POETRY and PREJUDICE

to all of you who recognize themselves in my work:
i'm not a hack. i don't write to please you. there's this one rule here:
if you have had even the slightest influence on my life,
i. will. write. about. you.
deal with it.
happy reading!

петък, 17 март 2017 г.

the innocent kids


I’m in love with the innocent kids –

how they never wonder if anyone is hanging out
without them
or flinch when someone touches
their arms – their families stayed together
in a world where love makes out of you
a deer in the headlights

how they remember their fifteenth birthdays
with candles lit on top of a Jonas brothers cake
(I vomited all the way home, tripping
on the pavement
carried by a boy I worshipped
and the girl he swore he loved )

these bat kids in small town high school jungles
don’t feel dirty when they think
about the past,
addictions never call them like a beacon
in a stormy ocean, it’s all fun

for the I-don’t-use-tumblr kids and their Disney channel faces
who don’t want to live in castles but in tents,
where my rosary of social media apps
cannot reach them –

forever live the teenage saints,
patrons of the naivety of youth,
their facebook albums of outdated photos
become my holy book at night
as 23 eternities of being lonesome   
drag my heart around for hours -- 

I am so aware of my aging flaws
I wish I could bleach myself on the inside  --
to hell with Jordan, let me drown
in Lethe --

may oblivion turn

‘them’ into ‘us’ .  

неделя, 23 октомври 2016 г.

So it has come to this :
the dream turned into a nightmare,
the prize became a burden,
the hell of yesterday is now
a desired destination.

You've proven yourself wrong
more times
than you care to remember --
your loved ones lost,
your enemies watching your back,
all your demons --
descended into silence.

And now you have to reinvent
the little anchors of identity,
the pebbles of security rolling
at the bottom of your soul.

I PROMISE YOU --
you shan't be forgotten
for being worlds away from
your own self :

"desolated"
"undignified"
"dethroned"

-- thorns of words,
but nothing else.

четвъртък, 21 април 2016 г.

бронз

аз и келсайър имаме много общо:

и двамата носим белези по ръцете си
и двамата се гмуркаме в мъгли
и знаем, че всеки полет е неминуемо падение
и двамата сме обичали и губили
и обичаме и губим
и ни обичат и губят

както направихме с разсъдъка си

ямите на хатсин
не са много по-различни
от пропастите на ума

петък, 4 март 2016 г.

bedsores

my heart has the bedsores.
it spent so much time lying
on this shrink's couch
crying its bruises healthy
i am afraid its legs don't work
anymore.

have you felt it, the giant pressure
of your lungs and ribs
over your heart?
they whisper "keep running,
running, running, running!"
so it just gives up and lies down --
"i'm not moving anymore. No
view is worth suffering through this
cross-(mind)country marathon.
i don't care; i'm tired--"
and it never moves
anymore.

but stillness is decay.
and the rest turns into restlessness
in a while, you start itching, aching --
you want to move to move on.
oh, you might find out your heart
has the bedsores. it's been so long
analyzing its own cracks
its legs are not working
anymore.

a morning of silent satisfaction

it's so quiet in my head now:
nothing to rush to or avoid
no one to be afraid of
no one to tend to, nothing to attend --
old hurts and old loves
forgiven and forgotten

old friends let live
old parents grateful for

two or three things to look forward to
one or two to understand
to make better
but the calm inside my head demands:

'now only be. exist
and know the pace
the earth keeps.
you don't need anyone
more than you need yourself.'

and i listen: i will be fine.
just on time -- in a while.

петък, 22 януари 2016 г.

now i know

the silence as canvas
as a diamond chest full of poison
as the keyhole just without the key
and your mind as a knife
that could slice the fabric open
and let the bloodred seeds spill out
your words as the mud
the clay under fingers, your mouth
open as gates to let the tide through

the sounds as the final vessel
your will as a might so giant
the final result as something completely detached

you
as
god –
alone, forever silent

петък, 15 януари 2016 г.

detachment

they say:
love is all you need
love will save you,
trust love

how blood-chillingly well you know
that

what they call ‘love’
is hands around a neck
squeezing gasps of affection
pumping chests with iron fists
to make loyalty beat again
spitting out watery confessions
out of lungs full of tears

love is not a beach guard
paid to save your castaways

you don’t need 'love’
you are dying for affirmation

it’s the embers in a hearth of stone
your hands stretched above your head
it’s to be allowed to go
and allow oneself to leave content

noone stays home forever
we all depart when our bruises fade to green

love is having the ability to shelter
someone else
and giving them
the choice
to heal