I am a street cat

I am a street cat with a fancy last name but no sense of loyalty or belonging, I run away to the jaws of streets from the warmth of home … I’m astray and doing me kindness won’t make me less wild, giving me love won’t change me to accept that I deserve it even if you get me well groomed and dressed, my sense of danger gets alarmed every time I sense someone approaching me & shelter makes me feel less protected … if you embrace me I will scratch & if you keep me I’ll run away… I don’t want to owe anyone anything, I return to loneliness because I got used to it as a part of who I am & I dont want you to tell me the things you do for me or abandon me one day to suffer pain after being numb as a blessing … my place is not to be a prisoner by kindness tamed brushed with perfume in a house on a pillow obeying the hands that feed me but messed up fucked up swallowed up in freedom keeping my needs caged from turning to a monster that feeds on my weakness … I prefer using my instincts taking what I need from life than taking from you what you think I want for your amusement.

I want to feel …

How did I turn out to be like that? Like this … I don’t know me anymore, I’m looking at the mirror and I see my demon staring back at me.

I lost my feelings, so I began to borrow some from others. I became addicted, I even started to appreciate fear experiences. I have literally felt everything and there is nothing much left to steal.

I tried to escape but now I have to live with it. I ripped people’s feelings out and now they have nothing inside, just like me. They became monsters too but I haven’t left them with much to feed on. Now what? I need to feel human again, even if that means that I have to do inhuman things.

I didn’t choose to be me but I can stop being me, would you let me see life through your eyes? To feel what you felt … Anger, fear, sorrow, love and all? Leave me but don’t leave me in hunger! If you were me, what would you choose? Starvation or salivation?

When impossible takes a human form …

Dear walking heaven; the meaning of poetry and the reason of love wars, the innocence in your face is tempting for corruption. I surrender, I give up, I give in, I resist … This dreamy soul of yours which is stained with earthy colours is my forbidden desire, I want to drink it like fine wine, if this was possible. The way you walk like a child in the gardens of beauty makes me want to chase you, catch you and fill my lungs with your golden laughter. The way you glow makes me wonder … Do you drink sunshine in cups for breakfast or are you the angel of love? Why do the sunflowers follow you? Why do I feel that you are my good mornings, my warm afternoons, my fading evenings and gloomy nights?

Those lips of yours … When you talk, they slither softly and are deadly enough to kill. Are they poisonous berries? I would dare to try. Two goddesses playing around a lake and I would jump into its depth even though I can’t swim, I’d rather drown than be rescued. Gathered roses of which I want to extract the finest perfume that could give eternal youth. Or is it a nectar of delicious fruits that will run through the veins of the dead and give life to their cold hearts?

I don’t mind dying in your arms; where paradise lays or on the sounds of your laughs; the meaning of true happiness; the high tasteful music; the light that will conquer any evil. Your pure soul is the meaning of love,art,adventure and selflessness. An art piece that is so fine that life brags with to let me know that you’re not mine to have, I don’t deserve you but I will settle for pleasuring my eyes with seeing you from a distance.

How can something be so beautiful and torturous? Like a rose with thorns indeed, a rose swaying in the breeze playfully, tempting to be picked and owned. Breathtaking and captivating, a mix of pain and pleasure, worthless words to describe such a magical creature who is higher than to be made out of clay.

I’m a human too

You think I’m mad? I have to go through hell back and forth, a beast within a man, a man within a beast. The hair, the itching, the twitching, the new skin, the fingers curling … You think you know how to feel like Gregor Samsa? I’m sure not Gregor but I can relate! The great rise in temperature, I’m not sick but I am.

To where I run, to whom? I can’t but run into my unfortunate victims, they can’t run either. I have this effect on them, where they freeze … I’m sure it’s my irresistible charm and that smile of mine. Darkness is my only friend; where I live. A part of me is the shadows of the night.

I can’t hide from what I am and they can’t hide either. My hunger for human flesh doesn’t make me inhuman, my needs and imperfections are enough proof to my humanity. I show my inner beast and you hide yours but it doesn’t make you better, you hypocrites.

Sadness is a part of the gifted

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/07/writing-challenge-fifty/

Sadness, who walked in the crowds, had an air of mystery and watering eyes. He was appreciated by artists as a muse to be drawn and wrote about. Actors would fake tears before him and public would clap and that made him fade but he still invades his loyal artists.