Click here for italian version: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/03/poesianon-lo-so-2/
And at the end,
you realize one thing,
which may seem terrible …
that happiness can be a lie,
that the truth is that you can never be satisfied,
that happiness is anyway,
get what you want.
And it doesn’t matter if it hurts you,
if it’s masochistic,
if it takes you too long, too long.
If you don’t though,
it’s a bit like lying to yourself,
looking for happiness in what you don’t really want.
Maybe it’s better to be a “masochist”,
embracing something full of thorns,
rather than creating some false happiness.
Now the dreams I hold them tight in my hand,
in the drawer, they might find them,
when I leave the house.
Better to always carry them with you,
rather than allowing someone else,
to laugh at it,
as if they were ridiculous things.
When for you, they are very precious things,
however temporary they were.
I’m tired of being the reflection of other people’s insecurities,
as much as I want,
it’s only wrong for someone else,
who thinks I’m wrong.
But I’m not wrong,
for what I want,
I would do anything.
I am willing to make mistakes,
because it is from mistakes that the road to victory is created.
So fuck everyone,
to all the bullshit they told me,
to all the bullshit they think.
Fuck those who say that people don’t change,
to those who think they don’t deserve second chances,
I reserve the presumption of deserving it,
because I am able to be better.
I don’t know who the fuck I am now.
I just know what I want,
and I torment myself, rightly, for it.
This is my fucking life.
Did you understand? Yup?
Well yeah, I don’t give a fuck,
my happiness is doing what they tell me,
what you told me not to do.
I already know now,
I can’t find happiness somewhere else,
not for now, at least.
We will leave it to life.