And I Shall Dream

You
and Me
High on ideas
Places to see
Stories to be
We
Lucidly dream of us
And thus
Psychedelic rock murmurs
And you caress
My long black curls
I hold you
By your sunken pale cheeks
And days turn into weeks
Weeks into months
Months into reality
And push us back
To our everlasting dreams

Swings

Maybe it was because I was a selfish little brat who never wanted to share anything and always wanted infinte things. Maybe it was because of the fact that since I remember, I loved to be out of this world. Maybe it was because it fulfilled my will for power.
But, I always loved swings. Only swings.
Slides were too fast and the seesaw required a plus one. But swings.
Oh.
They were the only thing in parks that my childish self approved of. If there were no free ones, I'd get furious and stick my tongue out to the innocent kids who were on them. And, even though all swingsets have two places, I always preferred the other one being free while I was on them.
Like I do now, back then I also admired things which made me feel, the most. Whenever I got on, I knew this must be how aeroplanes feel the moment before they take off. At the beginning I needed my mom to push me a little, never as much as I asked for. But, once I remained by myself, my adventure begun.
I would always, always close my eyes shut. Vivid pictures of galaxies, stars and infinte times would be placed in front of my eyes, waiting for me to reach them. When gained full speed and power, I'd slowly open my eyes. I was so, so high. Physically. And if I knew back then, I'd say it's psychologically too. My tiny feet, up in the air, with tiptoes brushing the bright or dark sky.
Every moment of it, I was terrified of falling down. Chains snapping. My balance disappearing. Something going wrong and destroying my life.
Absolutely terrified.
But oh...
It felt like flying. Like being free. Having no one to stop you from being who you truly are. An infinity. Like that quote and scene when "In that moment, I swear we were infinite."
And no matter how much the possibility of falling grew, quite equivalently with the heights, I never cut my wings down and landed because of it.
Maybe I don't still have the same courage, my little helicopters never stop encouraging my most unbelievable and uleaveable ambitions. Hold the dearest sunsets of mine. Lost chances and forbidden conversations. Looks and secrets. Pointless arguments about abstract, non-argumentable phenomenoms and artworks. Inevitable disappointments and loves of my life.
Never letting me down, nor to fall down, providing a one way ticket to the world of devastatingly beautiful feelings.
Making me feel like a person.

"Comfortably Numb"

I love writing, thinking, philosophizing. It's my life. And yet, in that exact same life, I hate defining "things". There's some kind of satisfaction in letting things just be. When you are the person who wishes to be free in every meaning of freedom, it's natural to give that freedom to everyone and everything around you.
If I was to have a boy to love, talk 'till dawn, have sex with, I'd never call him my boyfriend. I'd never say how we are in a relationship, I wouldn't define us as complicated, I wouldn't say he's just a friend. He'd be mine, I'd be his, and we wouldn't be anyone's. I hate having to clarify who my "best friend" is. No one. I do have friends and they're far from equal in my heart. And no, I wouldn't use the term "best friend" if it wasn't for the shallow simplicity of the society members. They're all such different people, some more, some less compatible to the creation of myself, but not at all formed to be compared.
What am I feeling, it's a whole spectrum and it's indescribable. The closest I could get to explaining it would be through colours and songs. Today I am plum purple and The Ramones. Freshmen year, I was the grayest gray and Born To Die, Lana Del Rey. When I graduate I wish to be fierce bordeaux, dark red an You Could Be Mine melody of Guns N' Roses.
It's so comfortable, free, "I don't care" spirit. You feel what you feel and are what you are, for you and the ones who understand you. Once you start being this person, a ton of weight slips down your shoulders. You tell everyone to fuck off, perhaps feeling it's too kind. No one controls you. All flesh and blood barriers are kicked down, automatically your own self-doubts are taken away, too.
You don't necessarily become the crazy rock star who appears drunk and high on every concert and shouts from the rooftops that they are living the dream, but that kind of person would be proud of you.
It's all fucking amazing, isn't it?
Yeah, it is, if you are the type of person who would know to keep the balance.
I most definitely am not.
Nowadays, this refusing to define things thing started to feel as a deeply buried fear of emotions, growing up and being hurt. When you don't have an exact condition, it lessens the possibility of being hurt directly. When wanting to start a war, the offending side does not attack until sure what it is attacking. Being that strong and independent kills your possibility of functioning, not normally, but successfully.  You abandon yourself from the world, which actually has some extraordinary things to offer. More importantly, you abandon yourself from your whole being.
At least I did.
That crazy side is a hell of a passionate one, and extremes often ruin you. The sad thing is, that's not even a glimpse of the whole person you are.
It's a logical error to say something in a debate that speaks the direct opposite of your belief, but it's not in life.
I guess there is a moment when you really need to be a bit grown-upy and mature.
Don't be afraid to feel abstract, but also, don't be threatened by the hard ground.
That guy, one day he'll have to become your real something or nothing, and also you'll point a finger at a friend and say "yeah, it's them".
You'll be this sure rock, then they'll bring you down. You'll be this muddy puddle of a human, then you'll stop and kick yourself in the head and get a reality check. It'll suck. Fuck, it'll tear down your world and all of it's walls, once again. But person you'll be after...oh, that's once in a lifetime of a phenomena.
I guess I believe in that person. No matter how much chaotic and confused it gets. It'll be the brightest one, shaped in the melody of Beethoven's No. 5 Symphony.

