Daisy D.

http://dreamdaisyd.wordpress.com/

I’ve spent the past few hours sitting on my new bed. I spent the last few hours sitting on this bed counting the beds I chanced in the past few years. I changed more then 5 beds in the past few years. I moved in more then 4 towns in the past 4 years and in each one of them I tried my best to feel at home. In each of the four towns I decorated my room so that all the 5 beds I changed in the last 4 years could feel like my own. 

I changed 4 towns in the past 4 years, looking for my future, calling it out loud as a desperate mother looking for her lost child. I hanged signs on every tree of the 4 towns I moved into in the past few years. Each sign said bold and clear ” HAVE YOU SEEN MY FUTRE, is my future here?”. 

I searched for my future in the past 4 years, I searched on the net, on the streets, in the air, but no matter how many times I felt at home I still aint found my future any freaking where. 

Reaching for my twenties I’ve always had the fear that this moment would arrive, and now the moment is here. In my nightmares there are no ghosts, spiders or any  creapy creature. In my nightmares I’ll never get to choose the bed on which I’ll build my future.

 

Why so afraid of sex?

What is wrong?
To be 15 and rent a room after prom? To wear a white dress with a black tong? That rap song where “ he fucks his bitches” all night long, red hair, brunette and blonde, cuz power is money and money makes you strong, so you can fuck your bitches all night long cuz after all they belong, to u.
What is wrong?
In this society sex is like the bogyman, some horrifying monster humanity can’t destroy, “don’t watch porn boy, play with that toy of yours, the one where you kill people on a display!” That’s what moms always say. We live in a world where movies show you the creepiest tortures to entertain your mind but to masturbate too much will make you blind. We live in a world where religions preach against love and copulations and not against sexual humiliation, racial segregation, political discrimination or against the constant glorification of war, justification of violence. We live in a world where the self abnegation of women makes us feel all a little bit more pure, where the idea of a girl that enjoys physical pleasure can be often confused with a whore, where we are always considered too immature to discover the obscure mystery of love, and we need a cure if love is not made in the biblical sense.
This society preaches virginity and a white veil, sex is love or sex is male cuz the power of social pressure on women doesn’t fail, they wanna pleasure us but never care whether or not our moans are real. We live in a world where women feel ashamed to talk about their treasure, to say out loud that they give em selves some pleasure, in a world where men feel the pressure to measure up with the others and we have all secretly judged single mothers.
We hide the concept of sex from children because to be born in lettuce or brought by an ugly looking bird is better than a beautiful act that involves what’s under ur pants and beneath my skirt! We tell our daughters to stay home at night but its not teen pregnancy we really fight, its the horrifying idea of her defloration sadly liked in our minds with humiliation, domination and eternal damnation. Why the thought of a girl reaching an orgasm is so shocking to you? Is it new? Gross? When girls scream they as hot as kate moss!
Is weird that I watch porn? Do u watch porn? U should watch porn! Keeps u warm when ur alone!
So don’t teach your children to fear what it appears to be the greatest gift of all times, tell em bout the silent killer in peoples veins, tell em to play no games but to be kind, respectful, and to fully enjoy the flames of love.

