On fear

There are still ghosts in my head
wearing your face
without having
ripped it off
And they’re asking
on your behalf
« Who are you?
How dare you
care for me? »

I could start convusing
from being alive,
if I don’t have you to cool me down;
I’ll overwhelm myself
with the feelings I already feel,
when you’re so alive it hurts.
And they still will be here

I can be brave
not for you
– maybe a little bit for you –
but for myself
If I get out of this torn apart
– wich I will, eventually –
I can afford it
as long as I’ve got this
as long as I’ve got my badass
I can be brave for her

It still happens, you know
when I wake up and I think
« there is this much beauty
and kindness and light in the world »
and you make me smile

I did not see you grow
but I can tell by your path
the little movements
when you speak
I feel you

I can be brave enough
not to run away
it wouldn’t be protecting me at all anyway,
would it?
I know what it is
to carry your heart broken
at the same time.
Running doesn’t help
and walking away
even less.

I could do that, though,
carving feelings around you like you’re not here
like they’re the real art
like they’re all that matters
I wouldn’t even
need you, then
We’d be all together
And I’d go back to my writing
pretending that was work
all along,
and nothing else.

I could
if they convinced me to

But still
you should know
you’re amongst the ones

Publié par

Florence Rivières

Autrice, comédienne, tête de mule. Aussi modèle, photographe, couteau suisse. Troubadour, hippie, féministe. Et d'autres mots encore.

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