Dear baby M,
I wonder where you are; if someone adopted you. Maybe they changed your name. Maybe they kept the first name chosen for you. If you’re someone’s son now, I hope they love you forever.
Even if I could never adopt you, I’ll never forget you. I really, really wanted to adopt you — I think I loved you in the first moment I saw you. I still feel sad thinking that I couldn’t do anything to adopt you back then. I tried to make my mom adopt you, I know she’d have loved you.
I know people would think I was crazy for wanting to adopt a baby at 22 (I was) and tell me I’d have my “own” kids in a few years, but that didn’t matter to me. I didn’t proceed with my idea because I didn’t have money and I couldn’t afford to give you anything, especially without a place of my own. Why take you from a place where people treated you with so much love and care and where you had food and toys? Even if I could give you love too, I’d be selfish for doing that, especially alone like I am. I wouldn’t be able to give you nice things or stability. I wouldn’t be able to take care of a child even today.
I really wish things had been different so I’d be sure you were happy. You’re so precious.
I hope you live a beautiful life.
That’s some serious bad taste, I say to myself
But the optimistic fool disagrees: “May,
That’s so avant garde, doncha think?”
Enough of sadness, I said.
Unborn dreams and well kept memories
Hide in an unwanted past
But I am leaving with you
To drown in forgetfulness
Under the slow sun of a lazy morning
We welcome a strange melancholy —
Golden and blue…
It almost feels like happiness
Is it too soon
To suggest a venom exchange
From your mouth to mine and vice versa?
I should create a new category: Poems written at 3 in the morning.
This is becoming a pattern.
Neo-feminist says the movement can’t help women anyway!
In those “third world countries that no one
Gives a flying sh1t about”
What could they ever do to help?
“Let’s mind our own business, let’s fight
Against the Western rape culture and these
Sexist emojis” — but what about
Social media? Through written words
Crying was heard.
Our people, screaming louder,
Made leaders themselves change their very laws
Ah, I don’t know why… Why do I bother
To type for two straight minutes
A failed attempt to wake you up?
Why do I stress myself out if I know that
In the hands of willful ignorants
The power of our post modern weapon is forgotten
In a sea of narcissistic selfies and sick porn?
I guess I had to vent.
Wake up tomorrow and go to work —
Teach teenagers who aren’t willing to learn
A second language on weekends:
They draw naked women… They hide new iPhones
On their laps, under their notebooks
And ignore my sleepy questions
They always think I can’t see them
There’s nothing new to confess.
The evenings start in golden crimson red
And end in the same room, in the same silence
With books on the floor and paper notes
For past things I knew I’d forget
In every secret place, always so quiet,
Just waiting to be read