to give right.

sometimes
i use an other language
to say the same things
that i feel
since i was boy.

and then
i try other combinations
i play with my tongue
and words drop off
as if it was
my breathing
dying.

i think about what i am now
i think about what i am not
if it were possible
i would like
to paint me again
i would like to write
new contours
of my face
of my fingers
and desires.

a new arrangement of skin
more powerfull
more playfull
maybe
even more weak
so could break
and make my inside
meets the sun
and the fog
and the fire
and not anymore
metaphors.

sometimes i play with strange words
sometimes i play with strange fellings
that i really know
not be able
to cross.