IFH

some writing stuff

[lilweirdling]

fragile

That one summer I became a wildfire.

A third – degree wide open wound.

Lingering and hovering.

Whether to linger?

Though winter does, like winters always do.

Linger. With morning frosts and hands stuck in pockets.

And I’m afraid I can’t hold yours.

Just as I’m afraid I’ve grown up with sorrows,

You did not.

Making myself a tent of laugher and smiles.

Whispering, make yourself at home.

The one thing I understood in my neon glared youth,

We wear fragile bodies,

And even more

Fragile souls.

And they have their own ways on turning against us.

And so I can’t hold your hand right now,

Because I hover and linger,

Whether should I tell you stories of the summer I became I wildfire?

[lilweirdling]

A father’s daughter

-       You’re your father’s daughter,

 Oh I know, I am not made in your image,

Of perfectly folded words, of tidy kept gasps.

A half empty bottle of wine and a burned cigarette is what you’d never find in your drawer.

 Long were the evenings we spent in dim light and utter silence.

It resorted to a once a week five-minute call.

Yes, I have eaten.

No, I’m not sick.

 I know you remember my scarce relationship with breakfasts, lunches and dinners.

But I cannot forget the “boys like thin-waist girls” .

But boys were the last in line to catch my interest.

 Mama, I just killed a man,

Is the only thing that might surprise you.

But more than that.

Mama, I married a man.

Because you don’t believe my love is real.

 It’s a phase on lighter days

A punishment on darker ones.

But easy come, easy go.

Oh...You’re far from easy, Mother

 And it might just be the only thing we share.

[lilweirdling]

So cross me out

Summer calls me 25, and asks: -          so what have you been up to, dear? Somewhere along the past days of summer 25, I fell into old habits. Rethinking every word is one of them „I‘m sorry“ is another. Glancing over my shoulder is the third. -          I‘ve been up to a lot, Summer. It‘s simple, and it‘s not. On summer 7, I picked fights with boys, scrapped knees came as a natural consequence. This is simple. On summer 15, I consumed only water and books. There was so much of me, but somehow not quite enough. Not simple. On summer 8, I realized my father had an addiction to alcohol. Not simple. On summer 18, I fell in a „I think I love you, but kiss me, so I‘d know for sure.“ Simple. On summer 22, I met my favorite first date, and my worst second one. Simple. On summer 23, I had a friend, who though that summer evenings were not enough to continue throughout the winter. This was not simple. Summer 24. A somewhat blurry experience of short conversations that felt like a century. You said I should cut my hair, and offered me cigarettes.  I think it was simple. So summer 25 came with bad habits, and me falling into them without a set – back. But honestly, my heart couldn‘t comprehend so much at once. I checked lists I‘ve made, and crossed out nothing. -          This summer was for remembering, dear. So cross me out.

[lilweirdling]

I like colouring my hair blue.

[lilweirdling]

The motel at the end of the galaxy

You quiet down,

While the morning breaks,

And rays fall through the car windows

We're tired of listening to the same CD

of 80's rock&roll.

I glance at you.

We do exist in the same universe,

But often you adhere to none of it's rules.

We stop at a motel,

It feels as if we're somewhere at the end of the galaxy.

A rarely visited part of it.

And for what it's worth maybe that's well deserved.

But we like the frayed carpets and faded neon signs.

I don't think the "no vacancy" was ever lit.

Not much more than rocks and stone has this place to offer.

Well maybe an old uncoloured TV with one channel.

We stay here - at the end of the galaxy.

We're both a bad habit for each other and it feels like fiction.

But it's not the real world, is it?

It's a trip to old love,

which lurked beneath our surface.

I think we can create this fictional universe for ourselves.

Where rules are what we make of them.

And there's no heat that bites at our backs for it.

Atleast for a little while.

- Can I get you coffee, dears?

Asks the receptionist with no intent of doing so.

[lilweirdling]

Late night considerations

I recall everything that ever slipped through my head.

My drunk father, 

My lovers, 

God. 

My hair full of white 

Myself. 

My poetry. 

My work. 

The questions keep pouring in: 

- You don’t spend enough time with me. 

You say subtly. 

To be fair, I do not know the answer. 

As I don’t know the answers to a lot of other questions. 

But would you join me? 

And see the sky full of theorems, and physics, and you. 

I promise. 

That...maybe. 

I’ll consider. Loving.

[lilweirdling]

_

The calmness frightens me,

It does, it’s a mystery.

Because every shelter I’ve ever had was a hurricane.

*

It’s something to do with me perhaps,

Perhaps that I’m drawn to the dark inflating around me.

To you, to whom I dedicate another one of my poems.

While absolutely aware of the fact you are not,

And will not ever be reading them.

*

Escaping the storm was not my idea.

I have gotten used to being sorry,

And forgot my mouth could express itself in other ways,

Than being sorry for being too slim, too short, too boyish

Too shallow, too anxious,

Too everything and anything you can ever imagine

Of being sorry is possible. I was sorry.

*

And it’s something to do with me perhaps,

That I was so drawn to your dark words inflating around me.

That I now retreat to fortresses I’ve built,

And whenever anyone has any intention in approaching me.

I hide. Waiting for the hurricane.

And the hurricane is my retreat I’m longing for,

But it doesn’t show up.

Just as you.

