Inner Self

[As you can see from the date, it is an old poem, however, dealing with ghosts that still haunt me.]

12/29/04

I don’t feel that
man-screaming-in-the-open-field
hatred when I think of her: loneliness.
he screams and the piercing freedom flies,
I
scream and lose myself in
w
a
l
l
s
of her, again.

it’s like the guava fruit fly,
it’s born inside her, it’s part of her.
it is in her like an ingrown nail that
will never,
ever
be removed.

so I used to brag myself,
thinking that she was
what I most wanted,
I was as comfortable as
a cloud couch
from which I fell, from up there I fell.

and by only desiring her
I let not that others touched me,
I became the most ethereal rock
I ever met,

go figure…

truth is this is my eternal daymare,
reason why I am not scared.

to hell with people-around-me
loneliness,
I want only the Raffaella
loneliness.

help me not to run away anymore?