H.B.D.
Disclaimer:Contains anything but a "happy birthday". 
Have you ever felt like you have no land, no tounge, no ties?I have. Each and everytime i try to define myself by a nationality, by some language, some patriotic shit that would make me whole and settle i fail...epicly.
My thoughts flow in Turkish, even if i dream and manage to think in English, i suffer and laugh and joke and blush in Turkish. But also i whine and judge and yell in English...These are times to whine and judge and yell.
This is not an ode to the ones that have left, not a requiem for the ones that have been lost. This is not a good night song. In my room, there's only silence, the kind of silence that makes me want to write forever, the kind of writing that rips up my soul and puts it all together when i stop so that i can break again. The pieces are still missing. I take a glance at the wooden plackard with the image of Jesus and the "lost sheep". The sheep gets me.
I have the kind of emptiness that only the sheep and Leilah can understand. Like i once quoted her words from the movie "Lie with me", i spray my scent in the crowd too...and i wait...until i'm uncovered. I have memories to reminisce, a fucking whole year that seems like a long black-out...I have stories to tell...but if i told you everything you'd probably think i was a slut and i can't deal with that, so i'm not going to tell you absolutely everything. I'll tell stories so you stop acting like you know a shit, i'll pretend to tell you everything so you can write "your freedom is absolutely not the kind that is for me...but it suits you." in my freaking yearbook, i'll tell you stories about all the others so you can go collect the pieces that he shoved in his suitcase when he left.
I'll tell you stories so you can sing happy birthday.
Have you ever felt like you have no land, no tounge, no ties?I have. Each and everytime i try to define myself by a nationality, by some language, some patriotic shit that would make me whole and settle i fail...epicly.
My thoughts flow in Turkish, even if i dream and manage to think in English, i suffer and laugh and joke and blush in Turkish. But also i whine and judge and yell in English...These are times to whine and judge and yell.
This is not an ode to the ones that have left, not a requiem for the ones that have been lost. This is not a good night song. In my room, there's only silence, the kind of silence that makes me want to write forever, the kind of writing that rips up my soul and puts it all together when i stop so that i can break again. The pieces are still missing. I take a glance at the wooden plackard with the image of Jesus and the "lost sheep". The sheep gets me.
I have the kind of emptiness that only the sheep and Leilah can understand. Like i once quoted her words from the movie "Lie with me", i spray my scent in the crowd too...and i wait...until i'm uncovered. I have memories to reminisce, a fucking whole year that seems like a long black-out...I have stories to tell...but if i told you everything you'd probably think i was a slut and i can't deal with that, so i'm not going to tell you absolutely everything. I'll tell stories so you stop acting like you know a shit, i'll pretend to tell you everything so you can write "your freedom is absolutely not the kind that is for me...but it suits you." in my freaking yearbook, i'll tell you stories about all the others so you can go collect the pieces that he shoved in his suitcase when he left.
I'll tell you stories so you can sing happy birthday.
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