i hate to bring up this topic
it's quite a secret of mine
there's this smell i'm starting to like
when not so long ago
just a sip of it
used to make me cry
i mean, if i'm honest
my inner self knows it reeks
it's purely objective, a fact, the universal truth
that just a drag will cloud your eyes
and make you gag
and it would be so easy to blame so many people
i'm looking at you dad
but that would be running away
so yeah, let's do that
i blame you, dad
maybe if you hadn't smoked
since pretty much i was alive
i would smell that awful smell
and not link it to your hugs
i blame you, friend that gave me
that first cigar
why don't just try?
we're all gonna die, anyway
i blame you, all those movies i've watched
where all the pretty girls smoked
i blame you, being cold outside a club
and this is quite self-explanatory
i blame you, all the terraces in the universe
i blame you, that fourth glass of beer
i blame you, playing music in the park
i blame you, smoking grass
i blame you, not holding back
i blame you, my cloudy mind
and i blame you, being too tired to give a damn
that chino at 3 am
its smell on your hands
that final breath
and making stupid excuses to forgive myself
us and them
you opened up your lips
formed a pretty curve with your mouth
and the shape became a sound
he wasn’t expecting
but don’t blame him
how could he know
that you would say no
that’s just ridiculous
you cannot say no to him
this much you owe to him
there’re things
a man needs
and if you’ve both shared a kiss
and more
why would you say no
you’re eternally his
who cares if it was a one-time thing
if you were drunk
and have come clean
that doesn’t mean anything
at least not to him
so who cares about that sound from your lips
who cares if it’s turned into begging
there’re things
a man needs
and you are one
you found him in a bar
and he’s mad
but it’s fine
he’s fine
he just gets like that
when he’s a bit drunk
but seriously
he’s a nice guy
he is a nice guy
and someone’s yelling at him
pushing him out
but it’s really just fine
everybody is having fun
let’s not ruin that
everybody is having fun
right
i opened up my eyes
welcomed my buzzing head
after a long hazy night
i’m lying on his chest
and heavy breaths surround me
but i can’t stop thinking
about this friend of mine
who almost got punched yesterday
it’s just too strange to grasp
how rejection can scar so much
someone would go that far to demonstrate
he’s a man
and there’re things he just needs
but kindness isn’t one of them
while i dress myself
while i walk home
while i write
there’s this knot in my stomach
i can’t untie
you see
it’s not the first time
i’ve faced a man
who couldn’t take no for an answer
and i didn’t blame him
how could he know
that i would say no
that’s just ridiculous
i couldn’t say no to him
that much i owed to him
he was my boyfriend
there were things he used to need
and i was one of them
formed a pretty curve with your mouth
and the shape became a sound
he wasn’t expecting
but don’t blame him
how could he know
that you would say no
that’s just ridiculous
you cannot say no to him
this much you owe to him
there’re things
a man needs
and if you’ve both shared a kiss
and more
why would you say no
you’re eternally his
who cares if it was a one-time thing
if you were drunk
and have come clean
that doesn’t mean anything
at least not to him
so who cares about that sound from your lips
who cares if it’s turned into begging
there’re things
a man needs
and you are one
you found him in a bar
and he’s mad
but it’s fine
he’s fine
he just gets like that
when he’s a bit drunk
but seriously
he’s a nice guy
he is a nice guy
and someone’s yelling at him
pushing him out
but it’s really just fine
everybody is having fun
let’s not ruin that
everybody is having fun
right
i opened up my eyes
welcomed my buzzing head
after a long hazy night
i’m lying on his chest
and heavy breaths surround me
but i can’t stop thinking
about this friend of mine
who almost got punched yesterday
it’s just too strange to grasp
how rejection can scar so much
someone would go that far to demonstrate
he’s a man
and there’re things he just needs
but kindness isn’t one of them
while i dress myself
while i walk home
while i write
there’s this knot in my stomach
i can’t untie
you see
it’s not the first time
i’ve faced a man
who couldn’t take no for an answer
and i didn’t blame him
how could he know
that i would say no
that’s just ridiculous
i couldn’t say no to him
that much i owed to him
he was my boyfriend
there were things he used to need
and i was one of them
a woman's voice
mud over my eyes
gets in my sealed lips
i forget the long-dead hands
mine are holding me back
ivy reaches my stomach
branches hide under my navel
when it takes root in the neck
can't talk i'm made of mud
can't push you back having no hands
if only i could tell me
your voices carry
my broken body home
gets in my sealed lips
i forget the long-dead hands
mine are holding me back
ivy reaches my stomach
branches hide under my navel
when it takes root in the neck
can't talk i'm made of mud
can't push you back having no hands
if only i could tell me
your voices carry
my broken body home
the window sill
my house is pretty small
and the walls are paper-thin
i can hear my neighbour snore
the steps of the upstairs dog
and i’m sure they all know
it’s my mom who’s always yelling
my room makes a pretty cage
with windows flanked by bars
but it wasn't all like that
when i was little
i'm eight years old
