#writers creed

you left and left
and miles and miles
between us are not
enough
I need you to buy
a rocket ship
I need you to
enter it, and
leave my thoughts
alone.

- r.iver

My book is out on Amazon

Worldwide ❤️

It is time to write my own story, not the stories I have read about what I have learned, fed from the poets before me, from great writers missing other great writers, from Warlords and Damsels, from Kings and Queens, today I am writing my own story, it is time.

In confessional poetry a lot has been about missing someone, about losing someone or something. One might have lost his mind, or his keys to a door, or his keys to a heart. We have all been there and even though most stories are stories we can all relate to, there are also our own stories, stories that define you and your road, your life.

I am still alive and this is how my story begins. The other day I was playing a card game with my grandmother, who is 80 years old, and she said something very important, she said; ‘You have never been lucky in love, you are 35 and you are still alone, not married and no children. How come you are so unlucky in love?’

And I looked at her, in shock.
‘Unlucky?’ I asked.
‘Actually, I feel very lucky in love; every relationship I had in the past has taught me something, has showed me love or showed me what it is not.
Still, every person I came across has been there for a reason and I feel lucky to have met them and I feel lucky to have learned to love myself most, out of all these people.’

She understood what I said and at the same time could not really understand it completely, as she is from a different time, in her time love was about spending your life, at least for the public eye, with one and one person, alone.

‘So you are not lonely?’  she asked me.

And  I smiled.
‘Sometimes I crave something or someone, sometimes this can be solved by seeing my friends or my family, or, play cards with you.
Sometimes it is solved by a glass of wine, or a bottle, listening to music, painting in the nude until 3am. Sometimes it’s solved by falling in love, most times this only lasts for the moment.’

‘Don’t you want someone taking care of you?’ she asked me then.

‘I take care of me. I have my own house, my own car, I pay my own bills, no man or woman needs to take care of me, honestly, that could never be a motive to look for a relationship. and I say relationship and not say ‘to find love’ because love I have, all the time, love I have found in everything and everyone around me.
So no, my dearest Grandmother, I am not unlucky in love, I am actually very lucky in love, and while being very lucky in love I have indeed not encountered a relationship acceptable to society. And to me this is fine.’

She stopped asking questions there and there.
I think it took away some of her worries, the way she prayed for me every night, asking God to please find me a husband, never knowing I already felt happy and lucky just the way I am.

I am writing this down because most of my poetry and writing has been about missing someone, or something, keys to doors, my mind, my lover…

I wanted to write about what does not make me want to write as often anymore; the fact that I don’t seem to miss anything.
I am complete, I feel complete and I do not need to feel happiness, just life as it is, is fine. I must say I am happy, as it is. With all its hardships and feelings and Warlords and Damsels, I am at peace and this has little to do with luck, it has a lot to do with hard work.

I love you, be brave.

Libra Moon.

He kisses my forehead and
asks me how my day was
feeds me grapes and
chokes me to climax
all of this and
more of that
without being asked
fucking -ding ding ding- jackpot
and cherry on top -really good to my fragile
-glued back together- heart.

- r.iver

Like a Thief in the Night.

I still secretly wish for my back against
the side of your rib cage
underneath your arms spread widely
on the bed, like wings
never any intention of holding me close
never any intention of wanting me to go
I still secretly wish for that endless in between
while whispering ‘Kiss kiss, night night - see you never- again’

- r.iver

Day 35 - p r o c e s s

Everything has changed, you say.
I describe to you the past weeks of my life;
a door leading to a hallway
the hallway could be 
a passenger’s terminal
of an airport
with flights that are still awaiting
their destination.

And hasn’t it always been that way, really?

Everything has changed, you say,
and perhaps nothing really has.
Are we too close to notice
the process,
like falling asleep
with noting really happening
then suddenly happening
so fast?

- r.iver

I have written you like a psalm
and you have written me like an epitaph 
we meet in church, it is common ground
not betrothed – to be left and buried  
we do not write any longer
we wish each other well now
and wish ourselves better.

- r.iver

today I was driving and
in came this melancholic feeling
of dying - then followed by
being dead - then leaving the trees
like leaves, soft wind blowing and
a collision of cars on the freeway
my eyes wide like moons
around Saturn and
suddenly the fear of
not being ready made me
so ready, as I was
not wishing to die
- I was hoping to live and
this is a new bought jacket, still a bit
too big, with a soft promise of new born me
growing gradually
into it.  

- r.iver // 10.26.20

at first glance
your face
showed me
immediately
all the doors we shall not take
guiding me straight
to the back of our story
making sure neither of us will know
what it’s like
spending Sundays
with our lips locked
in love
or slow dancing
in the kitchen
with our dog-babies staring at us
in disgust. 

- r.iver

I’m being suffocated by nothing

Reverse claustrophobia

There is too much space inside me

n.a.

Maybe that is love:

To catch each other’s grappling hooks in our backs

n.a.