Letter

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.

.

ML

Summertime 

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

Love,

Is it too soon

To suggest a venom exchange 

From your mouth to mine and vice versa? 

.

ML
I should create a new category: Poems written at 3 in the morning. 

This is becoming a pattern.

Comment Section Drama

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?

.

ML

I guess I had to vent.

Facts

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

.

ML