This is the english version of this: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/18/poesia1989/


Born into 1989,

Still trying to find,

someone to make mine.

Growing old isn’t always fine.

Loneliness is the vibe,

lost my tribe.

You want to bribe,

or to pain, subscribe?

I have lost many battles,

I’m feeling older than I actually am.

I’m not fine,

my hands rattles.

I’m my worst enemy,

but sometimes the only friend.

I want something to have an end,

I want something else,

to never see it.

Keeping things forever,

repairing the rift,

But my heart doesn’t fit.

Tell me,

what do tou really want?

You’re lost, so am I,

we’re just torn apart.

I wonder if it’s really my falut,

or of who doesn’t want to understand,

and I still take my stand.



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