Mother
My Lady, My Queen, this one is for you.
The woman that thought me dreams can come true. She brought me to life and then other two, in her womb and in her home strong and health we grew.
Her children, her blood, her crew.
She told us stories and tales she knew, legends of those who flew to close to the sun and dived in the deep blue, about the man who played the flue to drawn in the sea sons, daughters and nephews, she told us the story of a princess and her crystal shoe, she told us the value of life and death too.
My Lady, My Queen, this one is for you.
Every day I walk among the memory of those who’ve over passed, I walk along rivers of glass and step on golden fields and green grass. Every day I walk with my head up proud, watching towards you silver cloud, while my thoughts and dreams are so loud to scare away the crowd around me.
I vowed, I vowed to keep your words alive, that against boredom I’d strive, against the darkness of too real or too gray, I vowed to be brave, I vowed to be your knight, I’ve promised to let our kingdom of magic survive.
Every night I walk alone in the forest, surrounded by the highest trees and prettiest flowers, I walk in the woods in silence, I see wild creatures in the distance, by my side there’s only air, but in my heart I know that the forest hides your essence.
On the hill where I’ve buried you in my dreams, white flowers blossom and a river streams. Snow gently covers your grave of grass and stones, a white vale to hide promises and bones.
Many think they own thrones and crowns, they are nothing but fools, nothing but clowns.
I walk in the realm you left behind, while your golden limbs light up my face and my tears are dried by your breath, by the wind.
I walk in the realm you left behind, among those to whom you were kind, reading letters and poems you signed, keeping your grace and elegance in my mind. Too often people are dull and people are blind, but sometimes I find the kind of mankind you defined in your stories.
Sometimes I find the knight who fights for peace, for love, for kindness, against the beasts of the night. I see a hero raising his sword in the name of justice, some call it bravery, other madness.
I walk in the realm you left behind, on the lands of a kingdom where you once shined. I walk under your glowing eye, pale and round in the night sky. The moon, motherly and gentle lights up my path keeping me far from Envy’s bloodbath.
In my dreams I fight dragons, monsters and liars. To relive your stories it’s all I desire, to feel that fire in my chest, a beating heart beneath my breast, cuz when you died I fell from the nest and while you rest I’ll do my best to wear your vest.
Mother, I walk in the realm you left Me. I am not a queen bee but I won’t stand cowardly. This kingdom of your is made of magic and laughers, a home for characters of tales, children of authors. Epic stories don’t have to be confined in dreams or in the pages of a book. We don’t need to wait behind a door we can unlock.
This one is for you, My Lady, My Queen.
I chose to believe in the mystery, in the majesty of morality, bravery and loyalty. I chose to believe that we are princes and princesses with battles to win, to save the good of the world from our sin, from nightmares we haven’t seen and monsters there might have been.
So Mother, this one is for you, for me, for those who still believe that one day dragons on earth will relive and, at the end, magic will weave in the fabric of life.
For all this, mother, I’ll strive.

Mother

My Lady, My Queen, this one is for you.

The woman that thought me dreams can come true. She brought me to life and then other two, in her womb and in her home strong and health we grew.

Her children, her blood, her crew.

She told us stories and tales she knew, legends of those who flew to close to the sun and dived in the deep blue, about the man who played the flue to drawn in the sea sons, daughters and nephews, she told us the story of a princess and her crystal shoe, she told us the value of life and death too.

My Lady, My Queen, this one is for you.

Every day I walk among the memory of those who’ve over passed, I walk along rivers of glass and step on golden fields and green grass. Every day I walk with my head up proud, watching towards you silver cloud, while my thoughts and dreams are so loud to scare away the crowd around me.

I vowed, I vowed to keep your words alive, that against boredom I’d strive, against the darkness of too real or too gray, I vowed to be brave, I vowed to be your knight, I’ve promised to let our kingdom of magic survive.

Every night I walk alone in the forest, surrounded by the highest trees and prettiest flowers, I walk in the woods in silence, I see wild creatures in the distance, by my side there’s only air, but in my heart I know that the forest hides your essence.

On the hill where I’ve buried you in my dreams, white flowers blossom and a river streams. Snow gently covers your grave of grass and stones, a white vale to hide promises and bones.

Many think they own thrones and crowns, they are nothing but fools, nothing but clowns.

I walk in the realm you left behind, while your golden limbs light up my face and my tears are dried by your breath, by the wind.

I walk in the realm you left behind, among those to whom you were kind, reading letters and poems you signed, keeping your grace and elegance in my mind. Too often people are dull and people are blind, but sometimes I find the kind of mankind you defined in your stories.

Sometimes I find the knight who fights for peace, for love, for kindness, against the beasts of the night. I see a hero raising his sword in the name of justice, some call it bravery, other madness.