Belonging. Estranging.

Rainy days. Long queues at the post office. Food at restaurants that takes too damn long. Deadlines. The finals week. Sad songs on maximum volume. Homemade instant coffee. The last cookie in the jar. Long lost bobby pins. Dusty books. Abandoned houses. Winners. 

They say we came to this world alone, and that it is our duty to fly away the same way. Somewhere in between, you might run over to a few personas here and there. But, everybody is replaceable, you do  not need anyone, neither are you irreplaceable to someone, right?
Then why bother to fit in?
Squadification, if it may be called that. 

"I was walking down the pitch black, brightest white lighten-up hallway. Floor was white and shiny, walls were navy blue and matte. Fragile individuals standing still, captured by their own minds, firm groups swaying in the light breeze, trapped by the threads of a (the?) puppeteer. 

It is in one's human nature to seek glassy safety. They taught us to fake it until we make it, right?

People, since the very first ones, went all around and about in order to find an easier way. It was quite working for them. That is, until that thin line between homo sapiens and other animals was made. Nevertheless, nothing really changed since. We got steam machines, electricity, toilet seats, chocolate with hazelnuts, Wi-Fi, chemical substances that increase natural income of potatoes, parliaments and medicaments. Yet, nothing changed, didn't it?

Turning left, faking a smile, I found my self in the poorly produced theater play. Poor because it didn't cost much to get in.

Oh, but just so you know, if you didn't pay on the bridge, you will on the overpass.

There I was, standing in a soap bubble shield. It seemed nice. Only, sometimes it would appear nicer to stand lonely in a dark box made of hard blocks. Then it wasn't sometimes. Then it was just in the nighttime. Finally, it was every fucking millisecond.

As the evolution of everything that ever existed, introvert pre-revolution took the mind a quite few lightning years to get to the point. 

Just like that(?), I started being part-time charlatan, full-time masquerader.

You know how in pop-rock-indie chants, half skyscraper high, half into vodka bottle singers emphasize about all the bein' bad feelin' good. Being bad feeling good what? Bullsiht. 

Concept of normality killed the human, curiosity killed the cat, and in reality, we're all troubled.

Venetian mask of gold and red shun around my eyes while I wandered in the alleys of individualists and thick white rag was around them while I stood still in the groupish production.

Did I ever made it while faking it?

I sure did, I made it to the cocoon's nest.

Cheers darlin' ! We made it as easy as it gets.

