5 Jun 2016

My body

I hadn’t thought about my body in a very long time. Sure, I thought about how my tights are too big, and my butt, and my stomach, and my breast and my cheeks. But it never come to my mind the idea of my body as a whole. In same ways, I’ve always refuse this as my body. This is too short for when I feel like a goddess, and this is too big for when I’d just like to disappear. I want to scream “don’t look at me, I’m just a tiny gray mouse who doesn’t deserve a second look”, I want to scream “look at me, there’s a lioness in here but you can’t notice her if you don’t look right into my eyes”. This body, this body doesn’t move the way I dream. When I walk, when I dance, when I breath. It betrays me, over and over again, day after day, moment after moment. It doesn’t look good in the clothes I like the most. It's like the universe, in constant expansion, and the scientists don't know if it will ever stop. 
I haven’t seen me naked for a very long time. For some reason, undress in front of a friend, during a sleepover or a school trip, in front of a roommate, it’s easier. It makes me feel brave. “I don’t care if I’m not perfect”, that’s what my body screams then. But in an empty room, with only my mind and a mirror… I am not that crazy, I won’t look at myself.
But... these thighs too big, and this butt, and stomach, and breast, and cheeks, they are me. And it doesn’t matter if I truly believe that people are what they have inside and not outside, nothing maters if instead of talking with you and trying to know you, I remain imprisoned in my own mind wondering if the way I walk or touch my hair or sit is weird. I am weird. We all are. And I want to know me. I’m tired of hiding from myself. I don’t deserve this. This hate. My body doesn’t deserve it. I dreamt all my life the arrival of someone, that someone, who would have seen all those little things that are mine, and only mine, and would have loved me for them. Today, today I decide that I want to be that someone. And only looking at a mirror I can see that I am not my body, my body is part of who I am. 
I’m not saying that I will start to love my body unquestioningly. I can’t promise that. There will be days in which I will feel trap in this skin. There will be days in which I will think the worst of me. And there will be moments, just moments, in which I will be so ashamed of myself for feeling hurt by someone's comments or looks. There will be these days, and maybe even worst ones. What I’m saying it’s that I want to embrace the good hours, and don’t let anyone, not even myself, bring me down for that.

4 Jun 2016

From this bed

This bed is too big for someone who hasn't learn to take her space yet. 
I keep talking with you in my head, endless conversations whose existence is unknown to you. I don't know what I mean, so don't even ask. And I took my glasses off to see less clearly, on purpose. Anyway, I need them only for far away sites, and I have the feeling that you are closer than you appear. 

My room is too full from all the fantasies I made up, asleep, awake, does it really matter? There is not air for us to breath. 

In my worst moments I feel to deserve to be called the word I hate the most. The ice queen, the robot, the un-human. But a queen is always a queen and can decide what to do of herself. What if I don't know, what to do with myself? What if I don't understand what is it going on?
Contradictory is instead the world I would use to describe myself. I'm logging for someone to like me, and the same exact idea scares me to death. I did not want to like this. I was not supposed to like this.

I love the marks the sheets makes on my skin in these endless summer nights. What do I know about time? I close the eyes for one second and I've spent all the afternoon sleeping, I fights with my eyes to open them after the first alarm and it's only few minutes later.

This bed is so big.

Can I be nostalgic for something that has never happened?

15 May 2016

Previously on

I've always feared of doing it all wrong, of missing important footsteps in the life of a child, then a teenager, then an university student. So these first thing that came to my mind when this morning I thought "What I have been doing in the last months?," the first thing was "nothing". But it is not true.

First of all, I chapped off 30 centimeters of my hair, and I'm liking it. Sometimes I miss my bun and my bread, I must admit, but this may be the start of a new short (-ish) haired Alice. I also changed my glasses. I still liked the old ones, but they broke in December and my sight got worst (again), so it was time for a new pair.

That said, I think it's important to say that I got used to Bologna. I even think that I will miss it. Which is quite ironic, considering how unhappy I was to come here. The university courses did not satisfied me completely, this is true. But the city looks familiar now, I found my pace, I made friends. And not just people with whom spending some time, but people that I enjoy having around.

1 May 2016

There is the face of this girl

There is the face of this girl
that keeps coming to my mind
almost every time I close my eyes.

I remember dreams of her
when the rays wake me up,
gently, as a caress, as to say
I’m here again, but you don’t have
to jump out of the bed, 
not yet. Love, the Sun.

We talked once or twice,
the girl and I,
or three or four 
if you count the nods,
which I don’t some times,
which I do the others.

I’ve always told stories to myself
to accompany me in the unconsciousness,
but I don’t seem to need them anymore,
not here, anyway.
I fell asleep every night,
a literal jump into the void.
Who knew that Bologna was the one
that could put me to sleep.

The stories reach me not matter what.
After all, they have their own lives.

- You wrote a poem about me
she told me few hours ago
- How could you know?
I panicked in my new bed.
- You wrote a poem about me.
- Well, it’s not finished yet.
- You are writing a poem about me, 
then. She corrected herself.
That lazy cat’s smile, again.
And I don’t know if I’m dreaming
or I’m telling myself another

old, brand new story.

*little poem written months ago

23 Apr 2016


Here I am again. I tried to close this blog, to open another one and be inspired again. That didn't work. So here I am again. This is the place where I wrote and shared pictures for so much time, I've not be able to leave it for real.
I am back. I changed the aspect once more time. I got caught up in making my blog look a certain way for such a long time, never satisfied, so I decided to get back to the simple.
I hope you guys will stay with me.
See you soon,

17 Nov 2015

Notes from Bologna.

I’ve taken a break. From writing and recording. I’ll feel sorry for not having words and pictures, I know, it will be so hard, remembering how the streets of Bologna looked like the first days in which I had to double check at every corner that I was walking in the right direction. But living those same moments is more important, I guess.
It’s a month and a half since I’m here. Days keep losing themselves, somewhere, but I don’t know where. I planned to have a night out with some schoolmates, but we already came back home after 3 am last night, we and our Neapolitan taxi driver. So instead I’m home, drinking hot tea from my Badass Feminist mug and finishing a book I have to read for class. I’m also planning a hypothetical trip to London for the LIMUN next February with M. and P. I miss the city. And the idea that I will be in the UK in less than a year does not win over my desire to flight as soon as I can. It actually feeds it.
It’s a month and a half since I’m here and I’m doing more than what I expected, but still, it doesn’t seem enough. Maybe I am not fair with myself. I need time to adjust, to find my rhythm. 

I find so hard, living in the present. To not wonder and worry about what will happen next. To plan and feel exited and feel guilty. 

18 Oct 2015

Few stupid rhymes by a bored student

Throwback to high school
and it's not Thursday yet.
I feel treated as a mule,
around other mules I just met.

She is speaking, speaking, speaking,
but nothing is actually said.
Outside it's still raining,
but it's not something that I dread.

My hopes where high above the sky,
too high for my own good.
I'd prefer to be a simple passer-by,
oh, yes, how much I would!
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