I walk in the realm you left behind, on the lands of a kingdom where you once shined. I walk under your glowing eye, pale and round in the night sky. The moon, motherly and gentle lights up my path keeping me far from Envy’s bloodbath.

In my dreams I fight dragons, monsters and liars. To relive your stories it’s all I desire, to feel that fire in my chest, a beating heart beneath my breast, cuz when you died I fell from the nest and while you rest I’ll do my best to wear your vest.

Mother, I walk in the realm you left Me. I am not a queen bee but I won’t stand cowardly. This kingdom of your is made of magic and laughers, a home for characters of tales, children of authors. Epic stories don’t have to be confined in dreams or in the pages of a book. We don’t need to wait behind a door we can unlock.

This one is for you, My Lady, My Queen.

I chose to believe in the mystery, in the majesty of morality, bravery and loyalty. I chose to believe that we are princes and princesses with battles to win, to save the good of the world from our sin, from nightmares we haven’t seen and monsters there might have been.

So Mother, this one is for you, for me, for those who still believe that one day dragons on earth will relive and, at the end, magic will weave in the fabric of life.

For all this, mother, I’ll strive.

EDUCATION
Sitting here, waiting for the moon to disappear shameless behind the sun.
I’m cold, my heart is cold, my ears pierced and that thicket’s sold.
A day, July 13, odd number when the mystery begins. There are no numbers after July 13, my calendars empty, my future’s uncertain, the acts of my play hide behind the curtains.
The moon is now half way covered, lovers sit and stare to capture the beauty of a moment, before it’s stolen, taken from their hands, their hearts.
Each of us is here to play a part, to act in the comedy of existence, to be a hero and save lives for instance, to sing for living, hope giving, hair styling, taxi driving, car stealing, people’s watching, moon gazing, stars counting and dreaming.
My Vans untied, dirty on the side, borrowed from a friend to be with me worldwide, to be the sole under my feet when the earth shakes, when the ground breaks, when my body aches, surrounded by snakes, by the ashes of my own mistakes.
Don’t you dare, don’t you swear you’ve been fair. Don’t pretend like you care, like you  care about the prayer, about the prayer of the man in despair. Don’t you share a tear, we’re all aware, we are all aware that you just don’t care!
College is a blur in September, they judge your grades, your race, your gender.
Looking for the best, la cream de la cream, each professors dream, A-team material, they eat books for breakfast, not cereal.
But you know what? Maybe my grades ain’t good enough cuz other than school I did other stuff, cuz professors where I come from think students are nothing but dumb, nothing but scum under their thumb.
Maybe I ain’t got all 30s out of 30s but my soul ain’t dirty, my passion’s credit worthy, because we are not just As or Bs but the word CHANGE in the dictionary.
I’m a valid, vital, voracious visionary.
Trust me, give me a degree and I’ll fix my reality, your reality, this reality, and hopefully your personality Mr.
Because you are just like a blister under my feet, stuck up pretentious left over of your elite, religious clan of higher education, Gods and priests of false expectations, feeding the beast of institutional knowledge with a perverse devotion for humiliation.
Apparently I don’t deserve your generous gift of a specialization which you kindly give away for only 30 thousand grants of tuition.
I’m not good enough to walk along the chosen ones, the illuminati of 2014, the batteries of you perfect machine.
Well I’ll tell you something, you machine needs a dry clean because it smells like a latrine.
I’m not jealous, trust me! I’m the queen, I’m the queen of the in-between, in-between brown and white, read and write, wrong and right, dark and light, Pepsi and Sprite.
But I’m not either good or dumb, I’m not just some, my daddy thinks I’m smart and with or without your permission Ser, I’ll play my part. With or without your help I’ll do my best to help the oppressed, I’ll do my best to fixed this messed up nest that we call world and that we call home.

EDUCATION

Sitting here, waiting for the moon to disappear shameless behind the sun.

I’m cold, my heart is cold, my ears pierced and that thicket’s sold.