Industrial revolution started when we needed new source of energy, American revolution set off because they needed to break the Royal fence, French revolution was invented due to the too much of a state chaos. Mine has risen in the desperate need of myself.

The thing is, modern society gives out the pictures that groups must be similar on so many levels, for too many reasons. And we tend and tend and tend to reach that perfection, only to be broken inside and realise so a moment too late. Only the minority does. They start talking to their selves when nobody's home, fool their selves that they came in this world alone. Nobody told them how it was gonna be. They are too young to get their hearts broken, too young at heart yet it got too late when they find themselves so far apart. 

Losing right at the point where the world stops and we begin. 

Instead of just letting be. Finding the You in you. Becoming an individual. Gaining a radioactive magnetic energy. Erasing standards. Breaking squads and stitching up circles of smiley faces. Or resting bitch faces. Or any kinds of faces, ruining the existence of blanks. 

I guess it never went wrong, it was like that since the beginning of time. It actually has to go right.

There are no individuals, and the squads are as real as an objectively perfect person. They're not real neither they should be.   

There's just you, me and the world."

Rainy days always end cozy and comfortable. Queues end and make you stronger. Food gets tastier after you go through a little wait. You find a bit of enjoyment in the adrenaline rush of the deadline sometimes, don't you? The finals week teaches you stuff, even if it's in a form of a pocket manual for pure survival. Sad songs cheer you up because you feel understood, and don't you lie. Instant coffee does it's job yet doesn't require dressing up and giving away those very important five euros that you've been saving up to buy those perfect shoes. And we all know that unlocking a door with bobby pins is mostly fiction. Dusty books are indeed the best ones when you give them a chance and go through a coughing fight with the "dusty" part. Abandoned houses make pretty amazing photographs and sights.

Winners. They do stand alone in the bright lights, but it's the midnight applause that counts.

It's not about the ones that accept you, it's about the ones with whom you find. The ones who found you. You in them, and them in you.   

You. Leave.

She often had those mood swings. She would feel completely cold and deadly relaxed. She would keep the calmness on her face, until some strange anxiety didn't shiver it's way to her body. She remained calm, her expressions as cold as ever. She would be the only witness of the contradictions her body and soul produced.
She wished, more than anything, for her absurd interior to leave, or at least to make an impression on the exterior. She despised and adored her stone like facade.
She felt like a prisoner of her own grotesque psyche. She fought with words and actions against the thoughts. She never won. She proved that thoughts were the sharpest sword on the market. She fired bullets from those deadly sharp edges. She held those fights in a pretty small arena, that was pretty soft, surrounded by a sphere completely made of bone material. She had only one contestant. She kept him going round and round. She gave him boomerang bullets. She made them always come back to the subject and shoot them directly in the center of his being.
She never learnt to kick this fellow out of the club.
She had her outsides remain cold. She screamed in pain, sadness and helplessness. She had her exterior remain gray.
She slowly let herself die, because no one ever taught me how to get saved.

"Your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head"

Strings of gold and black
They, since forever, get me attached
To the one that made the sound
To the one that would fast become my mental wound
Notes and words
Opened new horizons, created untouched worlds
In my mind
Made me see more, made me blind
Rock 'n' roll was his lullaby
Soon enough my favourite place to hide
Somewhere in between
The all what ifs and the should've been
Stood destiny
With her fetish of testing me
Spreading flowers and joy
Made my heart a zero to three years toy
My eyes sparkle and shine
My fantasies never becoming mine
Threw a him here or there
Just to make me tear
The heart and the strings
And a few hand written things
Then make another joke
And another one was awoke
With a six pack of strings coloured in gold and black
To the very beginning we'll head back
With my mind we'll play
And the melody will remain standing in my way

(P. S. The drawing you see under the text is my work)

Tell me

Tell me about the times you ended it before even starting. The times when illogical fear caught up. Those situations which listened to your brain instead the heart.
Tell me about the times you turned around because the gates seemed too chained up, not giving yourself the opportunity to see the easy road behind them.
Tell me about the times when you looked in everyone's eyes but your own. Letting them believe what they see on the inside is wrong.
Did it depress you? Did "the right thing" ever tasted as the most deffective one in your mouth? Did you admit to yourself how wrong you were for doing it?
Were you afraid they'd just tell you to shut up?
Analyze.
Realize.
Look up to the skies and see.
Tell me about all the times I said no, when I should've said yes.

