Sandman forgot about us last night.

Get some sleep, it’s morning;
time surely flies around you.
Sleep tight, birds chirping;
ignore the rush of the day.
When you wake, it’ll be me you call;
just wait and see.
When you wake, when you fall,
there I’ll be.

Chasing away England.

You travel the world in your sleep and chase galaxies through a telescope, you’ve never really been anywhere. Stoic in a corner, always in a corner, but people can tell. You’re a mess. You’re a mess. You’re a mess. There, I said it.

You dream of truths, of maddening revelations engulfing you like willows weeping, but your life is a lie. Hypocrite. Hypocrite. Hypocrite. There, I said it.

You’re not happy, you’re never happy. Always asking more from the sea – more blue, more waves, more of everything. Greedy. Greedy. Greedy. There, I said it.

You wish for love and lasting embraces, seeping through your skin like it’s good for you. England comes to your rescue and you freeze. You freeze like he’s bad for you. Make up your mind! Make up your mind! Make up your goddamn mind! There, I said it.

You bitch. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. There, I said it.

No, you said.

I’ve been everywhere, but in my dreams is where I want to be. I chase stars because they never disappoint me. I am not a mess, but I make a mess out of everything. I am not a hypocrite, their truths simply don’t move me. So I change my mind, I only keep changing my mind. I am not greedy, I ask for what I deserve. Sadly, even nature can’t give that to me. I’ve made up my mind about England, and he is not for me. But, yes. I am a bitch, and a bitch is all I ever will be.

His way home.

His smell lingers on my sheets;

his love saturating my bones,

all its warmth filling up my heart.

Sun’s light giving way to the days.

Hit fast-forward,

give it my all – there is no other way to love.

Let the clocks tick fast.

Let the days close in.

Let my love be enough to make him come home again.

Of knights and armors; of egos and love.

Below is a beautiful poem by Jenine Bufi ― a poem of which, in my own opinion, is another testament to the female condition: the “let me fix you with my love” complex. Enjoy.

To Renald:

When I was a kid,
I dreamt of knights
With rusts on their armors
With dents on their egos
All of them had something to prove
Something to be proud of
And I didn’t know how to choose
How to pick someone worthy
For who was I to judge
Who was I, who am I at all

When I reached adolescence
I imagined knights
With swords that were broken
With helmets coated with lies
All of them had something to show
Something to be known
And I didn’t know how to be aware
How to be sure
For how could I know
Who was I to know, who am I to know at all

When I reached this age
The age where playing games
And getting married
Both stood on thin ice
Where the cracks met
And lovers shouted in silence
I realized that “wait”
Did not mean yes
That the word “no”
Did not mean it was a no

But when I met you
I wanted a lot of things
I wanted you to see me
And look till you reached my soul
I wanted you to smell me
Till the fragrance of my true self arise
I wanted you to bite me
And get the truth out
I wanted you to touch me
Go and apply pressure where the lies hide

Because there are no knights
Only armors with rusts
Only egos with dents
Only swords that are broken
Only helmets coated with lies
You are no knight, you are a man
With an armor I will clean
With egos I will feed with love
With swords that I will fix
And helmets that I will replace with the truth

Let me love you,
Loving me.