This is the English version of: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/15/poesiapurtroppo/
Unfortunately, I can’t,
some days I can’t do it,
some days the dissatisfaction kidnaps me.
I just wish I was happy,
I just want certain things to happen,
I would like to have the strength to carry them out.
I would like to know how to bring back,
someone in my life.
I would just like to talk to you,
Some days the emptiness that I feel in my chest,
becomes particularly noisy:
and I’m afraid,
Of my future.
I don’t want to go away
I don’t want to turn my back on myself,
I’m afraid I’d just lie to myself,
to give up,
Unfortunately I’m so fucking stubborn,
I don’t want to say goodbye.
I would like to make myself happy,
doing what I really want,
because the alternatives,
are seen as lies,
lies to myself.
Unfortunately I fear there is no other way,
to do something,
for what I really want.
The problem was mine,
I am the first,
not believing it,
not to open myself to the possibility of making it.
it is I who is afraid of making a mistake,
and I don’t open up to the possibility,
to make it,
against situations apparently bigger than me.
I would like to try,
but I do not know how I can do it,
I do not know what to say,
but I want to do it.
And these days,
that I can’t do it,
that I would like to make it,
I would like to know how,
unfortunately, I don’t know.
And I don’t give myself peace.
Because, alas: there is only one thing I want to do,
and it is never the right one for others,
but only for me.
And I won’t feel right with myself,
he is satisfied,
until I realize it.
I’m so fucking self-aware …
to do things,
to be people,
that make me sick.
To think in ways that do nothing else
That this fucking annoying pain.