I want to kill myself,
several times a month;
to kill the voice in my head,
several times a minute;
to kiss my reflection in the mirror,
several times a year;
to kiss your brow
for a whole year.
I want to throw myself
into a bottomless pit
and embrace you
as I fall endlessly into it.
I want the laughter that comes
from the house next door
to stop;
I don’t want to hear it
when I’m alone.
I want a cat to shake hands with me
as I pass through the neighbourhood;
I want to hug cats infested with fleas.
I want to eat a whole white loaf
and a sandwich stuffed with every kind of meat.
I want to spit on the neck
of the first policeman I see in the morning,
and shake hands
with every child who wears
a green hat.
I want to stab the belly
of a fat man in the street
so I can see candy exploding from inside him.
I want to set fire to a yellow meadow.
to fill a glass bottle with ocean,
and break it at the edge of the road.
I want to fight with a giant man
and receive from him a slap that will
prove to me
that I am weaker than I think.
Reality Rejects Me, Fantasy Forgets Me
In the mirror
I am, to a certain extent,
convincing.
In a dirty mirror,
I am more so.
Reflected in the window
of a clothes shop
I am a poor replica
of what I should be.
Alone, reflected in the window
of a packed bar,
I am closer to my truth.
Me, alone,
reflected on the surface of a cold teapot,
my hand extended a thousand miles,
my eyes lost between here and there,
between body and soul,
fantasy grabs me by the hand,
chews and spits me,
time and again
it changes my features.
When I return
reality rejects me,
deplores my new form.
As for fantasy,
it doesn’t remember me,
and I cannot find my home
in either.
