Dear comrade,
I whispered into my ear,
Let us go for a walk.
Jun 13, 2024
Jun 13, 2024 at 11:18 AM UTC
I shed like a snake,
the outgrown coats of my childhood are rotting in a corner of my closet.
I thought by now it was unethical, but you keep on wearing the fur of a tortured mink over your shoulders, and I keep on crying over the fights I caused but didn‘t win.
They smell like forgotten memories that I no longer fit in yet can‘t rid myself of.
Every New Year’s Eve I am reminded of the dreams I had (and you had, for me) three-hundred and sixty-five days ago, still moulding in the written hopes of gift cards from past birthdays.
I cannot escape, mother.
You have passed down to your child the inability of overcoming genetic failure.
Stem cells in your body are filled with hatred for the birth of your daughter and the flowers she kills along her way.
Grandmother has managed to leave behind her house, her life, her skin. And you still long for hidden hope you’ll never find in her sewing boxes, you still wear the same old sweaty leather that she had managed to burn.
We will never escape the consequences that came with the anger of our fathers. The doors may be shut now, but they weren‘t back then. Even though you replaced them, the traces of slamming, hitting and shouting remain. I am an adult, but I will always be your child, throwing tantrums and spitting poison.
Maybe they were right all along, the abused ones really does become the abuser.
May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 5:58 PM UTC
it is spring and I hum to turquoise beginnings
Armageddon is not today, I remind myself,
to be born and reborn; I am formed like clay
I am the sound of people winning,
Las Vegas and its men in grey,
I am the infinite seeds of tulips,
and the sunlit tides on a golden day
it is spring and I do not belong in warmer spheres
the devil holds me tight, I remind myself,
I am not yet gone, I still walk by his side
I am the only remain of my shepherd‘s geese,
I am tied to this hell and all its pride,
and I am the hell, and I am the pride
I am lost in my body and in all it contains,
I hum and I cry, am in pain or feel high,
I am the moths in my closet,
and the clothes, and the clay,
I am the seeds and the tide,
and the only lost goose here in May
right now my hands hold me tight,
so I remind myself:
it is summer, and you have decided to stay;
Feb 20, 2024
Feb 20, 2024 at 3:48 PM UTC
I waited for you. for you!
now dust has put me to bed
and kissed me ten goodbyes,
dead cells surround the dead,
they sang me lullabies.
It almost feels like home,
yes I’m the queen now in the hive-
were I not homeless,
waiting for you, for you! my life.
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 6:09 PM UTC
it is the red in the sky
that hurts the most.
how can such beautiful art
feel so ******* wrong?
it’s the reminder of
cut open arteries, red roses of past lovers,
of my broken heart.
this shade of red doesn‘t belong.
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 1:12 PM UTC
the snow started falling faster when you left
and the gravel beneath my shoes now remains quiet
it was the worst kind of theft
and even though it has been many winters
of ugly cries and silent fights
the earth still mourns the loss of you, see,
the wind still sings sad songs in this cleft
that you created
day after day I must withstand the desire to let myself fall, like snow, from far above,
until I hit the ground, until I find you,
my love
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 1:03 PM UTC
you were a child,
so foolish and small,
throwing tantrums in silence
you've always been too much
and after eighteen winters you now age backwards,
with every birthday,
with every smell,
every fight
and every touch.
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
lavender scented soap bubbles on my belly - hugging the weight I’m not destined to lose.
you smiled, I heard it in your warm voice.
today your daughter does a good job of holding herself together.
the pale moonlight behind closed doors tells me to stop reopening old wounds and I listen. maybe for the first time in months.
I took a bath today. the size of my legs are just the size of my legs, and the sun will rise tomorrow - even behind closed doors.
and maybe, I whisper to my body, you are not as evil as they say. maybe you are just a byproduct of something much greater.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 5:41 PM UTC
winter is knocking at your door
and you have forgotten how to welcome a long lost friend.
your fourteen-year-old bones are rattling, your feet are cold and you want to slam your head against the wall.
winter is looking through your kitchen window and you are six years old again and hide under the dark brown piano. winter has come to remind you of your darkest dreams, but you close your eyes and cannot be seen anymore (you are now four years old). you want to dream yourself away like you always have, escaping into worlds of blooming tulips and slow dances. winter is knocking at your door, so you make hot chocolate for two and decide to say hello (you are nineteen, and you have learned how to survive).
Oct 6, 2023
Oct 6, 2023 at 8:15 PM UTC
you are angry at the world
because you expect things to change
without taking action yourself
Oct 6, 2023
Oct 6, 2023 at 7:59 PM UTC