After dozens of poems I scribble, I forget to write poetry

My being lost in the first step of a paranoid loneliness. A wish is the repetition of the wind passing through me and blowing, a subtitle is that I put my laziness in writing unconditionally.

I'm losing a cent, a dire stray, I'm a suspect of the foaming sea and the dreams of the dark: I have an elegant loneliness that I sometimes get defeated, sometimes boycott and sometimes capsize, and more than a flashing light on the peaks of inaccessibility, I am the whitest, where colors pay homage, and my poems that pray to the darkness are my ceiling. my sadness.

On the axis of the Gregorian calendar and the lengthening of the day.

For the first time after the old year has come to an end, this time I will not shed tears, nor am I hostile to the many advices I threw in like a piggy bank and the novels that do not have a preface.

I am writing my novel nonstop and nonstop every day, basting every emotion as if it will never end, I cover the poems I have brooded for my life with my silk skin and the angels lay that enchanted shawl on me.

I'm swinging in the land inside me.

It turns out that I left my endless inner voice fallow.

I've been writing for nine years and I'm running low.

I have been thinking about love for nine years, but I know that I have always been in love with love.

I am the henna cake with short trousers of my loved ones.

My smiling face infested with freckles.

My rotten knees too: after all, my family built an inn where I was tired.

I am proud of my elders.

And he's decent so that he doesn't ask.

My wrists, which I have never judged and cut, how delicate my hands are.

my heart and me

If the load is light ahead.

I haven't written the edict of absence yet, after all, I shine like the sun with my existence and I fall asleep before nine at night with my tiny body and my school bag is next to the door, while I read the most beautiful fairy tales in my dreams until I was ten years old.

What changes then?

While I wasn't wondering what the unknown was, and here the bad boys of the class are haunting my braided hair, I swallowed the occasional teasing and the r's from time to time.

My desk mate is my first friend, and an ant comes out of his bag at the beginning of the lesson, and I hurriedly whistle to my teacher:

How happy I am and everyone is on the floor laughing and I love my friends all over the world.

I am the first foreign class teacher in my life and her name is like a fragrant flower and later I realize; Life has worn him out too. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she is silent, and sometimes she yells, maybe that's why the class's name remains in my mind as a grumpy and sweet woman for that our team.

On the way to life.

Then I realize that I'm starting to grow, slowly I'm actually ignoring it.

Colors are chronic.

Love is original.

Is there a lot of things I'm in love with, for example?

My dreams, my books, my grandmother and my teacher.

Dismissed.

Proud.

While not a victim yet.

What I imitate is my dreams and mystical world, which I find solace only with innocence and love, whatever hurts me, necessarily manifested.

I don't develop paranoia yet, actually my father is not a little fussy, but problems at home are not of my interest and I am so small and innocent.

My music and my books and my friends are everything to me.

Then I meet death and within minutes I come face to face with death for the first time. If my grandmother is the first person to leave my life, I am unaware that he will not go and never come back, and that day I suddenly grow up to be ten years old.

While the seasons haven't changed yet.

I am introduced to poetry for the first time and I am writing my first poem:

Moon Grandpa Moon Grandfather is in the clouds.

After scribbling dozens of poems, I forget to write poetry and live my life like poetry without realizing it, and here I am taking the first step into the adventure of my life by passing the Anatolian High School exams. In order to learn English as soon as possible and communicate with more people, I throw my piano at the back and I wake up early in the morning and learn a foreign language all the time, my first foreign friend, dear Pamela.

I love him too and we text like crazy.

I don't know about Kafka or any of the letters I'm going to write, Pamela.

Then I write letters to the foreign actors I fell in love with, and one by one their pictures and replies reach me.

An international love and communication is mine.

My apprentice.

My rookie.

I'm offended, I'm a crazy girl.

There is no one around me that I am angry with, until I gain a little weight and fall into the minus digits, in the eyes of people and I meet new nicknames at the beginning of adolescence and every summer I discipline myself, whether it's the exercise I do or the first time I meet hunger He questions how I lost so much weight, almost, and I happily explain it, and here is the prelude to a life where I will starve myself.

My hunger that lasts a lifetime costs a lot, but I'm not ready to tell it yet, when did I actually get ready to talk about this issue with its advanced dimensions?

Words are running through my mind.

While dreaming of college in high school age.

While going to university, while dreaming of business life.

When I started working, I couldn't decide when to resign.

I'm changing jobs like crazy and the bank exams and countless interviews I've taken and won incessantly.

I am successful.

If it's called success, it offers me good positions in the most competent banks, and I am moving from one bank to another, when resigning has almost become a disease.

It's obvious that I'm in love, after all, I'm insane:

I am lost between import and export files and correspondence with foreign countries and banks.

But it is comfortable for me, and in my most productive age, this time I put an end to business life and open wings to another world.

What happens when I ignore my digital identity and prove that I am successful verbally?

I'm exploring my mind.

I discipline my unused brain neurons.

When I didn't take into account that I would actually run away from myself while I was a passenger of an academic career.

When I say the path I took as a graduate, I end everything again and isolate myself for a long time, when I say from life, I decide on teaching...

There is no limit to the jobs I enter and leave, and the classrooms where I teach.

Lots of things to get started.

As much as I have succeeded, my quests that I took a rest and ended abruptly.

We are losing my father during this time period and I cannot recover for a long time after his departure.

I collect the bowl and comb and go to a separate house.

For a while, isolated from everything and everyone.

Ultimately, I was isolated from myself.

My identity is unknown, dear friends:

While I don't know which identity to put on, and this time some adjectives are flying in the air, since I'm an ordinary person, I ended my business life...

My rank added as a housewife.

I am far from being everyone in the center of nothingness.

I trap myself while getting close to myself.

If I'm a color rainbow.

If I am a light, I make the night bright.

After the last cry of a lost season, maybe that tree where my leaves fell and I live in the hole, I am a pen-poker after all.