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Vanessa Grixti

The Tug Of All Things

There is a pressing voice
in the back of my mind
and when it senses silence
it emerges
and always asks me the questions
that have answers which I would rather not confess.
'Are you lonely? '
Yes.
'Do you love only for the sake of loving? '
Yes.
I live in the past
because the future frightens me.
The past is real,
It is concrete in my memory
and the future is a cloud
I know it is beyond me
but it is untouchable.
Intangible.
Unreliable.
It cannot carry me

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Flies and Humans

I sat in my bedroom
watching as two flies
repeatedly flung themselves
at the window
trying to get outside.
Of course
they do not understand
the concept of glass.
They keep trying
and I keep watching.
Then I thought,
maybe they are safer in here
behind these walls.
Yes, they are.
I resigned myself
from this contemplation
and decided
to let them stay.
Then another part of me emerged
and thought:

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Disillusioned and Damned

That night
the joyful screaming,
we were yelling arbitrary questions to a greater power
that we do not believe in.
That night
I played you my favourite song
and imagined myself dancing through a field of daises
and I hoped that if you could see me there
among the flowers
you would finally think that I am beautiful.
That night
I broke your last cigarette in half
and your eyes were wild with fire,
you walked away and then came back.
That night
you asked me who I was
but I was too afraid to let you know.
That night
you cried because you realized how much you really loved me
and like a firefly you caught me in a mason jar

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Beloved Secrecy

I carry my notebook
with me
everywhere I go
because without the words
I'm just a lonesome dropout
looking for a body to love
I feel bad
when I read Bukowski.
His legacy
is well-built and strong
he would have said,
'You're crazy. And maybe beautiful.
But this fight
is one of the hardest
you will ever face.'
That's what writing is:
A fight.
I'm small
feeble
and weak-hearted

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An Envelope of Petals

I inch my hand
over your bed sheets.
How distressing it is
to step into the unknown.
Eyes as wide as the sun,
you will not be the last one
I ache for.
As my hand
glides along cotton linens
I imagine the factory that they were
made in.
I envision a repair man
with a wrench in his hand,
I think he is heartbroken
and he too wonders
what kind of lovers
will tangle themselves
in these cotton covers.
At home
he has flower beds in his garden

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The Struggle of Creativity

Don't be a creative soul,
you won't survive.
I crack my knuckles
hoping my bones will speak to me
but all they ever say is
"give up while you still can"
so I have silenced them
but my hands are sore
and every bone in my body yells,
they say they're tired of the whimpering echoes
my heart makes every time I fail
and I yell back
that I'm so sorry for putting them through
what I thought was creative integrity.
I thought it was beautiful to create,
but no one tells you how easy it is
to fail at something before you even start
I feel I'm already at the end of a road
I haven't set foot on.
I should be a doctor

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Unravel Each Other

You make a crisp autumn day feel like a warm summer month
and I haven't even known you long enough
to know the colour of your eyes
or if your smile settles when you sleep.
But I do know this.
I know that love is not in heart beats
or in gold-plated rings
or in the electricity between our skin.
Love is in the mind.
It is in the comfort of a locked glance.
It is at the end of a dwindled conversation
when both interlocutors feel at ease
knowing their words are safe
and without judgement.
Just trust me.
I make love look as simple
as a coin being spun on a table.
And my hands have touched so many hearts
that my fingerprints have lost their novelty.
Romance has become nothing more than a body lying next to me.

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Love is a one-winged bird

I thought us as a problem
that was simply
too big to solve
but that wasn't it
at all
There is sadness in
how simple
our story was
I was your conditional love
Only on some days
Only when it was better for you
Only when you grew tired
of skirt chasing
you could always find me waiting
I shredded pieces of my pride
to make room inside myself
to love you
I exchanged dignity for intimacy
And in return you loved me conditionally
On the days I looked pretty

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A night with negligence

I could talk about the music
but what a cliché that would be
it's the people
with their facades and their complacency
I wish to understand them
to know who they are
they believe their recklessness is beautiful
and sometimes it is
but I know their fascinations
remain on shallow levels
They strive for those few fleeting minutes
of closeness with a stranger
while beads of sweat trickle down their sad skin
Loneliness thrives on nights like these
and they dance with it
They wait until it loves them
But it never does
and from that they suffer
their hunger makes them empty
the only thing they understand

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Openness

I came to life when the flowers were blooming
Spring time irony
I am exactly who I was meant to be.
But maybe the idea of being
little miss picture perfect
isn't one I agree with.
Always smiling but not out of happiness
Who am I?
Bleach my hair
make me someone I'm not just for the sake of their eyes
and their souls, save them from my emptiness
because I swear to the depths of this earth
and to whatever exists beyond them
I contain a heart so broken
that every beat pumps numbness throughout my body.
Who am I?
This body, so slender
Girls stick their fingers down their throats to look like this
And for me, it's effortless
So why do these days exist where I simply want to be someone else

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