Sorry for making you wait, - you say.

Not being one bit sorry.

*

The calmness frightens me.

[lilweirdling]

Creep

Bits and pieces of you stuck in places,

I didn‘t know existed,

I didn‘t listen at first.

*

But now Yorkes voice drifts through the space I inhabit.

I’m a creep,

I’m a weirdo.

I think I‘ve learned you by heart now,

You‘re made of words in my head,

Of bad poetry,

Sorry, didn‘t mean to offend you.

*

I double check the map,

And there is no road there. You said you live.

It‘s pitch black, and I am now triple checking.

Can you repeat?

I‘m a creep

I‘m a weirdo

Thom, I think that makes it two of us.

*

You‘re gasoline and my thoughts are burning,

I remember touching your hand by accident at first.

And asking your name I pretended to not hear.

I pretended to want a drink.

I know you know now.

That I‘m a creep.

and I’m a weirdo.

[lilweirdling]

The people you meet

A crazy - looking, middle - aged man from California, sleeping in a cheep hostel in Tallinn. Telling us how cold it is, though it’s not even below zero.| A backpacker from England, who despises his English accent (adorable accent btw).| A finance analyst, living in the „artist district” in Vilnius. Hates almost all forms of art (except literature), eccentric people, and anything creative.| A girl working in a travel agency and writing about exotic countries. Not even once crossed the LT border.| An elderly women always drinking coffee at 9 a.m. in an old town cafe.| A poetry writer never showing her poetry to people. *** Not judging. Just watching and describing what caught my eye. I think they’re all amazing.

[lilweirdling]

May,

It has not been a pleasure to meet you.

The exact opposite to be fair.

I still find your presence in details,

The folded book pages,

The bracelets and earrings (all colourful and over - sized).

I found tracks of Louis Amstrong on my playlist this morning,

I don't listen to Jazz.

*

Sometimes my hand still reaches for the second cup,

Half grasps it and stops. There's no need.

Yesterday, I read that poem you wrote me on a handkerchief.

We laugh how stupid it was,

And now I'm trying to make out those blurred out words,

I spilled coffee all over.

*

I suppose that doesn't matter now.

Just recall you scribbling love,

Or is it live,

I am not sure now.

*

May, you are a hurricane of lost earrings, broken tea cups.

A fiery soul and words to accompany.

And it has not been a pleasure to meet you,

But I think I'll be reaching for that second cup quite a while.

[lilweirdling]

A 24/7

I am the big city you’ve always wanted to visit.

The drunk conversation in a bar.

The tattoo chosen unconsciously.

 *

I’m full of scyscrapers and statues.

Cheap motel rooms with non — vacumed carpets.

I’m the loud music,

The dancing without shoes…

…and getting them stolen.

 *

It’s a 24/7

A take now — pay later.

It’s the one night stand, and sneaking out the back door before morning.

 *

Yes,

I am the big city you’ve always wanted to visit.

But never stay.

***

If I was a city. Would you come.

[lilweirdling]

The in - between

It was a simple, wishy - washy kind of love,

I rarely think about you now.

You were the fifteen minute break, 

a bathroom love, waiting for the bell to ring.

The “in - between”.

These types of love usually start with a 

“Can I borrow your pen?”

And end with someone leaving to live somewhere else.

For a better future, 

and a serious love, where you hold hands,

And talk about Sundays together.

Though, I still loved you.

I hope your life is better now. 

[lilweirdling]

A silver lining

You dyed your hair with silver lining,

And became a romantic love some girl is holding on to.

With a careless smile you pour me wine,

And I sit there, waiting for the alcohol to take over.

We’re complete strangers, arguing about music.

Wondering, how we’ve got here,

But somehow compelled by what a poet — at — heart has to say.

I drift away at some point, shaken by the music,

And shattered by the silver lining.

It stars to expand ( some sort of physics, I believe),

And maybe I’m now in a better state, than I was when I came here.

I drift away, whilst the alcohol is now the rooftops of my town.

It’s winter and it’s cold, but I stand there wondering.

I drift away, listening to words, and music.

They make sense, I think.

I’d fall in love with you if I were in my teens.

Does that make sense?

And now I stand here wondering can you catch a silver lining

Like you’d catch a cold?

I hope the answer is yes.

A friend.

[lilweirdling]

Too everything

I was always like this.

Romantic.

Reckless.

Strange.

I always stayed the night,

If he wanted me to.

Never raised questions,

Never said „no”.

I know I'm hopeless,

Too romantic.

Too reckless.

Too strange.

And in the end,

This will be my sentence.

[lilweirdling]

Like a trip to Vegas

It’s absurd how many people

Live life as it’s a trip to Vegas.

It’s absurd how many of them

Live it like it’s a never-ending summer.

How can they be so reckless?

So irresponsible to be happy?

[bled]

[lilweirdling]

April,

…Though your true name is paradox.

Fierce with words, loud with opinions.

But a gentle heart, and a kind soul

You were as contradicting as they get.

Calm Sundays, a little breeze

Turned to snow, and shower rains.

We argued a lot,

and laughed even more,

You kissing me was a priviledge,

And I still consider myself lucky.

You are a wooden house,

Not yet taken by fire,

Where I stayed for days,

And never thought of leaving.

***

I thought I should do something like months as people. Because I love this idea so much. So, yeah, chapter 2.