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.