Monday, May 13, 2013

Burning My Coffee Stained Journal

It'll never be the same again,
When you ask me for my passport,
and ask about the last 20 years,
why I was there,
and not here,
that knife stabbing question,
that brings and indescribable pain to my heart,
that goes deeper than political boundaries,
into the directionless map of the human soul,
that makes my knees so weak,
I fall to the cold  ground and cry  endlessly,
There are some things that happened,
I will never speak of again,
You just met me,
I can choose what I tell you,
You do not need to know about certain scars,
but a wise soul once said, "Honesty is the key to intimacy..."
Maybe it's my natural "European ettiqutte"
Present myself as being perfectly fine outwardly,
Deny that any weakness exists,
and pretend that it is not there,
behind the scandalous wine is everything lipstick smile,
 eastern euro dress style,
In all honesty,
you'll honestly never know.
If I choose not to tell you,
You'll simply never know.

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