"Feel the emotion, treat it as a wise visitor, serve them tea, and if it is too much, take a break, breathe out, like steam breathes out of the surface of the cup, expand, like the tension across the water, crack, if you are made out of glass, crack, if you fall against the ground."
The weather of your emotions could change at any moment
from sweating hot to mild, moldy, musty, damp, polyester socks,
let the sun kisses
birth freckles on your skin
they will be the only sign
that we are made of constellations
after all,
(the freckles are constellations of the skin)
after all,
don’t forget, sandwiches are not safe places,
Panino’s is not a sanctuary, so ask the barista out,
you can have your heart be broken in Starbucks
surrounder to the wave of emotion,
over a salted caramel frappuccino,
surrender to your feelings of fear,
let them embrace you like sugar embraces your veins,
find a sanctuary,
it doesn’t have to be intimacy with another person,
it could be your back arched against a pillow,
or a chair,
your eyes perched against a book,
holding space, fight the urge
to light that cigarette, order that beer,
open your phone first thing in the morning, jump
into the middle of the street, break
your legs against traffic,
especially,
especially,
don’t share your bunk bed with anybody,
neither the springs nor you are made
to withstand that kind of weight,
nor the sweat of 2 people and alcohol.
It is more likely that you will seek comfort
inside someone who is insane, DON'T,
because you will learn to be alone
from them, from being with them.
"Practice mindfulness of emotions
while being in your home country,
Argentina."
Engage with people,
break the 4th wall that surrounds your life,
"you are not the Truman show,"
that’s what my therapist tells me,
but I’m still single.
I can’t get past exchanging stares
with strangers, sometimes waving,
once or twice saying hi, but
from there, to us sharing
a bunk bed on the floor,
fucking, surrounded
by splinters and broken
pieces of wood, with springs stabbing
my shoulders as much as her claws,
or my vagina as hard as her penis,
or her nipples as milky as the sand,
we have ways to go.
If I was a stranger I would
have already given up on me,
maybe, I’m a stranger to myself,
maybe I have given up on me, and
I shouldn’t, maybe I’ll suspend disbelief,
& remember those younger days of night-
-life excursions into someone’s lips,
my home for the night, excitement
and cum for months, maybe it’s time,
I break my 4th wall, sending
my frappuccino grande across the glass,
breaking my bones like a car accident,
my limbs shattering like splinters of a bed
frame, while rugs and AC units burst into flames,
while the glass cup rejoins itself in backward motion,
while all my neurons fire, while her tits slap
my face like an MTV song video,
maybe being alive isn’t so bad after all,
if I could snap myself in half with
your being, like the glass table in my living room
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