drop

Theinkfallsdowndropbydropstainingmyeyesmycheeksleavingnospacetobreath.

not so good

The holder of my pages
Holds more that it can tell
It holds my touches
And prevents me from crawling into
A labyrinth of thoughts
Which don’t worth a dime
It carries thousands of hums
That holder of mine.
And what to say about the white pieces
They call paper
They hold me, shivering
They distort my shrillness
And destroy every ‘Not so good, Jesica’
‘Not so good Jesica’
              the master paper whispers
I just eat my tears up.

violet II

  Quite nervous, but who can tell. Tolerable, sometimes to the extreme. Accosted, by herself. She justifies the unjustifiable. Loving, caring, naïve and weak. She collects sisters, cousins, she collected fathers, loves, books, and dolls. Considered as a weird and particular person, she is seen as a bundle of phrases, words, opinions, and nothing more than someone who wants to achieve so many things, though she doesn’t have the strength. She doesn’t have the space, she doesn’t belong here, or there, or anywhere. If she were inanimate and yet dynamic, she would be a thought. If she were a color, she will be violet, if she were a number, she will be a five. Surrounded by circles and cycles, she is unreachable. Face it, you’ll not cope with her.