He’s a ghost because he wants to be one.


He’s a ghost because he wants to be one.

The door is open but he swings by the entrance.


He’s falling off the pages, walking on the corners.

Blurry letters of a book i just can’t read.

He’s half real by choice.

Here, not here.

Appear, dissaper.

His cold hands running up my thigh…

Then nothing.


He’s my ghost, my personal fight.

The monster calling from under my bed at night.


He’s surrounded by questions.

Questions that only lead to more questions.

I don’t like any of the answers so i stay quiet.

He’s a ghost.

And i’m playing dead.

He worries about losing his hair.

lula avila

He worries about losing his hair.

I mean, i understand, i’m vain too.

But he worries in the way the condemned do.

He waits for it like a death sentence.

“My father is bald, my grandfather was bald”

“My youth will be over, the flowers will dry”

“My life will be over when i’m bald”

“…Voldemort is bald”


Meanwhile i’m right there slipping from between his hands like sand.

I wave my hands, jump up and down.

No reaction.

He’s busy googling hair loss shampoos.


I leave, i slam the door, he doesn’t even turn.

He’s looking in the mirror, only his image in sight.


He worries so much about losing.

Losing his looks, losing his fitness, losing his money, losing his hair…


And his hair is still on his head,

but now the room is alone.

The wind has been moving my life again.


The wind has been moving my things again.

My ponytail always messy, my tea cold.

Is it just me?


Is it the season?

My fears getting out, my past coming back.

This crazy tornado scrambling up my life.


The wind has been moving my things again.

My toys gone, my baby already a girl.

The cold air lifting my skirt, tripping my steps.

Too much dirt in my eyes see straight.


I open all my doors, my windows.

He can come in and steal what he wants.


I open up a hole on the roof to see better.

How beautiful, an entire life soaring up, up.

Going away.

Goodbye boy bands, heartbreaks, awkward stage!

If it was not fixed to the ground it’s yours…

I can’t wait to work with what remains.

Whatever enough…


Wish i was mature enough…

Or maybe it’s stupid enough?

Or wise enough? Naive enough?

I need to find it.

Whatever enough i need to be to forgive you.

To stop this hate that keeps coming to my house like giant waves of water.

Breaking doors and windows to get in.

My home got so messy, my room a swamp, i need this enough soon.

Whatever enough i need to be to forgive you.

Before the flood gets inside me too.

And i’m forced to wear the hate for the rest my life.

Nancy in the trees.

lourdes denisse calleja

Tell Nancy she can climb down from up there.

The forest is long gone, we are grown.

She was scared but the monsters are now gone.

It was all in her head, it’s over, her hair is long.

The earth feels nice to step on.

Nancy hiding, from real life in a story tree.

Tell her to climb down.

The forest is gone, is now a river.

Rivers go somewhere, water washes up old dirt.

Come down, we love you, the water is fine.

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