Birthday gift to myself

I am tired of feeling everything deeply.
I am tired of turning moments into poetry.
I am tired of love, requited or un-.
I am tired of my mind.
In two days time it’s my birthday and this is my gift to myself:
No more obsessed feelings, no more poetry writing, no more melancholy, no more crying this month.
With the coming May I will start writing again, like a timid child, I will open up my heart again neither to him nor to anyone else from my past.
They already had their chance that they wasted.
Now they are out.
April is my time out and May a new chapter to “the story of our lives”.¹
I know that something is only then over when you don’t even bother to say it out loud.
If I can just force myself in April, come May I won’t be bothered again.
For a happy birthday this is a genuine but painful gift; happy birthday dear self.

Beril
12/04/10

(1)"The story of our lives” by Mark Strand (1973)

Time off

I need to take some time off
I know I won’t be sane if I do
I know it’s going to be hard
To block the writer in me,
And to stop enjoying
New visitors with each new poem
I need to take some time off
Because I (don’t) want to.

Beril
16/02/10