Go. Away. Far, far away.

Never have I ever
Thought nor wished for forever
It's too distant
And I happen to love what is instant
You
You were a moment, too
A moment attractive
A state radioactive
And never have I ever
Imagined I'll find a moment so clever
Bringing me to you
I fought to believe it was true
And in the moment I started believing
You gave out the feeling
So wrong, so bad
From the best you became the worst I ever had
And never have I ever thought I'd give away my perfection so easily
So gladly
I want you out of my life so badly
Could you, oh could you please, disappear, baby?
Go, and never get back
Because I know, you'll make me black

"Save(?) me from myself, (Don't) let me drown"

It's probably no one else's fault but mine, for feeling this overwhelming desire for nothing and everything. And by "nothing and everything", yes, I do think of death. Or maybe it's life? Seems like I'm never gonna wake up knowing that one.
I never said I wanted to be awake at 2am, listening to the most dreadfully screaming songs on my playlist, where every high and every down of the heavy metal compositions is perfectly compatible to my heartbeat. I never asked for 2pm moments where I wish it was the am, so no one could see me while I 100 percent freely feel what I am feeling.

From this perspective, I know I'd be the worst of the bad girl culture, only if I was surrounded by different kind of people. I know for a fact I'd be the one who'd get tipsy, drunk and high first. I'd wear all black and ripped, I'd wing my eyeliner bolder, I'd have my darkest lipstick smuggled on daylight, cigarette never out of left hand, weekend never without an alcoholic rendezvous, partying always skyscraper high, motivation for being a non-reckless teenager forever low. In my head, I am. But everything out of it is the pure contrast. I wear black a lot but never too much, because I know the people around me would have comments. I drink occasionally and too rarely to be considered drinking. I start coughing like an old man just by sniffing the smoke, and I have never in my entire life seen any kind of drug or weed or pot, except on photos of the boys who are "that kind of cute". I never went to an actual party. And I have motivation for nothing but to be a little bit more reckless.
My friends, they are nice, they are the right kind of people to be around, they are the best, most loyal and caring people I have ever had a chance to meet. They despise all the things I secretly feel and could never imagine anyone of us being the person that was described few sentences before. Having them, it's guaranteed there's no danger of me being a bad bitch that I sometimes long to be. It's saving me.
But in this very moment, it's killing me.
I think too much and over think even more. Realize things that don't even have the base for being realized and see what's not there to be seen. I feel like there is a pressure on me, to always be decent. And I'm lost and greedy for freedom and just a press that easy seems unbearable. By knowing people too well, you get a blueprint of the way their brain functions stuck in your mind, and it's hell. You know exactly how they're gonna react, and read their mind, seeing opinions they were never asked for. You end up right every single time, every once in a while you risk your chances despite of knowing the actions that are to come.
Eventually, you get bored and turn to yourself. Just like I did long ago.
More and more often I find myself sitting, looking at everything at once and nothing at all. Maybe writing down carelessly what's on my mind, maybe being tired to do so. But never without music on full blast. It mostly coming from my headphones. Because, if played out loud, my music would give out way too much, and they would "realize" but never understand. And I've had enough of this world and it's lack of ability to understand. So, I play my screams and drown in them.
It used to be One Direction and cheesy lines of condolence, then Lana Del Rey and her tears of understanding. That could be played out loud. But then came a moment my mind needed something sharp to clear it up.
That kind of melody, it may told me life's worth living, it may sang about my darkest dark, it may gave away the secret I needed to hear. I don't know. Letting it come to me, we screamed altogether with my mouth staying strictly shut.
I guess the more screaming song it is, the more the mind has to scream about.
And if I started to give out my screams, the whole world, except the part who should, would understand why once upon a time I wished to end with whispers forever.

