Les Coups de L'Inspiration
I imagine a utopia
An indigo paradise
Where the people only speak in poetry
They know no other way to communicate,
but to find the most artistic words and weave them into a poetic wreath
In this enchanted reality, jazz plays when the wind ruffles the leaves, and classical music streams out of the faucets
There are no clothes in this little world. Just skin-on soil-on skin
And when a child is born, we all raise her. We know we share the same blood
In my utopia the brooks babble, the hills laugh, and the desert sighs-
You can hear it I swear
God talks to us through the clouds, and the sun flirts with us every day at 3
There’s a bookshelf next to every bench, and paints and brushes in every metro
Colors are seen as through MDMA, and kisses are given as when drinking rosé
We grow our vegetables, and pray to our gods, and to ourselves
In this world, senses are emotions are thought: our conscience is masterfully fused
And yes, we love
My Moody Girl
I’m in an emotionally volatile relationship.
Oh, how I love her though
It’s hard for me even to begin to complain without being reminded of how wonderful she is.
Lush gardens, decadent buildings, she’s my muse.
Her music is rich, like the red wine that runs through her veins. Her lights flirt with me, her language seduces me, and her river caresses me.
Oh, how I love her
Well, she hurts me just the same.
Sometimes I wonder if she’s aware of it, or maybe it’s some just some sick aspect of her charm.
She can be cold and distant, pretending not to even notice when I’m struggling.
But she knows.
She likes to overwhelm me- she drowns me in people, and drains me of energy.
She slaps me around with rainy months and seasonal depression.
She mocks me with financial stress and suffocates me with bureaucratic red-tape.
Oh, how I hate her!
Well, I always come crawling back.
When she’ll have me. When she’ll love me.
When her birds sing and her café is sweet. When her beauty consumes me, and I can only see en rose.
She always kisses my bruises after she makes them. A little scarring is sexy after all.
I can’t leave her
she's my city,
she’s my love.