My father

My father
my father used his painting brush like a magician his stick
my father used his painting brush to turn me into him.
My father
my father had the spirit of a youngster in an older body
my father couldn't dance, he barely walked in shoes so muddy
He was smart and educated, he wore glasses
he believed in the war of classes
he never gave a damn
he was making a fuss for a cent
he had photos of Trotscky and Stalin
he was always divided between sharing and hiding
he thought highly of me
he thought nothing of me
My father never believed me
my father never believed in me
He had a full life
he traveled to Africa and Paris
he had a car which could go into safaris
but he could barely dance and barely walk
I was ashamed of him for being old
he was mad at me for being cold
I decided to study art to impress him
but he died before I even graduated
My father
My father will never see me old
my father will never see me cold
my father will never see me getting married or have children
my father will never see me
but did he ever? 
his tobacco pipes were lying on his table
all his things are part of this fable
My father loved me
my father loved me I believe
but that feeling was well hidden
that's why I spent all of my life 
doing things forbidden.
The sweetest word he ever speaked to me
was 'my little eyes' which makes sense in greek
My father
my father was my father and this will never change
as I owe him everything I feel for men until this day.
My father, I wish I knew him more
but in a weird way
I'm now free to my very core.

a project for the course 'Healing with the Arts', University of Florida

my father

Dirty Valentine

Ντυμμένη στα ροζ
μού δαγκώνεις τ' αυτί
ο έρωτας μωρό μου θα ποινικοποιηθεί
μόλις η πολιτική ορθότητα καβλώσει
και οι χυμοί της πνίξουν την Βουλή
εως τότε
άσε με να γλείφω επαναστατικά
τον δεξιό λοβό σου.