"Can't go home alone again, need someone to numb the pain"

I'm walking down this street, I know it way too good. The first bruises on my knees were made by kissing this pavement and I flew the first three feet with my bike on this road. Even though I never was a fan of any games that involved balls and/or running, I gladly did both on this very street. And I was happy, satisfied. Full of joy. Nevertheless if I was alone or had a group of friends to accompany me.
This is the place I always got back to. This is my home.
And now, while I'm freezing and my breath is visible once it gets outta my mouth, while my makeup is a bit messy and my feet tingly, while my headphones are on full blast and the blood in my veins has a visitor scientifically named CH₃CH₂OH, I feel some strange kind of emptiness. Not exactly in my heart, it's not even the one that is often to be found in my soul. But in the air surrounding me. In the sound of silence that I'm surrounded by.
I have returned home in these late hours alone for way too many times.
Like a joke, I always say I want a boyfriend because of the practical reasons: to have someone to buy you chocolate when you need it at 2am, to have someone who'll care your school bag when you've had to bring way too many books to carry, someone on whose jacket you can count on when you forget to wear your own, someone who'll always walk you home so your mom will let you stay out a little more. I guess all of these were the moments when through a joke I said the truth I didn't want to say clearly.
I need someone to guide me through the roads I already know, to watch me while I sleep in a hundered percent safe place, a shadow who'll be there when I'm afraid of harmless shadows.
Even though being a free, loneliness-liking spirit was my thing since I can remember, the time when I'm so full of myself that I'm in a desperate need for someone else has come.
I open the door, walk on the unfinished steps and enter my family home. Then turn left, right into my own warm, dim lighted, cozy heaven. Posters of my all time favorite musicians watch me carefully from the door and the ceiling, kinda sad, because they also know they're now not enough to make me feel loved by men.
I play the songs from that one band, that held that one concert, where I got to feel fireworks from that one person. Then, that one other rock band that that one person remembered me by. I can almost imagine he walked me home and lied down next to me, numbing this black hole that I feel.
And I continue to listen to the songs of the band which has a front man who that one person resembles of. The posters continue to watch me mimicking the face of that one person, when he watched me.
And all of them are fascinating. All of them know what to do.
Oh, but none of them are you.

And, that has to be my worst flaw.

I wish everything was happening the way I wanted it to. Sometimes, I lose my nerve because the smallest detail didn't end up the way I wanted it. Plans are being made, scenarios being precisely written, steps marked a long ago. And it won't stop.
No matter what's it about.
Lines and lines of exact expectations tumble through my head, day and night. And, the worst thing is, their main subject are the most abstract segments of my life.
I plan what'll I say when I see you, I plan how I'll feel and how will you react. I imagine, but end up being disappointed when it doesn't end up being like that. It's not expectations anymore.
And I hate it.
I tend to be chaotic and relaxed, but I fail miserably every single time. It's just, my wishes and dreams are so strong, they get sad when they don't see the light of the day.

A suspicious glance

It felt
As if it's hallucinogenic
It made me melt
A moment poetically photogenic
Smoke in my nostrils
Smoke in between your lips
Separating us, only a few fingertips
I didn't trust the truth
It never made a move
Never was a friend of my youth
Waited for it to prove
It never showed up
It never was seen
But it ended up being a movie scene
A look
A glance
An opportunity being mistook
A slow golden chance
Slow, like the slowness in you
When you did what you had to
Gently moving the look away
And that one in my mind will stay
Forever stuck
For a good night, for good luck
The way it sparkled
The way it sent off
Everything else to dark, set me free
The lights went off
Once you looked me
Like I was the only thing you ever, and forever, wanted to see