a poem that is not a poem (again)

the truth is

ugly but it’s the

truth

and

if I didn’t love so much

and

if I wasn’t loved so

fiercely

i would be

dead by now

and sometimes

i just wished to be

dead

to see the land beyond

this

and just remember

all that was beautiful

and not have to

choose

anymore.

*

if i could just

return to the womb

and be there

eternally

in the

young smile

in my mom’s photograph

and not be separated

anymore

and just belong

entirely

to another body

that isn’t this

and not have this mind

that haunts

me

and if i could just be

sure that

after this i would find

the ones i love and

that we would

all be

floating together

and forever

between the stars in

a nonexistence

filled with meaning

and love beyond

words and

life and bodies than

perhaps

I would just

die.

*

I am nothing but

the torment

of dreams

and the deepest desires

of all hearts

and I am all

the dead writers

before me

and the dust

of stars

and the fading smiles

in the old photographs

of my parents

and my sister’s

laughter

in the wind

and i am

all the memories

and i am too much

for myself

and i want

everything and

i can’t have it

and so

i want nothing

at all

even when

I am mesmerised

by this beautifully

meaningless

life.