Amalia Soldat (@amaliasoldat) este studentă la Facultatea de Limbi străine, specializarea engleză-germană, din cadrul Universității Transilvania din Brașov. Scrie de 2 ani și spune că o ajută să scoată la iveală imagini create în creierul său, în viața de zi cu zi, dar și pentru a se descărca emoțional. A trimis Mezomorf un grupaj de poezii cu imagini puternice, foarte vizuale, dar cu o exprimare candidă; un contrast prin care prezintă cu umor absurdul cotidian. Examinează și invită spre a deconstrui și reanaliza aspecte ce par obișnuite și aproape obligatorii pentru fiecare adolescentă, evidențiind efectele resimțite din propria experiență.
Datorie
Am caramele în buzunar
Ca să-mi plătesc datoriile
Una la chirie
Vreo două la poezie.
Domnul de la tejghea mă privește chiorâș
“N-ai plătit pe două luni
Dă-mi poeziile înapoi.”
Am fugit de-am mâncat pământul.
Moartea autorului nu era pe daily checklist.
Rebirth
Flowers grow under my nails
They crack them open
Just like eggs.
The shells fall and rip my skin
And in pain I sing of happiness
Of lost, of regain and vitality
The cracks of nails give me such vigour.
I’ve been swallowing
Pages, honey and skin.
To be as smart as others
Before, with and after me.
Knowledge is sacrifice
Time and body
Which will never be granted back
After you’ve received the blessing.
Dinner
“A bowl of hair strands, please
With a side of freshly squeezed tears
From a fulfilled human
The rarest of its species.”
“Would that be all, miss?’’
“Yes. And I’d like to eat that with a spoon.”
The dinner is served.
The dinner has been eaten.
The customer is yet to be consumed.
Job Interview
In this waiting room
I did my contour with a pen
The one from the reception table
Which I have stolen.
In this waiting room
I realised I wasn’t pretty enough
So I put a vase on my head
I am a flower.
In this waiting room
It struck 12 o’clock
My appointment was at eight.
Grave
I received a call from the CEO
Dirty Shoes Enterprises
He told me he has never seen such enthusiasm for dirtying shoes.
I live in a hole.
Fruhstuck
My breakfast was incomplete
I lost my favourite knife for spreading
Eating up the bread and butter
They’ve found their way in
My stomach full of knives
From all the stabbing I’ve received.
Presents from a certain me
Whenever I do a mistake
Such as losing things.
BGC
I’m hanging off the ceiling
My intestines glued with amber
Butterflies come out of there
And light through the holes of my body
A baroque grotesque chandelier.
Superbe! Cel puțin spus !