A day, July 13, odd number when the mystery begins. There are no numbers after July 13, my calendars empty, my future’s uncertain, the acts of my play hide behind the curtains.

The moon is now half way covered, lovers sit and stare to capture the beauty of a moment, before it’s stolen, taken from their hands, their hearts.

Each of us is here to play a part, to act in the comedy of existence, to be a hero and save lives for instance, to sing for living, hope giving, hair styling, taxi driving, car stealing, people’s watching, moon gazing, stars counting and dreaming.

My Vans untied, dirty on the side, borrowed from a friend to be with me worldwide, to be the sole under my feet when the earth shakes, when the ground breaks, when my body aches, surrounded by snakes, by the ashes of my own mistakes.

Don’t you dare, don’t you swear you’ve been fair. Don’t pretend like you care, like you  care about the prayer, about the prayer of the man in despair. Don’t you share a tear, we’re all aware, we are all aware that you just don’t care!

College is a blur in September, they judge your grades, your race, your gender.

Looking for the best, la cream de la cream, each professors dream, A-team material, they eat books for breakfast, not cereal.

But you know what? Maybe my grades ain’t good enough cuz other than school I did other stuff, cuz professors where I come from think students are nothing but dumb, nothing but scum under their thumb.

Maybe I ain’t got all 30s out of 30s but my soul ain’t dirty, my passion’s credit worthy, because we are not just As or Bs but the word CHANGE in the dictionary.

I’m a valid, vital, voracious visionary.

Trust me, give me a degree and I’ll fix my reality, your reality, this reality, and hopefully your personality Mr.

Because you are just like a blister under my feet, stuck up pretentious left over of your elite, religious clan of higher education, Gods and priests of false expectations, feeding the beast of institutional knowledge with a perverse devotion for humiliation.

Apparently I don’t deserve your generous gift of a specialization which you kindly give away for only 30 thousand grants of tuition.

I’m not good enough to walk along the chosen ones, the illuminati of 2014, the batteries of you perfect machine.

Well I’ll tell you something, you machine needs a dry clean because it smells like a latrine.

I’m not jealous, trust me! I’m the queen, I’m the queen of the in-between, in-between brown and white, read and write, wrong and right, dark and light, Pepsi and Sprite.

But I’m not either good or dumb, I’m not just some, my daddy thinks I’m smart and with or without your permission Ser, I’ll play my part. With or without your help I’ll do my best to help the oppressed, I’ll do my best to fixed this messed up nest that we call world and that we call home.

THE CRAZY ONE
People call me many things, they call me bella, they call me miss, they call me names, they call me Cris.
I’ve been in this world for 21 years, I’ve been here enough to interfere with he circle of this sphere our ancestors named earth, and to shape the air around my body from the day of birth.
I’ve walked on dirt and dust and I grew up fast, my blood turned into crust, I grew up far from the coast, my yard was frost, it rained in August, I grew up lost in a ghost town, church thought me lust must be distrust and when I feel pleasure I felt disgust.
And now you tell me I’m just one thing when my body grows , my cells have multiplied, my voice is louder, my hair longer, the mass upon my feet heavier and I change my skin like a snake every spring? How can you tell me I’m just one thing?
They say I’m Italian cuz that’s where I have grown but I don’t move my hands like a clown, I’m a little more olive than brown and pizza kinda sucks in my home town.
I wasn’t born in that deformed looking boot, I first saw the light in heaven, where grass is green and when the wind sings the forest screams.
I lived where the snow in November, reaches my knees and where every morning my socks get wet and then freeze, leaves fall in summer and everybody skies.
I come from a white paradise, the lands of ice, but look at my eyes!
They’re brown and wide, as warm as light, my skin glows in the sun, my dad comes from the sand, empire of the east where days rise and genies exist, wars persists, cultures coexists and water is missed.
Babylon is home far away, even further from UCLA, further in time but into my DNA, my oriental bones spice up this plane parade, masquerade of northern values and northern lights, Christian crap and western rights.
I’m not just one thing. Where to begin, there’s a black tattoo on top of my skin, it’s a flower, it’s a Jasmine.
Middle Eastern blood frozen in my veins, frozen in the woods. Syrian Red Riding Hood chasing wolves and dreams my whole childhood.
Belly dancing in the snow I starred at my reflection below, dancing in the river. The water was cold and my image shivered.
They sometimes call me crazy, cuz I cry if I feel lonely at night, cuz my past is heavy and my heart too wide. Crazy when I wake up sweating with fear, when after some shots I share an alcoholic tear, crazy cuz I feel other souls in the atmosphere, crazy cuz I’m always waiting for something magical to appear.
So maybe I’m insane, maybe I live in the reign of rotten brains, but the mads loves the most and achieve greatness at any cost, they live for passion and lust, believe in magical dust, believe they can fly and sometimes they try, cuz when life get too real they rather die.
So here I am, a mutt, a bastard child of this planet, omelette of cultures, half blooded muggle, but my name is not Italian, Syrian or “ The Crazy One”, my body is a limb of nature, my breath is the air of every creature, my voice has mass, has texture, I change with the touch of every stranger, I’m a mixture of genes and adventures.
I’m infinite, my body mortal, my voice eternal.

