MY LIFE Poem by Simona Popescu

My life?
What can I tell it about me?

At 16. I came into the world to understand nothing.
At 17. the voice behind the window
the hand holds out the ticket
and.—then on the screen, something just stupid:
Youth conquers all! (and all youth).
At 18. One day I wonder why write what's the point… since…
why… for who… those people
don't even have time for themselves… and. don't even want to… and. aren't even. interested…
Inside me there's a young girl and an old one and some know one and some the other.
19. Because you tell me what to do
so I will know what not to
and tell me what to say
so I will know what not to.
I proceed the way I know is right by
banging my head against the wall and banging my head…
20. Friends are good and enemies bad
weigh order and harmony
which will betray
which will transform
which will be torn from your heart?
21. I pity the powerlessness of poetry
A lemon wrung for a sated tribe.
We have no plan, amigo
A past for all
A country for all
What was green has withered
What was sweet was eaten.
22. I'm not hungry not thirsty
but I feel empty
in my stomach.
I'm so lonesome.
23. My youth was made for waiting.
Adulthood springs on you
what can you do?
24. I'm fed up with wilted precociousness
I hate literary sensations…
Which one of us was saying "We need a hero"?
You're 24 now
What will our progeny understand?
[…]
25. I have nothing to say
I'm not a joiner
and my heart and brain seem weird.
I am still a young person
I feel like a woman and like a man
I write like a woman and like a man
I am ageless
I protect myself as I can
Talking about myself about nothing about everything.
26. Russian doll, russian doll
how many of you are there?
Is the one in the middle the oldest?
The wrinkled one calm fearless
The littlest little doll
the baby-baba you feel so sorry for?
27. You're like a mom taking care of the child… you were.
28. I look at an Arab book, that has the beginning at the end.
29. A sudden desire then even more intense to be done with me!
30. Time curls. The body recalls. I am holding a big, yellow balloon. I put my cheek to it. Inside is quiet. Inside it holds the floating silence I hold in my arms. Silence is round and colored yellow. I release it into the world.
31. Those who write to be better.
Those who write to not be forgotten.
32. The way a forgotten moon-ray
fertilizes a soft, hot brain…
and I won't finish the poem won't finish it won't finish it won't finish it…
What am I in all I've put here?
What am I in all I've left out?
33. I am a poet in my manner, someone told me once.
34. I have two hearts. It's okay.
35. Where is the author when he's not writing? Where is the author when he is?
36. "Herz Im Kopf." Heart and head are together, one cares for the other, and the other for one. Eyes swallow. Mouth quiet. Mouth quiet for a while. It has no one to talk to. But walking is also a way of talking.
37. I started this song…
"O reader (I cannot say dear reader, amigo
like Martial and so many after him
because I'm embarrassed and I don't want you to think
I'm flattering you…),
O reader, I don't know how to start and I'd rather
be done with you already"…