If you want me to be the girlfriend to revel with in the garden of life
and together dirty our youth and gradually cripple its vivaciousness,
let me be the first one to disregard dignity with you
and throw ourselves into the excrements of vice and wickedness
attempting to exploit and intensify the innately limited ways of sensory pleasure.
If you want me to be your friend and together
share the natural joy of the soul in uttermost trust
you better show me both of your hands right now
and if you do, have a knife on you, you better thrust
it right now in my heart until all my pains bleed out
through the wounds that so much I desperately need
so my heart can finally begin to feel and breathe again.
If you want me to be your wife and the mom of your children
you better stop being a lazy worm that crawls in the dirt
of selfish indulgence and become the sedulous bee
that works with flowers to proudly bring honey to his hive.
If you want to...whatever you choose...
you either need to be responsible,
and qualify to dwell in between the flowers,
or a bum, a gadabout worm, no qualification required,
but only a mean to get to the sources of instant pleasure
and eventual death...
Whatever you choose...
it is your choice.
Topic(s) of this poem: responsibility
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.