A quiet, calm, serene place,

contrast with my heart's pace.

Gently slipping into silence,

just like plush, soft and dense.


The smell of books my spirit sedates,

new or old, they are the gates

of my comfort castle, made of words,

where pages fly instead of birds.


Safe and warm, paper and pen,

I can write, this is my zen.

For paper puts up with a lot,

every line, curve and dot;

with each word I lay on the page,

I'm one step outside the cage;

Outside myself, this prison of mine,

the chaos spills into written line.


Away from problems, light and free,

peace at last, in the library.

Grill
Burn a little
Superficial surfaces
Reveal the real
Flavour

I am less than the sum of my parts,
I am glue,
Holding things together is what I do,
Always in the background I stay unseen,
Always in the places inbetween.

I am less than the sum of my parts,
I am glue,
Without me there wouldn't be any you,
Always in the dark but staying strong,
Always, I've been there all along

I feel the need to fill it all up,
my days, that is,
gather plans and gorge
on seamless social interactions,
slurping up smiles and gulping
down the cool liquid of laughter,
picking my teeth with the bare bones of boring conversation.
I’m an introvert, but time alone isn’t helping anymore.
Alone, I spiral. I starve.

What is the purpose?
Someone distract me from these things in my head called thoughts.
Nourish me, I am dying and I’m wanting it, too.
Please,
laugh until my stomach is so stuffed that I heave out another joke.
Talk until I bite my tongue and bleed, eagerly chewing, cheeks
hurting.

What neon emptiness has driven me here
to the all-you-can-eat buffet?
While I feast on my friends under these fluorescents
my shadows only wait.

Being an Introvert,
Doesn't mean being aloof nor rude
It is rather an art of living....alone
Our shyness is mistaken for insolence
And our being alone for having an attitude
Our trusted companion(mind) gives all the company that is needed
It fills us with thoughts so deep,
Another would drown in them
Feeling are so pure,
Angels would bow down to them

Yet , it look so beautiful
but making me ugly inside.
The bridges created by us
were unsurely doubting us
lacking the sense of being loved
we ended up being stifling
beneath our own bridges.

Oh would that I were less self aware
I'd hear their words
not feel their stare

On est là,
Sur un boulevard de
Lit en air
Et déplié,
L’œil vers le début de
Toit
Comme l’enfant de question.

On s’est dépensé trop vers
Au-delà,
Vers aux opinions de l’étrange,
Non propres miennes
Et on n’était plus.
Pleurer. Glorifié/-er.
Déteste parler et passer soi-même.

I know at last why I and Poetry
Got lost in a forest while
Looking for each other:
I pushed it out of
The tree line
And left it to withering
Formal ways of public.
Maimed in the stage lights it
Got to smoke cigarettes
And now something
Has to be done
To retrieve it.
Mais on a déjà le clé.
J’ai sa trace
Di indietro degli arboli.

Bon sang,
L’extravertisme me tue (comme
L’alcool en excès),
L’introvertisme me guérit,
Seule là on se reveille
Aux blessures en excès
Par le jonque d’exister en vain
(Parmi les poubelles intellectuelles).

On est pas pour le public
À son plaisir rationnel.

Et Jeanne « du Russe » a l’odeur
De la cuisine
Et du refuge.