Don’t let life pass you by 

​There’s so many places 

I’ve never been 

So many people 

I’ve never met 

So many conversations

I’ve never had. 

Life’s short

Some say

Life’s too long 

Others say

Truth is, 

Life 

Lives inside of us 

Every part of us. 

Life doesn’t care about time 

Life lays here, right now. 

Life is what passes by 

As you ask why, 

As you wonder if you should fight, 

As you lose your wings and heart. 

There’s so many things to do, 

So many words to write, 

So many beauty to rhyme, 

And we’re here 

In the middle of a street, 

Lying against the cold asphalt 

Not caring about time or cars 

Living life, 

No fear 

No lies 

Only you and I, 

This Earth of ours 

And the moon who shines 

For the lost minds 

Too absorbed 

By the meaning of time, 

Always wanting what they don’t have, 

Wanting to be another one, 

While watching their lives pass by. 

Conversations with a broken lady #18

​’I’m tired of pretending,’ she told me with intense eyes at the station bench, ‘after he left, I suffered a lot, more than I could try to explain. And after a certain time, I thought I had move on, I really thought I was happy again, that it was all over, gone. But now I realize it was all a lie, he’s still on my mind and always has. It’s like a disease from which you can’t recover. I want to call him, tell him all this things, but I don’t want to ruin him. His happiness is my first priority, and mine’s not even second.’

‘Stop doing this to yourself,’ I asked her worryingly, ‘it really isn’t the easiest way to do it but you should let it go now. If you want to call him and tell him the truth, do it. Truth is what matters. We tell little lies everyday, and forget about them the day after; but when you tell the truth, it stays there, it changes things. To better or worse but at least it makes it different, like closure. Right now you don’t know where you are. I don’t mean it physically, but your true self don’t know what it wants, so you’re aging for direction. And the direction we already know seems always the better, the easiest; but it isn’t always the best. Time changes things and persons, it’s inevitable. You have to keep going, with truth as your armor, and in the right time you’ll find the image you were searching for.’

Poet’s curse 

​You can’t create without destroying. That’s the poet’s curse. 

He just can’t create art 

without destroying his life 

or everyone’s around. 

Write, fuck, drink, smoke

Fuck, smoke, drink, write 

Any direction 

Is valid 

Any confession 

Can beat the habit.

You’ll think I love to write 

But it really tears me appart, 

Makes my being cry 

As my soul flies. 

I love poetry, 

But it’s so sad 

I don’t think it’s healthy 

For this man. 

It gives me hope, 

As it destroys my corpse. 

It takes me home 

When I’m surrounded 

by madness, 

It helps my loneliness 

As it causes it. 

Poetry is life 

It will take you down 

To the darkest place 

In your heart 

Make you fight 

Your deepest demons 

And greater fears, 

Kneel as you face them 

And get up as you write them. 

Poetry is like a giant plain 

Going through the clouds 

Annihilating the pain 

As it grows again;

And this is a flight 

That could never land.