I opened my eyes to my life with warm sunlight leaking into the room. Today, from them, from the other days standing as a repetition of each other. I'm gonna take my first step into the similitude. I will wear all adjectives and requirements on me like cardigans.
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It's a turbulence, which adds a different role to my name. In contradictions. I go to the flow of expectations that these contradictions bring to me. Your expectations have to be pushed by me, and I'm always hanging from your scale, I'm not dying, but I'm not dying.
It hurts, I resist the pain and get used to it. Then the balance is correcting, the rope is coming out of my neck, the rope is smothering this time, it squeezes. Wherever I am, she keeps squeezing like I do. I flee the crowd to forget, the inadequate actions that the crowd promises but always lacks a part of me.
I'm saying it's insufficient because it pulls like an insatiable swamp and always wants more. I'm going deeper into the bottom of the turmoil with the perfection that I impose on myself. Then I look at the sky, I'm taking the reminder and refreshing blueness of looking up to the sky, my lungs, mumbling a poem silently; You know, death is a blue empty cage sometimes. It would be a lie if we translated pain into what language.
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She's integrating into a blue poem and whispering as time goes by, whispering in my ear. A cold wind passes through my face at that moment. When was the last time I did something for myself? When did I have a mouthful of laughter? When I start with my questions do not stop behind. I'm putting on my cloak, the critical voice is silent, expectations are on the shelf. I say dust and stay there, stay on the spot.
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