natural born loser

wishing to be somebody else's 

late’s night last sparkle of hope 

hoping for something to change, it can’t change 

and it won’t change 

a loathed tailed dog searching for cover

to the feet of the ones that were once

twiddling your fingertips all down the chastity walls

slipping on one to another

a pure soul dancing to the lights of the heavy traffic

and as they all race on without you,

the big chokehold gush of air

make all your limbs go waltz here and there

they seem like they want to escape

just like the doe glances

you’ve been shoving to everyone

trying to forsake where it hurts

and foraging to feel something with nowhere to go

you’ve been staring at it for long

looking me deep in the eyes knowing

all roads lead to me being all up inside of you

cracked dark circles running down your cheeks

my hands on your skin,

stunbolt sweetness hypocrisis

you’ve been mumbling “i miss my body”

it used to be our favorite spot

life has been so weird lately, i feel pretty half of the time and so i do feel alive partially.

i feel like i’m dying and i don’t like it but i don’t feel like putting any efforts into feeling alive either.

i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i feel good in my little angel bubble, i wish i could be a celestial body that juste rotates until it crashes into its bigger one.

just like saturn rings you know, whatever my poetry sucks and so do i, but i’m good at sucking (at least that’s what he told me) so ig my poetry isn’t that bad either.

everything’s just bad and great and i’m just down and grey, all the time, neutral neutral neutral STOP IT. i want a yes or a no.

is it that hard for once to give me closure, what should i do being stuck in those crossing lines?

i want to be part of the world between it, not beneath it.

by the way, i furtively changed my name by the course of my life as a symbolic farewell to my old self.

i used to be named Lénon, but Lénon started to die after getting raped.

her soul died, but his body hadn’t quite yet.

after meeting a guy who she thought could fix her, he ended up burriying her even deeper.

so Lénon as a last hope of living decided to die and let place to some kind of newborn, fragile and uninnocent soul,

called Lenon.

Lénon decided to change it when it was the time to renewing her identity papers, when the young girl who was working at the city hall asked her what was her name, she hesitated… and then spelled Lenon instead of Lénon.

finally getting rid off of this acute accent who made her feel out of place for the longest time, but kinda accepted it.

but since she further understood that she couldn’t be saved, and didn’t want to.

she decided to let herself away and give the more of the soul she had left to Lenon.

she’d be more than proud to see something that looks so similar to her being able to live, because she couldn’t.

she couldn’t bare the weight of life and its consequences.

we still all talk about you, and we’re all sorry that we couldn’t be sorry for you earlier, Lénon

Rip Lénon

« me every single day i walk on earth »

when i see sky ferreira, which is partially true.

because i'm also her the days i rot in bed

my daddy and him share something in common,

they both feel this kind of hatred and the urge of unpresenceness concerning me.

why? how? i don't know.

but all i know is that i love to see something i've never had in him.

and i love to mourn that kind of parental maleness my life has never came to know.

do i need this reassuring testosterone? yes

do i want it inside my body? no

disconnection with masculinity can often be seen as sexual, degrading, or weak.

which can be partially true, depending on who you are talking to.

personally? i haven't cutten my hair since the last time my dad told me he loved me.

is that that i want my hair to grow so long that i could be able to hide my weaknesses?

or is it that i want to fight the upper-left part of my genealogical tree?

i don't know.

puberty has made me realise there was something wrong with me,

am i interested in that protectful authority i've never experienced?

or am i grieving for the love masculinity never gave me?

being in his arms reminds me that not every soul wants to hurt me,

but they're briefly touching my skin,

reminding me that no one will ever get me. malfunction and affection

can often be sharing similarities.

some people do visualise how i feel,

but they can never give me what i need.

in a hands-hold center of agony,

we once all thought of the same thing.

"i wish my father loved me"