i always sit on the window sill
and let my legs swing through the bars
it's way past my bed time
after looking at the cats
that lie down on the back garden
a lady feeds them every day
i don’t know her
but i love her
as much as i know love
i'm eight years old
and when my legs swing
if my house is small
or if my neighbour is too loud
are things i cannot think of
all i can see is my room
made of the green grass and daisies
the birds leaping branch to branch
the cats dozing in the shade
and i can hear my own voice
in the sound of people walking by
i feel the breeze in my hair
all the cats have a name
and i’m real
i don’t remember when my legs
no longer fitted
i don’t remember if i ever missed it once
i'm too old to live in my back garden
too old to fail to see
after they robbed my little house
there’s twice as many bars
and my child’s legs won’t ever fit
and the walls are paper-thin
i can hear my neighbour snore
the steps of the upstairs dog
and i’m sure they all know
it’s my mom who’s always yelling
my room makes a pretty cage
with windows flanked by bars
but it wasn't all like that
when i was little
i'm eight years old
i always sit on the window sill
and let my legs swing through the bars
it's way past my bed time
after looking at the cats
that lie down on the back garden
a lady feeds them every day
i don’t know her
but i love her
as much as i know love
i'm eight years old
and when my legs swing
if my house is small
or if my neighbour is too loud
are things i cannot think of
all i can see is my room
made of the green grass and daisies
the birds leaping branch to branch
the cats dozing in the shade
and i can hear my own voice
in the sound of people walking by
i feel the breeze in my hair
all the cats have a name
and i’m real
i don’t remember when my legs
no longer fitted
i don’t remember if i ever missed it once
i'm too old to live in my back garden
too old to fail to see
after they robbed my little house
there’s twice as many bars
and my child’s legs won’t ever fit
blankets
i have to confess
i’m struggling a bit
trying to find the right metaphor
it’s nothing like a missing limb
or losing your favourite toy
and i shouldn’t be struggling
i’m an expert in the field, you know
a professional player
in the art of missing people
since i don’t think i’ve ever stopped
trying to fill someone’s absence
it may have started with my family
leaping from holiday to holiday
from mess to mess
they still laugh at the image of me
mostly a mist of ugly tears
while clasped to my uncle’s leg
before he entered the car
and left to Madrid
i’ve always been on the other side of the railway
waving to a moving car
waiting for the next time
wondering if
maybe
i would not cry again
other times i simply missed my friend
after a two-week school trip
i longed for the long walks
or the chit-chat during recess
the empty chair of a room we didn’t even share
having to wait while she brushed her teeth
or tied her shoes
and the two-hour calls before going to bed
falling asleep with the phone in my hand
and butterflies on my lips
at least all these feelings made sense
i missed people who loved me well
whose memories of them tuck me in like blankets
but for years i’ve missed
the boy i first kissed
even if it was clumsy, shy, and senseless
even if he told me to die because i rejected him
you see, i didn’t even want to kiss him in the first place
but i was stupid and naïve
and he wanted to kiss me
but i am stupid and naïve
and sometimes dream of him, too
and for months i have longed for
the texts, the calls, the love
of someone i didn’t truly know
i’ve missed the attention i seeked
in somebody who could have been anybody
but it was him
a good boy
who could have been any good boy
but this may be the exception
since i had learned a lesson or two
and for once, my dreams could move on
but at least all these feelings made sense
i missed people who didn’t break me
whose real versions were just misplaced in my mind
why then
would i find myself missing
for the longest of times
the man who did break everything
who closed all the doors i didn’t know i was hiding
whose memories of him tucked me in my bed
and didn’t let me get up
and break free of the sheets he wrapped me in
every time i started building me up
he suddenly appeared
knocking out cold every structure i held dear
shaping it with his warm hands
warm, and shaky, and sometimes terrifying
and even when i knew everything
was flaking off like cheap paint
when i recognised
every gap and breach under his palms
i still missed him
before and after i fell down the gap
i still missed him
and i sometimes miss who i was
before i tried to find metaphors
for this foolish longing
it’s hard to find words for a feeling
that’s so broad and heavy
it carries railways and toothpaste
wet lips and good boys
broken locks and trembling hands
so tender and light
it fuels my naïve self
into sugar-coated memories
of men who passed by
while i was on the other side of the railway
waving to a moving car
waiting for the next time
wondering if
i’m struggling a bit
trying to find the right metaphor
it’s nothing like a missing limb
or losing your favourite toy
and i shouldn’t be struggling
i’m an expert in the field, you know
a professional player
in the art of missing people
since i don’t think i’ve ever stopped
trying to fill someone’s absence
it may have started with my family
leaping from holiday to holiday
from mess to mess
they still laugh at the image of me
mostly a mist of ugly tears
