Click here for original version: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/05/26/poesiasurrogato/
Sometimes, I was a surrogate.
Not myself, not my best,
lost into some gate,
Not my real heart in my chest,
now probably, too late.
for people to like me,
for some framerate.
But I know my mistake…
This is how I failed,
I didn’t believe in me, in any state.
If I did,
I wouldn’t ever hurt,
I wouldn’t be so dirt.
Continua a leggere “#Poetry:”Surrogate””
Italian version: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/05/13/poesiae-alla-fine-e-andata-cosi/
And in the end that’s how life went …
All the mistakes had a meaning,
Even when it seemed it wasn’t like that …
There are things I wish I didn’t have
but I fought for them.
That’s how life went,
in this messy way,
without some people …
With a void inside,
with so many voids inside,
that are not always able to be filled by something else.
Continua a leggere “#Poetry:”And in the end that’s how life went …””
Check Italian version here: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/05/12/poesiastanco/
Man I’m so tired,
so tired of all of this.
So tired of talking,
even tired of walking,
so tired of thinking,
so tired of blinking.
So tired of everything that hurts,
of this rules, of everything that drives me nuts.
So tired of debating,
so tired of remaking…
Tired of trying to help you understand,
tired of thinking about a plan.
Continua a leggere “#Poetry:”So Tired”.”