Breathe in some gasoline
As I fly down to greet
Trade my butterfly wings
For a touch of machine
Take my evergreen
Get some new gleam
Your noxious fume spoil
Find some Asfalt sheen  
My freedom I trade
For rusted shackles you see

This letter is truly and doubtlessly a letter to the only person who will be left when everyone else is gone. To the woman of my life. To my love, my life, my everything. To me.

Dear me,

You, the way you are, are perfect. You, with your little struggles you bear, with all the strength you carry so desperately around, finding a way to use it in your everyday life. You, with all your words stuck in your throat that you are so scared to say out loud – so you write them down.
You, with your smart-***-mouth trying to make this world a better place. You, who has already realized that you must better yourself first to better others. You are all through perfect in your own way.
And yes, times were tough back then, but you were tougher. You mastered to overcome your biggest fear – the fear to stand for what you want and to love yourself entirely.
And even though, your selflove has improved so much over these past few years, you must learn a lot, you will have to endure a lot of pain and gain a lot of strength.
Selflove is a lifetime process.

My wonderful, beautiful love,
You carry mountains on your back and universes in your mind.
And every single day you wake up you are a better version of yourself.
Whatever you wish to do – do so! This is your life and you have to hold the upper hand in it. You have to be your own master.
Yes, let life be taught by others. Watch them live, but never become someone else while observing.
God did his best in making you special and unique – do not destroy his work of art in imitating.

Learn.
Observe.
Master.

Once you can rely on yourself, you are ready to change the world.
The world is waiting for you to make it the place it deserves to be.
A good place, a place with no fear, with no terror.
A place people can feel secure and loved.
Make this not only a vision but the reality.
Do your best and whatever you have reached at the end of the day – you DID your best.
You were great, and you could not have done any better.

I am proud of you.
And I love you.


To the dearest, most beautiful person on this planet, me.

They say that love is between a man and a woman.
That the racing hearts and soft whispers are to be between that of a man and a woman.
Yet when I look at her, my heart races and my mind fogs.
They say it is wrong to love that of the same ***.
That the soft touches and moans of pleasure should be shared between a woman and a man.
But when her mouth meets mine and my hands find her hair, I can't help but think that they are the ones that are wrong, not this.
Because this,
Her mouth on mine,
Our bodies flush against each other,
The look in her eyes,
Is love.
The soft whispered words and racing hearts is now something that both she and I share.
And when her body slots perfectly with mine
And her eyes show that there is nowhere else she would rather be,
I know that this is love.
The way my breath hitches
And my heart races
And her soft gaze is all I can seem to focus on,
I know that this is love.
And if this is what love is,
If this is what it really feels like,
It will never be wrong.
This is love.

Freshmen year
I was involved in a play
About women in the 1920's
Who were paid to paint watch dial numbers
And hands
With green-glowing,
Radioactive paint.
The point of doing this
Being so soldiers could see their watches at night
Without giving away their position.
However,
After years of exposure to the radium,
The women themselves began glowing
And forming cancers in the deepest recesses
Of their young and tender bodies.

Before the horrors began,
The women had taken a trip to the beach
Where they ate sandwiches
And talked about the things that shined
In their lives.
And between the Rudolph Valentino's
And pearl necklaces
In the windows of department stores,
I believe they could also list you
Among the beautiful things they had
In spite of all the danger.