You are you,
But not the whole of you.
Sums and pieces,
Bit by bit collected over time.
You are the result of your moments spent,
The collective of good and bad swirling in the mix.
A voice that can be heard,
Yet drowned out altogether.
You are you,
But not the whole of you.
For until death takes you,
Closing your eyes for the last time.
You are still collecting,
You are still learning.
And by the grace of God, hopefully,
Still living.
So find peace and give it away,
Live in hope to give it to others as well.
Chaos reigns as long as you dispense fear and live in it,
So keep living and become whole.

I came from Sicily,
The bone-dry land
Of abandoned temples
Where my ambitions
Did not blossom,
And London was my brightest future.
A future made
Of bills to pay
Of a too expensive rent
Of one meal a day,
Of jobs that slipped
Too easily through my fingers.
But the future was mine at last,
It was mine to read, to grasp,
Frantic, enigmatic, full of riddles
Like the copy of Ariel I had bought
One day at the bookshop.
And just like that copy
Of Sylvia’s book
The future is so cruel,
Yet so incredibly beautiful.

And so she wrote about
the most exquisite pain
he caused;
the way he said 'i love you'
the way he kissed her
and then a bit later on,
the way he left with a simple 'sorry'

She wrote about every tears
that has been shed
and yet she wondered,
was it all that easy
was it worth it
was he worth it?

She told the world about him
She turned him into a poetry
And she wrote wholeheartedly
Hoping someone could understand
How cruel he was to break her

But deep inside, she wanted him
to read it out loudly
and finally find his way back to her
and she wanted to hear the phrase
'i love you', once again
but this time-
she wanted him to not tell her a lie

a.r