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Evanicole

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Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo, kukla, privyet, karasho
I had no idea what these words meant
Yet my mother and father had imprinted in my head 
From a young age that I was not from them
But from a stranger in Russia that was mentioned every now and then
And I took this fact with pride, because, my God
I wouldn't have my mother or father to hold onto
Behind closed doors, I would cry alone to
Lullaby by Celine Dion, repeating all the Russian words I knew
Feeling my insides crumble at the thought that I
Could never say "hello," but "privyet," and "dasvidanya," not "goodbye"
Bonne nuit cher enfant
Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo
Dans tes langes blancs
Kukla, privyet, karasho
Repose joyeux
Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo
En revant des cieux
Kukla, privyet, karasho

Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo
Pozhalusta izvinitye, spasibo
Connecting word to meaning, yet feeling ties dropping out
Of my hands every time I attempted to learn, constantly pausing to
Take a deep breath, this isn't a huge deal
It's only the life experiences that I've never had to feel
I was given a different path in life, and I should be grateful
But every second that passed made me increasingly hateful
Where was she when I needed her to be there?
Spending months as a newborn trying to live
But there was a limit, a wall, a door, and it never gave in
But the door is opened! Look at the bright side
The family I have opened their arms wide and called, "Ni-go-la!
Come stai? How's a-scuola? You sing-a l'opera?"
I'd sing a bit, Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro, his favorite show
Took Italian classes for four years to make him proud before he goes
"Who's your real family?" I would often be asked in class
And I would sit there in shock, unable to respond
Pulling responses out of my ass, like "My real family is my family"
But a small part of me resented that statement, it felt as if
I was rejecting a part of myself, and no one else knew it

Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo, Jesus Christ
There was only so much that I could write as I
Completed a letter to my biological mother, telling her
Why I was so afraid to reach out, that I finally felt heard
Even though she had not spoken to me for my entire life
I felt so connected, yet divided by
A package
Found in the mail
Pretty in pink. Hot pink, wrapped in paper
I held it in my hands, every moment savored
I listened. Intently, my hands round the edges
The corners sharp. Wedges between each post card
Each cheap piece of plastic
This is a map of Russia. Come visit me!
Prikhodi ko mne! How could I not have seen
Also, this is your brother
Brother?
It seemed incomprehensible in my head
That
You kept him
You kept him but gave me up in vain
As if I could go through any more pain
Tvoya sem'ya ne znayet o tebe
You family doesn't know about you, you say
How must I exist? Invisible to your kind as I'm
Trying to find my own place in the world, so why
Must you turn me against the place in which I belong?
Perhaps I must remain in this world, writing songs

Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo, this entire experience is a placebo as I
Feel the effects of her presence, smell the cigarettes, red brown hair
I feel familiarity falling at my feet, encapsulating energy, acceptance, but
"Klas," she says, holding me close, a word I don't know, oh my God
Please just tell me what it means, but how can you speak if you don't know me
Me being myself, not your daughter, not Marie's but me
The daughter in your dreams you've spent years thinking of but couldn't see
Surrounded by the story of unacceptable, silenced, shunned grief
But just wants to know who you are
But we couldn't get very far
Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo, kukla, forget it
We clicked, but I knew I'd instantly regret it
When I met my mother, brother
Some other
Pozhalusta, izvinitye, spasibo
Sounded more like a "nice to meet you"

 Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer