I can't love when I can't even love myself.

I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.

— Umberto Eco.

————————

Ganz allein in der Stille, wann werde ich besser?

————

A feast is about to begin;
Let the meat do the talking.
Examine closely,
Don't make a sound.
Make yourself home,
Sit right down.
Slice me up,
Cut me up,
Have a bite,
And taste the core.
It's alright,
If you want more.
Don't be afraid 'cos
It's not a sham.
You just need to
Take me as ham.




————




Is it a day of self-entitlement;
a reminder of the existence of life;
or just another day of the year?
Happy Birthday.

Do we truly celebrate the day as it is;
or do we take advantage of it selfishly?

Do we negate the gift of life;
or do we take the time to reflect on life's purpose?

Is it a day to feel —
any feelings at all;
and be allowed to feel it fully?
A cheat day for emotions.




————




The day that I was gifted with life isn't my birthday.
It might be marked on the calendar
— circled with a highlighter,
but it isn't.

The day I want to celebrate isn't the day that I was born.
It might be recognised as a special day
— commemorated with balloons and cake,
but it isn't.

The day I desire to regard as special isn't my birthday.
Much rather, I'd like it to be the day every thing changed
— and I am born with content,
and someday it will be.

The day I eventually reach that someday isn't my birthday.
It will be the day I cherish myself
— treasure the life given to me,
and I will be truly blissful.




————




Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, M.
Ich hoffe, du lebst noch bis nächstes Jahr.




————————






M.

Things I would rather be.
Thoughts at the back head,
But I'm addicted to hurting.