while clasped to my uncle’s leg
before he entered the car
and left to Madrid
i’ve always been on the other side of the railway
waving to a moving car
waiting for the next time
wondering if
maybe
i would not cry again
other times i simply missed my friend
after a two-week school trip
i longed for the long walks
or the chit-chat during recess
the empty chair of a room we didn’t even share
having to wait while she brushed her teeth
or tied her shoes
and the two-hour calls before going to bed
falling asleep with the phone in my hand
and butterflies on my lips
at least all these feelings made sense
i missed people who loved me well
whose memories of them tuck me in like blankets
but for years i’ve missed
the boy i first kissed
even if it was clumsy, shy, and senseless
even if he told me to die because i rejected him
you see, i didn’t even want to kiss him in the first place
but i was stupid and naïve
and he wanted to kiss me
but i am stupid and naïve
and sometimes dream of him, too
and for months i have longed for
the texts, the calls, the love
of someone i didn’t truly know
i’ve missed the attention i seeked
in somebody who could have been anybody
but it was him
a good boy
who could have been any good boy
but this may be the exception
since i had learned a lesson or two
and for once, my dreams could move on
but at least all these feelings made sense
i missed people who didn’t break me
whose real versions were just misplaced in my mind
why then
would i find myself missing
for the longest of times
the man who did break everything
who closed all the doors i didn’t know i was hiding
whose memories of him tucked me in my bed
and didn’t let me get up
and break free of the sheets he wrapped me in
every time i started building me up
he suddenly appeared
knocking out cold every structure i held dear
shaping it with his warm hands
warm, and shaky, and sometimes terrifying
and even when i knew everything
was flaking off like cheap paint
when i recognised
every gap and breach under his palms
i still missed him
before and after i fell down the gap
i still missed him
and i sometimes miss who i was
before i tried to find metaphors
for this foolish longing
it’s hard to find words for a feeling
that’s so broad and heavy
it carries railways and toothpaste
wet lips and good boys
broken locks and trembling hands
so tender and light
it fuels my naïve self
into sugar-coated memories
of men who passed by
while i was on the other side of the railway
waving to a moving car
waiting for the next time
wondering if
maybe
i would not cry again
manos de agua
miro hacia atrás
como si no hubiera nubes
el ahora me empuja
con sus manos de agua
trepa desde el ombligo
se asienta
en el centro del pecho
como una aguja
la hierba me mece
clavándome en el techo
las manos se preguntan
dónde estoy
como si no hubiera nubes
el ahora me empuja
con sus manos de agua
trepa desde el ombligo
se asienta
en el centro del pecho
como una aguja
la hierba me mece
clavándome en el techo
las manos se preguntan
dónde estoy
-
the words slur
the words slur
the words slur
the words slur
the words slur
thewordss lurr
thewordsslrllr
likemusicnotes
the words slur
the words slur
the words slur
the words slur
thewordss lurr
thewordsslrllr
likemusicnotes
never mine
lately i’ve been having the weirdest dreams
well
they’re actually not that weird
they just seem so vivid
so real
it’s hard to wake up and think there’s something else
first
i always see my face
my eyes
my mouth
or at least
i think they’re mine
i think it’s me
and then it’d be the nose
the hair, the hands, the heart
that can’t help but change
into someone else’s
i don’t really know
it seems my defenses
are always off
and open to other’s arms
they don’t know me at all
or who knows?
maybe they do
and they love the look in my face
when it’s full of regret
when it fades away
like the smoke of a cigarette
that it’s never mine
lately i’ve been having the weirdest dreams
well
they’re actually not that weird
they just stick in my head
as they cling me to bed
and i can’t help but feel
i won’t know the person that smiles to the mirror
well
they’re actually not that weird
they just seem so vivid
so real
it’s hard to wake up and think there’s something else
first
i always see my face
my eyes
my mouth
or at least
i think they’re mine
i think it’s me
and then it’d be the nose
the hair, the hands, the heart
that can’t help but change
into someone else’s
i don’t really know
it seems my defenses
are always off
and open to other’s arms
they don’t know me at all
or who knows?
maybe they do
and they love the look in my face
when it’s full of regret
when it fades away
like the smoke of a cigarette
that it’s never mine
lately i’ve been having the weirdest dreams
well
they’re actually not that weird
they just stick in my head
as they cling me to bed
and i can’t help but feel
i won’t know the person that smiles to the mirror
the mirror
it's like wearing a stranger's skin
begging for a little warmth
fading in your foul breath
of course
it's not easy to
see yourself in others' eyes
and fail to grin at the mirror
but you understand, right
it's like standing naked
under your own veil
loneliness, that is
begging for a little warmth
fading in your foul breath
of course
it's not easy to
see yourself in others' eyes
and fail to grin at the mirror
but you understand, right
it's like standing naked
under your own veil
loneliness, that is
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