шаляляля, you’re allowed to shut up

by my side, you’ll never be.
by my side, you’ll never be.

’cause I’m fake at seams
I’m lost in my dreams and
I want you to know
that I can’t let you go

and you’re never coming home again,
and you’re never coming home again

by my side, you’ll never be.
by my side, you’ll never be.

I see you, you see me
differently…

–

в дни като тези отчаяно ми се иска да съм повърхностна
нещата изглеждат толкова прости.
може би сама съм си виновна
пък уж е време да порасна

кога ли ще спра толкова да се влияя

whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there

—

пролет е

когато слушам дженезис и чета Плат
когато вятърът разпилява косата ми
когато тревата стига колената ми
когато вчера е свършило
когато имам надежда
(когато) не бива

да поглеждам

когато никога вече не посягам към молива
когато розовите цветове са се изчерпали
когато съм си себедостатъчна
когато дъждът е хубаво нещо
когато си мисля за болници
(когато)  имам

толкова душевни сродници

когато съм умислена
когато вървя по-бавно
когато не мога да плача
когато ми се иска да викам
когато се радвам, че съм различна
(когато ми се иска да съм различна)
(когато) всичко свършва и всичко започва

когато пораствам
и не го усещам като задължение

когато се приемам “по-зряла, отколкото съм”
защото е единственото зряло решение

—

I can’t dance (but

that’s okay)

изморена съм във всички отношения

днес е един от онези дни, в които ми се мълчи; напоследък се насъбраха много такива, но вече ми омръзна да се карам със света, а и някак не измислям какво да му кажа

уморена съм, уморена съм да се боря
със себе си, с другите, с нещата

днес е един от онези дни, в които ми се мълчи
ден, като всеки друг, в който искам просто да заспя

и толкоз
няма театралности, няма поетичности
спи ми се, но не ми се сънува

стига вече сънища, стига вече

не съм те искала насън..

E.E. Cummings once wrote, “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”

“He’s married. And I’m knitting a sweater.”

Яде ми се нещо с много течен шоколад вътре. Когато бях по-малка, мама ми правеше палачинки всяка събота.

sometimes when i’m at a busy train station
somewhere big with the noisy trains like king’s cross
i feel like putting down my bags and shouting things out because i’ve got something to say

свободна съм

p.s.: не говоря, защото не ми се говори. не пиша, защото не знам как. не зная, защото съм на 15. искаш нещо повече, но то просто не е там. and that’s it.. засега

bbq food is good
you invite me out to eat it, i should
go, but i’m feeling kind of nervous
and not quite myself
so i’m running late on purpose
and i know this won’t help
how things have become between us
but if i go you’ll give me hell
and that i don’t know how to fix it
is making me unwell, well
i arrive at your house
but you’ve just got up
and you are wearing a towel
and your eyes look dark
i help to dry your body
and i see your cut
so i give you a plaster
and we cover it up
i say “have you been crying?”
and you say “shut up”
So we sit in the garden
And touch the grass
With our hands

the sun is going down now
and it’s been okay
you tell me all these things you did
while i was away
and this worries me somewhat

you say you’re fine
listen
can you hear it?
does it speak?
will i feel it?
will it hurt?
am i near it?
i dont know

i dont know how more people haven’t got mental health problems
thinking is one of those stressful things i’ve ever come across
and not being able to articulate what i want to say drives me crazy
i think i should try and read more books
and learn some new words
my sister used to read the dictionary
i’m going to start with that
i’d like to travel
i want to see India and the pyramids
a whale and that race with all the bicycles in France
i’m not sure about rivers, they scare me
but i love swimming, i’m good at it
and when i swim i think about numbers
and count the laps
when i was younger i saw a house burnt down
and i walked past it everyday for the next six years
derelict, black, chalky and dangerous
i wondered if squatters lived there
i’m still not sure but i know there were never any parties ‘cos it was a shithole
after a while the council got round to tidying out the town
making it less offensive here and there
they said it was an eyesore so they let tore it down
behind the house was a wall with a few bits of crappy graffiti and the word ‘cunt’ written on it in giant letters
and now i walk past that

i like sitting in the park
and i like walking through it
i like taking my dogs there
and friends, and i like being alone
i like being able to shout
but i wish i could be quiet
when i’m quiet people think i’m sad
and usually i am

sometimes when i’m at a busy train station
somewhere big with the noisy trains like king’s cross
i feel like putting down my bags and shouting things out because i’ve got something to say
don’t you want to share the guilt?
don’t think, just try and sleep