i want you close

and treat you nicely

 

as i browse the bookstore

i hear a familiar footstep

 

give me back my life

my headphones won’t work

 

i have been in a bad mood

why is it that I still need to talk to you?

 

yet

the goodbye—the worst part

there is a folder 

for each person i have known 

filled with 

accurate, descriptive

ink 

 

what if i give 

all of them 

to them 

because what else is there 

to share 

 

some are not able to read 

 

would the ones that still are—read me? 

 

there is a folder

unnamed

and my name 

cannot be found 

anywhere

 

yours is still in progress

 

why 

 

i have explained myself in every edge of the paper 

 

i argue with myself

where reasons never end 

 

my words won’t bring you near

 

yours 

 

is a memory i can’t replace

Why did I laugh? 

Be moved for days—weeks—years—a gentle nurse of a sick boat against the wind with a fake whistle

It keeps the eternal whispering around

Not quite ever

Yet

Get sick before you’re about to tell the truth

I’ve eaten too much

Seal the crying voice of my soul

Sure game

Right shot

For hours I think, sit and hold the urgency

I write

Though not as much as I would like

And wonder if anyone will see my face again

I take pictures and wait for friends

To write first

I am what I don’t write

I look for a concerned look 

Look: the sky is already dark

I never can’t tell when I’m going to write

Or what

The deeper task is to rescue aloneness

It is happening now and that is enough

When this stops, other things will

See them 

Measure them

Bring them closer to your scalp

By pulling the hair

Known to be ugly

Supposed to be fixed

Seen by you and by them 

Roots are growing

They always will

Against your will

Last time they showed

You were determined for them to become your whole

So they would no longer be

As long as hair grows

A part of a pattern when needed reminding

Each new color

Is still a colorful pattern

Stay passive, thankful

Roots grow when you should

real question nur costa.JPG

‘don’t know about women, but

you don’t know how to beg

to men.’ I am on a train

choking on my only real question

and the violence

of the first collision

unbuttoned all the buttons

traded off roles

barely talked

fingers spidering

inside

like something descending

slowly

like a heavy theatre curtain

and felt I became

fluent in the language of

eyes

will I ever look at

 

 

the same way?

salmon shirt

at the longest

street

breaks pulled

as long as

words are kept

one time is not

enough

time is up:

i know

totally

i see

tenderly

i love

tragically

paper disregarding dreams crumpled nurcosta nur costa.JPG

Restless recipe: disregarding dreams upon reaching a crumpled texture.

what we write on the same day.png

same day sun and rain

i turn around to see

where’s the trust?

what we write

creeping behind

as silently as a cat

choosing lies and truths

conveniently

your version

endlessly

i

 

know by memory

know by heart

want to forget

want to forgive

 

your name

 

i loved you since i heard your voice

dripping sarcasm and honesty

 

a certain degree of trust

like the sound of the fountain

filling endlessly

 

like the footsteps following

an entire day for an answer

 

we saw it coming

and I kept walking

out of curiosity

I kept walking

because I never wanted to go home

 

and I’d roll an orange under my foot

to make it smooth

and stick a thumb in it

to suck the juice out

let me know

 

if you’d like to share

this moment