Scribbling

I am an actress, and as I read my script and fall in love with my character, I push away my real self living in the borderlines of imagination. Reality has no meaning, unless I decide it is my fiction coming to life... (from ‘Reality and ’Fiction’) Tell me you solved the riddles of life when I entered in that room crowded with annoyed people bringing glitters of joy in my careless moments of freedom. (from ‘Tell me...’) These are my nights filled with passion in the silence from fear of waking you up while I see the turmoil in your mind. These are my mornings, sleepy in desire as you wake up slowly from an endless night. These are our moments you sleep at night, I sleep at morning to never meet each-other in daylight or under moonlight. This is my story untold for fear of whispering it to the world because my sin lies behind it keeping me hostage of myself. Oh, what a heartache when I turn my back in rancor instead of simply closing my eyes and try to fall asleep with you. And yet, I watch you sleep each night thinking: "That is it! The last and saddest night"!!! (‘My untold story’) I'm sitting in my dining table, As I pretend to be here, But I am nowhere, Sipping my coffee in silence Thinking that I can, when I cannot, And that I am, when I am not. It's almost sunset And the light is fading in my window. I see my basil dying in his vase, I see him striving for some light, Striving for some water and a caress... I took care of him all along, But now I watch him die, Because the water is out of my reach And though I try to fill the cup It always ends up empty when I reach to him... I see my basil die each day, And his green leaves turn yellow, And then brown, and then ... I see my basil die, Crying for being powerless Of pouring some love on him, As I feel love has died within me A long time ago... (‘My Basil’) I squeezed myself in the edges of an abyss hoping that my wolves would smell my scent as it whirled on the airs of a blackened night... I called on them but my echo kept replying coming back to me one thousand folds: Alone... you are alone... No wolves of despair to cry for you tonight... (‘Wolves of despair’) I am dancing this Samba In the privacy of myself, twisting and sweating like a crazy, wishing I could take out all the rage I hold inside of my savaging cage. I dance alone this hasty Samba wishing for some hands to cover my waist and join me in my dance with no refrains and raise me high, so high, as to touch the sky, and then back to a sweet embrace while swinging with me at an easy pace. All I feel instead, is my wet hair going down my skin, tenderly caressing me as I dance raising a desire to be a man's daydream Yin... (‘Private dance’) An innocent exposure of the shoulder down to the point of intimacy, a naive leaning on your side with a daring touch on your hand, sliding of stupid fingers on your lap to pretend that my drink I have to grab... (‘My décolleté’) I walk careless in the corridors of self-esteem wearing nothing but a light purple dress, purple as the sky in the ecstasy of sunset... Playful hips twisting with a voiceless rhythm of my black high heels and the thighs massage against each other giving sail to heating steams... ( ‘Purple dress...’) For the first time I made love to a man that wasn't you. And it felt so right, so true with no illusions, or hidden wishes of someone else instead ... This time the one I dreamed of was real. Real arms, real eyes, real hands to touch my strings and play my blues... And in the middle of this night, I felt raped by my own desire of being shared among two men or among more... (“Another Man”) For sure one wonders, what private moments are. Well to me, it's freedom of picking my nose, scratching my ass in a masculine distraction, singing out loud when no one is hearing, whistling while naked in front of the mirror, touching my body as no man can do, dancing around in a lustful way, with no fear of stretching hands to touch my thighs. rolling on my bed like a little child when nobody thinks of me, or even tries... Making love to me, just because I feel so... or because no man has ever been to my heights... and enjoying all this with no front-line spectators. I need these moments all by myself, no complexity, or rush, no hypocrisy or fake just me, for real "en la vie privée" (‘La vie privée’) I fell asleep with a smile, I'm not sure whether I was thinking of you, him, or the other one... There are so many of them now... One loves me for sure... the other loved me, the other is loving me, But I'm not sure whether I'm keeping scores or counting trophies...or feeling more, and even less... I woke up with a smile today, I won't let any of you to spoil it... (‘Don’t spoil my day’) Today I tried to draw an eagle, but it turned out to be a disaster, as the eagle looked like frog and the frog most probably like a shapeless feeling. Had I not tightened the pen, I'm afraid it would have been your smile instead. I'm so lucky I can't paint, otherwise I'd find my walls covered in canvases of you... (‘Scribbling’)