#Poetry:”My Story”.


Italian version Here: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/04/01/poesiala-mia-storia/

This is my story,

Without much glory,

with little joy,

life is a slut.

Sometimes it’s like staying in the waiting room,

waiting for his turn, while I wait for him,

while I’m bored,

but I respect you.

Sometimes they tell you there are rules,

but you want yours,

Like the tiles,

of your roof, the rest is deceptive.

Because I’m tired,

however I continue, however unpleasant it may be.

“I’ll take it in the ass”,

but I can’t do anything else,

than to stay here,

waiting for a better, higher time.

You all have your stories,

I want mine.

It’s not that simple,

a bit like rhyme.

That’s why I sometimes stop doing them,

not to force myself to express a concept through them.

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If it was easy, doing certain things,

it would have happened before.

All these tips, points of view,

in the end they didn’t work before,

why should they do it now?

Maybe the talk of “finding someone like me” didn’t work before,

it doesn’t work now.

Maybe the “compatible” speech doesn’t work with me.

Maybe your rules and experiences don’t work,

I’m sorry, you don’t serve.

I don’t feel better

does not pass me.

Perhaps the discourse of “doing something else” is useless.

Maybe now, I just want my own choices and thoughts,

since I am convinced of many things,

you see that the rest does not work,

it is not needed.

Maybe the “you deserve more” speech doesn’t work.

I think I deserve what I want, honestly.

The best boasted is not there,

ergo does not exist

and it didn’t exist.

So there’s no such thing as being someone else either,

so it is not necessary.

If certain things worked, they would have existed before,

I’m not a kid anymore, I know by now.

So with me, there is more,

with me there is my life and my story,

as crazy as it may seem to some,

self harming,

take it in the ass,

say it how the fuck you want,

that you have tired me.

I don’t give a fuck what you think of my story,

as much as it is “dreamer”,

“utopian”

And the other fucking labels.

This is my story,

as difficult as it may be,

It’s mine. It’s unique

it’s my life.

And I love her for what she is,

so unpredictable,

that takes me on paths never imagined,

that changes desires and priorities,

catching me suddenly.

And I can’t explain why and I don’t even think there is any need anymore …

Because it’s late, my boys.

It’s late.

It’s late to keep explaining, it’s late to keep worrying, it’s late.

It’s late.

And it’s time to think about my good, which I’ve never had …

Despite all the sacrifices I have to make.

For me it’s worth it, but not just for the person,

but for the difficulties you have,

for adventure,

for the sea to cross,

for myself, because I want the impossible thing

almost.

Anyway a story to tell,

not something trivial.

My story is like this: I’ve never had the ease

Or banality, like those closed in the office.

My life has many colors,

just another one has been added now.

And maybe … it has a bit of the color of true love.

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