i have a box
full of meanings
i collect and mark
by scarring
inside of my heart
late at nights,
i paint my hands
pretending they’re not mine
so i could touch
you, them, myself
because
god cut me down to my knees
and put the shards of
a broken bone inside a box
his box of meanings
i keep trying to rob
with paint-stained
fingertips.
I wish I could understand who I am and to whom or where I belong.
Who I imitate or is this the real me? Which colour my soul prefers?
Am I a reflection of my lovers, friends, strangers on the streets?
Am I just a magnetic impulse? Will I fade away soon?
Will I meet you? I miss you. I miss that part of me you carry.
A part of me that may not exist. Like me. Like you.
Just a reflection.
the colours of blue
lick the skin
in a cold stinging ache
and i arch my spine
in the act of reminiscence
looking up to the ceiling
of a roofless home
while God looked down
to see
a shattered swallow cry
in flames of fenix
i sow the ashes
hoping to harvest
minds blooming
in a tempest as
their roots unravel
in the pain
i stand still looking
at the cold towers
manifesting silence
whilst i scream
till my voice bleeds
the empire has fallen
bedsheets torn, evaporating
heat of you
the fortress walls faded skin thin
and my throat is full
of debris, muted
for love
ghosted at nights
a mind made of stones
sinking into the pillows
muffling thoughts
howling as creatures haunting
a heart made of glass
fractured and ruined
long time ago
ghosted at nights
i sit on the bridges of my bedside
swinging feet to the devils
and i howl with the creatures
haunting
becoming a ghost myself
if i could sleep through
winter dark aches
i would bottle my tears
so i could spill
all old myself away
in Spring
being a Renaissance
performance
i’d bloom
it’s gloomy in here
you hardly sense
a breath escaping
and lips seem
to be made of stones
cold and beaten
by the wind
forever silent
forever waiting
and all is slightly grey
the sounds just lay
on the softest heart
vibrating slowly in the
cavity of chest
an unplayed symphony
that’s hidden at the bottom
of the ocean
in your body
open door
welcome home
marble solitude
heavy and cold
sits on the chair
isn’t she lovely
all alone?
right hand full of love
left hand full of fear
weighted down
through the years
welcome home
where no one waits
grey waters trickle
foam up in waves
running down your
back, soaking
in every pore
filling up the body
till it pours
out from the eyes
into the sea
where all the sadness
is kept
as a secret
Tallinn Poetry 