THE CRAZY ONE

People call me many things, they call me bella, they call me miss, they call me names, they call me Cris.

I’ve been in this world for 21 years, I’ve been here enough to interfere with he circle of this sphere our ancestors named earth, and to shape the air around my body from the day of birth.

I’ve walked on dirt and dust and I grew up fast, my blood turned into crust, I grew up far from the coast, my yard was frost, it rained in August, I grew up lost in a ghost town, church thought me lust must be distrust and when I feel pleasure I felt disgust.

And now you tell me I’m just one thing when my body grows , my cells have multiplied, my voice is louder, my hair longer, the mass upon my feet heavier and I change my skin like a snake every spring? How can you tell me I’m just one thing?

They say I’m Italian cuz that’s where I have grown but I don’t move my hands like a clown, I’m a little more olive than brown and pizza kinda sucks in my home town.

I wasn’t born in that deformed looking boot, I first saw the light in heaven, where grass is green and when the wind sings the forest screams.

I lived where the snow in November, reaches my knees and where every morning my socks get wet and then freeze, leaves fall in summer and everybody skies.

I come from a white paradise, the lands of ice, but look at my eyes!

They’re brown and wide, as warm as light, my skin glows in the sun, my dad comes from the sand, empire of the east where days rise and genies exist, wars persists, cultures coexists and water is missed.

Babylon is home far away, even further from UCLA, further in time but into my DNA, my oriental bones spice up this plane parade, masquerade of northern values and northern lights, Christian crap and western rights.

I’m not just one thing. Where to begin, there’s a black tattoo on top of my skin, it’s a flower, it’s a Jasmine.

Middle Eastern blood frozen in my veins, frozen in the woods. Syrian Red Riding Hood chasing wolves and dreams my whole childhood.

Belly dancing in the snow I starred at my reflection below, dancing in the river. The water was cold and my image shivered.

They sometimes call me crazy, cuz I cry if I feel lonely at night, cuz my past is heavy and my heart too wide. Crazy when I wake up sweating with fear, when after some shots I share an alcoholic tear, crazy cuz I feel other souls in the atmosphere, crazy cuz I’m always waiting for something magical to appear.

So maybe I’m insane, maybe I live in the reign of rotten brains, but the mads loves the most and achieve greatness at any cost, they live for passion and lust, believe in magical dust, believe they can fly and sometimes they try, cuz when life get too real they rather die.

So here I am, a mutt, a bastard child of this planet, omelette of cultures, half blooded muggle, but my name is not Italian, Syrian or “ The Crazy One”, my body is a limb of nature, my breath is the air of every creature, my voice has mass, has texture, I change with the touch of every stranger, I’m a mixture of genes and adventures.

I’m infinite, my body mortal, my voice eternal.