I am so, so,
so sorry that I haven’t uploaded anything these days. My life has been very messy lately, and I have almost no time to finish my drafts. I’ll try to work on them. There’s some good stuff out there!
I just need time.
This poem is about someone who moved away from home and doesn’t know how to pronounce her name in the language that’s spoken, so she left a note somewhere. It’s supposed to give the idea of a letter in a bottle.
Dear stranger on the road who’s possibly reading this note,
This is my name and I don’t know how to pronounce it here.
From somewhere far away from here,
where love is merely a
fairy tale, and sometimes they come true but mostly not.
A place where we call our friends and family
with fancy phones and direct devices,
but the connection is too weak.
A place with more bridges and hills than you can imagine,
where they destroy what we are building.
My story has been told to the uninterested,
because my happy ending is missing.
I know how
To think about myself before others,
and how to say thanks instead of no.
I know how to accept the help I need,
before I drown in my own lonely misery.
A lot of different things.
I’ve seen a million personalities,
and admired the bodies they were caged in,
and all their complex cases.
That people are temporary.
No promised company,
and predictable presents.
They are using and being used
To being used.
And they don’t mind,
but in their minds
They have their own way of presenting
what kind of person they want to pretend to be.
Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren’t.
Ungifted gifts and personal adventures
to discover with only movement in our eyes.
I moved, I know, I saw, I learned, I did.
Yet no one has ever taught me the way to pronounce my name.
Pronounce my name, I beg you. No one has ever called me yet. No one
knows the way to my attention because of who I am.
Tell me what is written here,
What do you see? What can we see?
What name is written on this note, what person am I gonna be?