Click here form Italain version: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/17/poesiarepresso/


I was so repressed,

so worried,

so unexpressed.

You talk to me,

I’m not impressed.

If I stay like that

I’m more depressed.


I’m so tired

To repress my emotions,

my feelings, my sensations.

And I stil l trust them,

with all the “GOOD INTENTIONS”.

I feel like I’m trapped to the ground,

when I could fly,

so high,

you can’t reach me, even if you try.

I want to love,

i want to scream it,

I want to scream her name,

for how crazy it is,

this is insane,

is not for the fame,

not even for shame.

I just ask:

Is that crazy,

to fight for my dreams,

for what I want,

for what  I need?

Or just something that my demons feed?

Something I want to suceed,

Want to win, but I bleed.

I lived as I was someone else,

to get what I wanted,

I wear this mask.

So I need to know,

I need to ask.

Who am I now,

my answer won’t come fast.

But am I living,

or I’m a undead man?

Do I live this life,

or I watch it passing trough me,

while I still can?



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