El viento te toca
Tu corazón se inflama
con un exhala de miedo
y alegria,
quando las calles, de nuevo,
se llenan de gente
jugando

...
Write it yourself, I say. Write it yourself like you write it into being with every single facet and fibre of it.
Write it like you know you are writing it.
A shape, form, emerges in front of your eyes,
your fingers are not still now, cannot be still
for they are at the same time describing and creating what you see with your own eyes.
They move, in constant motion because you are in constant motion, and you want it to be clear.
You are not running from it, but it is not easy.
It feels - it pulls at you rather strongly rather like this is the thing that is not very patient anymore not feeling like it makes sense to wait everything out - the thing that sent flashes of bliss into your fingers
in the first place, the thing that makes your very own chest sting and pound hard in turns, like a ship in the most childish of storms.
You do not dare to breath out fully, and when you do it sinks down right into your stomach and there feels
so much more profound and physical.
It stretches out into your hands and feet, your fingertips.
You do not look at your words because you are the one who’s already seen them before they came into being. You are not quite
daring to free the full power, the
full
spell of the word that lay under this thick layer, but you feel it fully, feel that already the word is out, uncovered, hovering - getting to know you better, getting to know your condition,
the multiple points of connection already apt and willing,
and the ones that still push - push away.
There is time.
There is time for sure. But the thing is as sentient as you are.

Glimpses
that nobody
verifies
and ice that's
see-through
though it cracks
slightly
underneath your feet

Breed your
ideas
they are
correct
though
premature

You're doing
fine

aura aura
drifting by
just a shadow
of the thigh
not a tiger
not of flesh
yet uncover
under vivid breath
my nature

A fierce
little woman always
so so assertive always
having to hide
cut it down
always sliding along
the edge of self pollution
Enough!
head up Love
and
chin out
be female
be assertive
❦

Because I felt that you felt
What you said
So much
I have such a deeply imprinted
Emotional memory of this
Most beautiful scary moment

I looked at the sundown
and looked at my ***
and could't decide
which one I liked best

I cannot help
But treat
The Sun and Moon
Like friends
Who slightly make
My heart go
Sceptical

If you're so quick
you'll have to stand and wait
until the snow around you
melts
and other flowers
show their little heads
to keep you
company

Til then
imagine
and await this
happy moment

One of the
Truest things
I ever said was

that I love human beings
and back then I
did not think
while saying
that
at all -

In a small part of my
mind
I might have already
understood it
back then.

The old Villa creaks under your careful steps. You know each nook and cranny, each dark, friendly and not so friendly corner. The wood and marble staircase spirals up like a reminiscent Chinese dragon, half asleep but moving. The chandelier - once crystal-clear and almost arrogant in its sparkling shine - now hangs from the high ceiling, unsure and slightly insecure about its own value. The doorknob under your warm hand feels irritatingly cold but familiar. You walk into what you know will be the hardest room for you. The room that you have avoided all this time but that, now, moves itself into your presence and you know, because you feel it, you cannot avoid it any longer. You don’t have to, either.
You turn the ****, and with a soft push the door gives in. One step, and you are in the room. You smell it, dusty childhood smell;
you know this, oh you know this, immediately. Yellow paper before you, crumpled school books, old toys, all of it - you remember
all of this.
You stand still for a moment. Half inside the room, half ready to leap backwards and shut the door again. You take a breath,
gathering your courage, your stability.
Then you experience a surging feeling, a wave-like movement that both comes towards you and seems to be oozing out of you, seeps from right out of your body, your chest. For a moment you have to close your eyes; it is too much.
Then,
in a powerful second inhale, you drink it all up, all of it, surrender
to all of this
understand
suddenly
with a magnificent pain and hot compassion, a lighting strike, that
all of it
until here
was necessary
made sense
makes sense
That you are all of this and more
and more
So much more.
Your lungs hold this breath, hold it for a timeless moment
before you, with utmost decisiveness and finality, open your eyes again
in slow-motion
facing
one last time
all of it

Saluting every single cherished item

Before you let
this
breath


out


and let everything

explode before your eyes

every structure


You lower your eyes


take a mental bow and step

back


And another step

You see



everything being lifted, moved around


unbound


explode in the air, into a million particles that are free to dance now


The things

the staircase the door the


room



the house



open


~


Somewhere at the shore, in white sand, a figure wakes up, stretching and shifting, squinting at the sparkling rays of sunlight reflected from the soft ocean waves. A naked, peaceful figure. The beach is as good as any place, and from here it begins.

A vague memory is welling up to the surface - vague, and yet engraved with care and absolute clarity;
there were certain things waiting here for a while.

A few meters away in the shade of the pine trees, there -

The figure gets up, a smile growing to full radiance. Naked feet starting to walk towards those trees, towards

Towards

A playful kid shakes
An outstreched
Shaking hand of
A hesitant being
Smiling confidently
Take it easy
Saying
The gap will
Melt away like
Ice in summer

You hear this, listen.
I sit, naked, covering up a bit. I sit in a field, and no one sits with me yet. I stand, sit or both in turn. My skin feels so open that every thing comes like a blow.

I felt like this so often during the past few months, maybe even years. I felt like this, and did not feel like this.

I was naked in the field and unshielded because I could. I was naked because I knew I could be, and that you were there with me, always. I knew it and did not know it.

The eyes closed, the eyes open, half open. And the knowing, always there, but sometimes just like a distant scent, afar, in the background, to be grasped only with utmost gentleness.

This knowing grew, and so did my heart. Until now, it seems to let everything touch it, again, and feel for everything.

I am naked in the field, and I see everyone else, naked, being there with me.

Eyes open or not.

Calmness
Irritates
It seems
Cause everytime
I meet new people
They ask
Why do you speak in such a
Low voice
And I wonder
If I would shout and boast
Would they ask
Too?