secret. a poem
there's a secret about me
it's obscure, appalling
the kind of thing whispered under breath in dark rooms
or spit into a steamy, cracked mirror
when my brain is scattered
in pieces i cannot touch
let alone scratch or finally put at ease;
the kind of thing that would make you inevitably question your whole opinion on me.
i aam carved
on the inside
with all the words i couldn't say out loud.
beyond layers of dead skin that will soon leave my body
just where blood, flesh and epiderms meet
there lay all the combinations of letters i couldn't even mumble
there lay all the sounds my mouth couldn't form
all the thoughts I had been mulling over for months;
tattoos under my skin
what a poetic thought.
on the walls that will soon be affected by abresion,
that's where the marks of my unsettled thoughts are left
that's the only place where i can visit the sun
that's the only place where the solar leaks can touch me
that's the only place where i can play a loop of sunset and long boulevards
that's where hateful, vehement words stand by
in this strange place,
i hung knives of the walls
and in the same place,
i gathered peace doves feathers.
there lie all the times i couldn't admit my true self
i carved the way i transferred all the warmth i could never get from the sun
into stranger skin
i carved painful screams of june
i carved the need of feeling human skin against my skin
in order to remain conscious that i am still here.
on cells that will be shaken on from this body one day there's written
how lisbon hotel rooms' floors and bed sheets are stained in wasted water
and how cold the tiles were
while i was choking in my own palms, clenching my fists
that the nails
that started carving
under my skin
in first place.
i'm afraid that
while i'm sleeping
someone will sneak in,
undress me from my skin
turn it inside out
and let me slip back in it,
so that when i
go into the world
everyone will see
everyone will know.
my words will get to see the sun.
Foto: Mara Isvoranu