Culaccino

Culaccino

We live, we long, we hide,
In the café’s corner table,
Years spent, here together
Stuck in a rut as we sonder,
Sombre, you do not hear
me, or my troubles, you hear you;
Your voice and your judgements,
Double-sided encouragement,
Passive-aggressive help,

You can do anything you want!
… As long as I approve.

Your approval is confining.
I am my own person.

People are cruel, people are mean,
That’s just life, c’est la vie.

Repetition does not breed truth;
Every chrysalis breaks,
Metamorphosis doesn’t stop
or wait to be approved.

I’m just trying to protect you!
Without me, you will fail.

Ha! Va te faire foutre.

You can’t tell me what I must do
For I will not listen
anymore, I cannot listen,
Lest I cease to exist.
If the world is my oyster, then
Let me search for my pearl.
My feet are restless here, idle.
I am one drop from
crumbling into nothing, I need
to leave, I need to live,
Away from your hesitations.
Your life is not my life.

The world is wide and full of soul,
And I am wanting for it all.

Notes

Notes

Below are some notes about this piece, including the thoughts and external inspirations that occurred during its creation. 
Bear in mind, this is simply what I was thinking of when I wrote these poems and what they mean to me. If you interpreted them differently, that does not diminish how you felt as the reader nor the correctness/incorrectness of what you were thinking. 
Culaccino [2022] follows a common metre pattern. This poem is about a person wanting to be free. Free of judgment, free to choose, free to live. Being free often comes with sacrifice and sometimes that can involve setting boundaries or cutting people off completely. It was inspired by a photo from Sibella Court's 'Imaginarium'. 
common metre

Below are some notes about this piece, including the thoughts and external inspirations that occurred during its creation.
Bear in mind, this is simply what I was thinking of when I wrote these poems and what they mean to me. If you interpreted them differently, that does not diminish how you felt as the reader nor the correctness/incorrectness of what you were thinking. Poetry is subjective, and so is being alive.

“Culaccino” [cool-ah-chino] is an Italian word meaning the ‘butt’ of something, specifically the ring stain left behind by a glass on a table.
“C’est la vie” [say-lah-vee] is French for ‘That is life’.
“Va te faire foutre” [vah-teh-fare-foo-truh] is also French, meaning ‘Go fuck yourself’.

Sources: 

Sibella Court