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Poker Face

It takes a lot out of us. Communication. Feels like an endless battle of shape and form. This is my point of view and that one is yours, but who’s to prove what’s true. Certainly not me. In whatever way you change your perception you never know when you’re making the right move. Playing poker you’re staring straight into someone’s energy field. Their hand gestures, even the slightest twitch on their left eyebrow will hint to you a direction of play. Are they bluffing? Can we ever know? On the river, the last card is a deuce. With two twos in their hands your Queens are mucked, and all because you didn’t trust your instinct. Deep down you knew all along. You should have folded when you still had the chance. Win or lose is always the game we play.

© Nicoletta

📷: Las Vegas, Nevada

To the Self the Great Return

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You’re in a relationship, something isn’t clicking. You enjoy each other’s company, there are good days and some days, well let’s say they’re just…okay. You eat in silence, because there’s not much to talk about. Some nights you find yourself getting up and staring up at the ceiling, hoping that all the doubt you feel inside will be resolved by some kind of miracle. Divine intervention. You pray that your dreams will satisfy you, because the emptiness you feel inside is way too much to bear. There’s something missing but you can’t quite figure out what it is. You can definitely feel it. The reality of the void hits you rock bottom. The heaviness of your stomach rises like a solid to your throat, it sticks to you like a chronic cold. You’re fevering up but you still can’t find the courage to move on. Afraid to hurt yourself or is it another? Honesty is the greatest commitment. You can’t pretend to be something you never were meant to be. Nor can you fool yourself any longer. What you feel is real and moving forward is the only way to heal. You can’t drag someone else along with you. In love, we take no hostages. The only casualties that remain at the end of a battle are our own selves. We pick ourselves up and mend our wounds alone. That is the only way to find our way back home. The journey is always a long and lonely one, but in the end no matter what we will find ourselves. Just like it was in the beginning, so we find ourselves in the end. To the self the great return.

©Nicoletta

Ascension

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I know it to be true. There is a way to break this spell, cast by thousands of lives. I am paying for the sins of my fathers and mothers. The blood in my hands, dripping in lines. Spiralling in any direction, never pointing the way. Always a battle, the way of the world. I am moving forwards, I can feel it in my steps that hinder so. I can hear the beat of my heart, it is asking me to calm my mind. The noise too broken to comprehend. I feel the music silence me to the stillness of breath, and yet somewhere down below the cold night beckons me to doubt my instinct. The gut, my eternal Sun. I taste the brightness drawing closer to my spirit. It is lighting me to change. I am to become something entirely new. Teardrops pray up to the sky for answer. Confession, in no other color but violet. Rising up is the only way.

©Nicoletta

Tunnels and Flashlights

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The way we turn with no return. Regrets, we miss the ones we love most.
A chance they say is a gift of life, the only way to to start over again.
Back to the beginning, never the end.
There’s no pretending we’ve every won this battle of ours.
But still, we try, we always will.
Until the sight of the brightest light, we will journey tunnels of the dark.
And come the day we break free, I will find my way back to you.

©Nicoletta

Dear My Girl

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Planet Venus
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Dear My Girl,

He’s really not worth it, he never was actually. He will call you up every Friday and every Friday after. You will be known as “Friday girl”, and I don’t suppose you’ve ever met Miss Saturday and Sunday?
I sincerely invite you to see the world from a weekday perspective. Mondays are always the test, a fresh new start. You can wear the day with all you need to do, responsible you are, brighter than that. How about Tuesdays? The thrill is always mid-day when you’ve waited for excitement only to find yourself window shopping, already spending your next salary with your eyes alone. Tighten up, Wednesdays are always the best. Hit the gym, lift a weight or two and when you’re through bath it up, lavender and bubbles soaking you to calm. Thursday ah…what a day, living the night in your very own bedroom. Lights are out and you are free to dream. Chocolate cake will do, only when you’re desperate.
My girl, can’t you see? Friday will never let you down. You will live harmless Saturdays and Sundays. Please consider my offer. We can plan it all out, sign it off on contract. Integrity in our ink. Single is the new you.

With my kindest regards,

Your Girl.

Victorious 

Some people are fearless, as if they were born to create the most bizarre, crazy story and say “this was my life”. My grandma is one of those people, born on a day like this one 75 years ago. I was the only grandchild blessed to be named after her, Niki is Greek, meaning “the victory of the people”…And how I wish the legend of victorious spirit lives on not only in my family, but in yours and theirs so that one day we all wake up and say what a powerful, fearless warrior I AM! Let us all celebrate the Niki in us today and in all days to come. 

©Nicoletta

Pulse

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And suddenly

I learned how to write

With an open heart.

The mind

Long left behind

Was drifting

In logic.
And with my pen

Held tight

In the right of my hand

I printed

Words with pulse.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

Rush of Rose

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Weathering my mind

With ideas

I had a sudden thought.

Like a chiming echo

Entering both ends of ears

A meeting point in the center.

Light bulb rays hovered over

The thin line of hair

Brushing the top of my temple.

Thickening the roots

With a strand of memory,

A humble view

Of all I’ve come to know

Showering myself with gratitude.

Soaping in

Blemishes

Squeaky clean reminiscence.

Polishing the back

The hardest parts to reach,

Lavishing nectar

On the smooth slide of skin.

Perfuming

Unscented pathways

With a running

Rush of rose.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

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