between my lungs
and pull out the poisonous weeds
nestling behind a broken ribcage -

yet
it seems as if
in your judicious desire to appoint blame
your senses have been comfortably numbed
by this vaguely sweet scent
because oh, dear world,
dear crumbling giant,
you failed to notice
how it's never really the weeds which do one in,
but those tiny, delicate flowers
blooming just under the surface,
roots reaching into the decaying wounds
of your mind,
longing for a gentle rain to shower them with life
as if they wouldn't know
how long a drought can be.

for once, my dear,
be frank.
the murderer wears the kindest of masks.
it's always the hope.


the lies we tell ourselves

"She's such a bitch"
my friend murmurs with a faint yet mischievous smile
dancing at the corners of her lips,
while fleetingly reassuring me
of all the flowers crowning my being
and all the weeds suffocating hers.

She's such a bitch and yet she isn't
and I can't help but marvel
when did we start
hating on blurry silhouettes passing by
simply because their margins scratched our bruised skin
while our fast-paced journeys
intersected
for a split second;
when did we start
blaming oblivious figures
for the chances we missed
or the hearts we failed to touch
simply because their fingertips burned brighter
than ours,
leaving marks
that were easier to trace back;
when did we start
justifying fate's morbid games
by burying unknown souls
into the negligently dug graves
of our own
insecurities
simply because their branches reached for birds
ours had already scared away;

"why did we start"
I whisper
as I wipe my hands on the corners of my shirt
in a nervous attempt to erase
thoughts I never dared to voice
because I don't want the spite clenched around my heart
or the dirt stuck under my fingernails
or the pieces of her I once wished to rip apart
which now stain my perpetual trembling hands
because she's not a bitch
isn't she?

and I hope she makes you happy