Lasting Days
I don’t trust myself with these words
Just like how tomato soups give me
Hiccups,
And how I’m trying to conquer
Everything —
Femininity, the ocean,
I feel like femininity conquered me, too, Jules,
Only I was aware of each moment,
cada, bien bien bien.
At night, we go cloud-gazing!
You know, it is cold
Cold but my jacket is between my hair
And the grass
It’s between them to decide,
And you know, if I focus on the clouds
They move and then I’m
Moving and I’m not
Bound by everything anymore because,
you know,
These are my last days.
Last Sunday, not last Sunday but
The Last Sunday I was colouring
Everyone in with blue and rojo
Because they don’t see my colours,
Elongated words, lasting sighs, heavy
gaze.
And the last Sunday, I went
And found myself in pages from my
Past lives—
“... and I’d be anything,
vulnerable, crying, real, writhing, or golden."
And besides self-indulgence,
“fiction was my handbook to dissect
“people”
Hushes, soft whispers,
These are my last days
You know, and my last
Words from this colour,
Won’t I return to the comfort?
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